Page 36 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“Is it true?”

Another pause. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

I close my eyes. Of course it’s true. I knew it was true the moment Konstantin said it. Some small part of me had hoped I was wrong, but that would have been too easy.

“He’s been chosen by the elders,” my father continues. “They see him as the proper match. It makes sense.”

“It makes sense.” I repeat the words and they taste like ash in my mouth. “You’re telling me it makes sense to hand me over to another man I didn’t choose?”

“I’m telling you that this is how our world works. You knew that when you married Dmitri.”

“I married Dmitri because you owed him money. I didn’t know what I was getting into!”

“You knew enough.” His voice hardens. “You knew the kind of family you were marrying into. You knew the expectations.”

I didn’t. I was twenty years old and drowning in my father’s debts. I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but there’s no point in arguing about it now.

I want nothing more than to reach through the phone and shake him until he tells me everything he knows. Except I’ve learned over the years that pushing my father only makes him retreat further.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I ask.

“Just this: be careful. Roman Volkonsky is a dangerous man. He’s calculating and ruthless and he doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

“You say that as if Anton isn’t dangerous?”

“I didn’t say that. I said Roman is different. He has... interests that go beyond what’s best for the family. For you.”

“What kind of interests?”

“The kind you should be wary of.” My father’s voice drops even lower. “I need to go. Call me if you need anything.”

“Wait—”

It’s too late, because he’s already hung up.

I set the phone down and stare at it. My hands are shaking.

I know what Roman says he’s after. The ledger, revenge, his rightful place in the family. What if there’s more? What if the ninety days were never the point?

I think about the way he looked at me when he proposed. There was a manic look in his eyes that I don’t trust.

I get up and pace the room. My body feels restless. Every time I think about Roman’s proposal, about the idea of becoming his wife, a strange heat curls through my belly.

I hate that after everything Dmitri put me through, after three years of flinching every time a man raised his voice, I can still feel desire. Still want something I shouldn’t.

Except Roman isn’t Dmitri. That’s what makes this harder. Dmitri never looked at me the way Roman does, like I’m something precious. Dmitri never touched me the way Roman does either.

I stop pacing and press my hands to my face. My skin feels hot. My pulse is racing.

Three weeks. Roman gave me three weeks to decide.

Three weeks of living in this penthouse with him, of seeing him every day, of trying to ignore the pull between us. Worse, three weeks of pretending I don’t want him to touch me again.

These are going to be the longest three weeks of my life.

I change into workout clothes I find in the closet. Oksana must have packed them. I head for the small gym at the other end of the penthouse. Maybe if I exhaust myself physically, my mind will stop spinning.

The gym is at the end of the hall, a sleek space with floor-to-ceiling windows and state-of-the-art equipment. I start on the treadmill, setting a pace that’s faster than I usually run. My feet pound the belt and I try to focus on the rhythm, on anything except the man in the next room.