Page 63 of Marrying the Savage

“You think I made a mistake,” I say.

“I think you made several yesterday. Some useful. Some satisfying. Some potentially catastrophic.”

“Specificity, Mikhail.”

“You entered a church full of enemies.”

“Useful.”

“You took another man’s bride.”

“Satisfying.”

“You married Pavel Antonov’s daughter in front of Sergei and Sokolov.”

“Both.”

“You shot Dmitri.”

“Necessary.”

Mikhail gives me a look.

I meet it calmly. “He called her a bitch,” I say.

“So you shot him.”

“Yes.”

“In a church.”

“I aimed low.”

“That is not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. If I wanted him dead, he would be dead.”

Mikhail exhales through his nose. It’s the closest he comes to despair. “And then,” he continues, “after bringing her here, you gave her your father’s ring.”

I say nothing.

For the first time, he looks less irritated and more concerned. “You know what they will say.”

“The men?”

“Everyone.”

“They always say something.”

“They will say she is not just leverage.”

I let the silence answer him.

Mikhail’s eyes narrow slightly. Then he understands. His expression changes, not dramatically, but enough. “Damir.”

There is warning in my name. I dislike hearing it.

I dislike more that he has earned the right to use it.