Page 90 of His Stolen Bride

“You’ll drink,” he says.

I look up at him. “I don’t drink with men who killed my parents.”

He smiles like I’m adorable. “You’ll drink with your husband.”

My stomach turns, but I lift the glass and hold it, though I don’t lift it to my mouth just yet. Vladimir sits again, closer now, his knee angled toward mine. “Tell me about Mikhail,” he says.

I keep my voice neutral. “He’s very intentional with what he does.”

“Controlled men break the loudest,” Vladimir replies. “That’s what people forget. Sergei would’ve burned out in a year. Mikhail can burn for decades.”

“And you want to be the one to light him,” I say.

Vladimir grins. “I already did.”

My pulse jumps. I let it show just a little.

He watches it, pleased. “He’s tightening his crews,” Vladimir says. “He’s moving men, trying to look calm and stable while doing it. But the harder you try to project what you’re not, the harsher the burn.”

“You don’t know him,” I say softly, letting it sound like fear.

“I know men,” Vladimir replies. “And I know what he can’t control.”

His eyes drop to my mouth again. “You.”

I lift my glass and finally take a small sip. Enough to show compliance. Not enough to give him any control over what’s in it.

The liquid burns slightly. Alcohol. Nothing else.

Good.

I set the glass down. “So, what happens now?”

Vladimir rests his forearm on his knee. “Now you do what you should’ve done years ago. You stop pretending you’re above the rules. You stop pretending you can choose your own life.”

I keep my voice small. “I tried.”

“I know,” he says. “You were stubborn. It was almost charming.”

He leans forward. “You know what you were born for, Alina?”

My stomach tightens. I force the answer out. “To make peace.”

“To make legitimacy,” Vladimir corrects. “To sit at the right table. To smile at the right donors. To have a child who can inherit without anyone asking questions.”

I think of Oisin’s eyes. I keep my face blank.

Vladimir watches my silence and misreads it. “You want him safe,” he says. “You want the boy out of this.”

“Yes,” I say quickly, like I’m pleading.

Vladimir smiles. “Then you’ll behave.”

“I will,” I say.

He studies me for a long beat. The room is quiet except for the soft sound of the river beyond glass.

Then he nods once, as if he’s made a decision. “Bring him in,” he calls toward the door.