Page 47 of His Stolen Bride

“No,” I say. “He isn’t, either.”

I don’t say my son’s name. I don’t offer it.

Mikhail nods once. “Good.”

He reaches out like he’s going to touch Oisin, then stops himself halfway. His hand drops back to his side.

“Stay where you are,” he tells me.

I don’t answer. I’m already standing, pulling Oisin with me. I keep him behind my legs, my hands tight on his shoulders.

“No one touches him,” I say. “No one.”

Mikhail straightens slowly. “No one will.”

“I’m serious,” I say. “I won’t let you⁠—”

“I said no one will,” he cuts in, sharp enough to shut me up. His eyes don’t leave my face. “Not now. Not ever.”

The catering hall smells like smoke and spilled coffee and fear. My ears are ringing. My heart won’t slow.

Mikhail steps closer, lowering his voice. “We need to talk.”

“Not here,” I say. “Not in front of everyone.”

“Agreed.”

“Then don’t corner me,” I snap. “Because I won’t give you anything here.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He glances once toward the door, where his men are posted, then back to me.

“You ran,” he says. “You disappeared.”

“You hunted me,” I shoot back. “You killed anyone who helped me.”

His eyes flicker. “I killed the people who sold you.”

“That’s not the same thing,” I say.

Oisin presses closer to my legs, confused and frightened. I drop a hand to his hair and steady myself.

Mikhail notices the movement. His voice changes when he speaks again. “What’s his name?”

“No,” I say immediately.

“Alina.”

“No,” I repeat. “You don’t get that. Not here.”

Another sound cracks through the building. A second gunshot. Closer. Outside this time.

Everything tightens.

“Second shooter,” someone shouts.

Mikhail turns his head, listening, calculating. He looks back at me.

“They tracked me,” he says, fast and low. “They tracked you too. The idea was to keep us separate.”