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“I’ve heard worse this week, actually. Everyone who comes to me has a sob story. Do you think it makes you special?”
“But this—this isn’t a sob story. It’s the truth. It’s… this is my life!”
“And I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am for that,” I drawl with nasty sarcasm. “But I don’t sit behind this desk because I walk around selflessly doling out what I’ve fought for to the less fortunate.”
“You said earlier that you built that library and… the food bank. You donate,” she sputters. “There’s a fundraiser for charity happening in the other goddamn room!”
“Do you think that’s a selfless act?” I laugh, amazed at her naivete. “Do you think I’m just some knight in shining armor? Do you think I don’t do it all because it benefits me? Of course not. That isn’t how the world works. I fund a library with my last name etched across the facade, and the police agree to mind their own goddamn business. I pay for a hospital and the city council approves my zoning permits. It’s just the cost of doing business. Money in, money out. A perfect balancing act.”
“Good and evil shouldn’t be a balancing act.”
“Good and evil.” I chuckle under my breath. “Such binary thinking. So simplistic. So boring. Everything is shades of gray, Emery. There is no such thing as good people or evil people. There are simply people. And some of us are willing to do whatever it takes to get what we want. I don’t think you’re one of them. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Based on the way she’s staring at me, slack-jawed, I don’t think she does.
I sigh. I’m done explaining myself. “I’m bored of this conversation. Helping you doesn’t benefit me, so I won’t be doing it. Please see yourself out.”
I take a step forward to wave her towards the door. I expect her to stand her ground or flee like a rat from rising water.
Instead, she does something that surprises me.
Emery steps forward, presses herself to me, and grips my arm. She speaks in a fierce whisper, quickly, as if she’s afraid she’ll lose her courage if she doesn’t get all the words out right away. “My father has money. Malcolm doesn’t just want to marry me for my looks; he wants my money. I’ll give you a cut if you—”
I snort and gesture around. My office is more subdued than the rest of the house, but it still drips with obvious wealth. “Do I look like I need your money?”
She clings to me with both hands, her fingers digging into my biceps. Any other person who tried this would already be on their knees in front of me, writhing in pain.
Now, there’s an idea. Emery on her knees…
“Please,” she begs, arching into me, affording me an even better view down the front of her dress. “I’ll give you whatever I can.”
“You don’t have anything I need. Money? I have it. Pussy? I have it. As far as I can tell, that means you’re out of things to offer.”
She flinches at my harsh words. Unfortunately for the little damsel, I’m out of fucks to give.
“Now, get out of my goddamn office.” I give her a little shove towards the door and turn my back on her.
But when I drop into the chair behind my desk and turn around, I see she hasn’t moved. Her eyes are brimming with tears. One leaks out and runs down her cheek like a diamond river.
She really is striking. Those curves, that hair. Made to be handled hard. Born to be broken.
But not tonight. Or at least, not by me.
I straighten a stack of papers, pick up a pen, and start to read. She still doesn’t budge from the middle of the room.
Perhaps she doesn’t understand that this is charity of its own. The fact that I haven’t dragged her out by the roots of her hair is as generous as any of the millions I donate.
But it seems Emery doesn’t know how to take a fucking hint.
She turns to face me. “Please, Adrik,” she whispers in a voice so tiny I can barely hear it from where she stands.
I set the pen down hard. A picture on the corner of my desk shakes. I reach out to steady it.
The frame is solid wood, stained dark. In the photograph, my father stands next to me. I’m only fourteen, but we’re already the same height.
It never felt that way at the time, though. He wasn’t only my father—he was my don. Larger than life itself.
I still can’t believe he’ll be gone soon. I can’t believe the time has actually come for me to take over the reins.
If I marry, that is.
The fury bubbling up in me eases at the sight of Yasha as a chubby toddler in my arms. He’s wiggling so much that his arms and legs are blurred in the photograph. He was always like that, bursting with energy and joy.
Until he wasn’t.
Until it was snatched away from him.
I understand wanting to protect the people you love. From cancer. From predators. From pain.
It’s the foundation of the Bratva. It’s what I’ve built my life around.
But I meant what I told Emery: I can’t afford to help every sob story who crawls into my office when there’s nothing in it for me.
For family? Yes.
For strangers, no matter how fuckable? No. Hell no.
I stand, emerge from behind the desk once more, and plant myself in front of her. She meets my gaze, then raises one trembling hand and rests it on my elbow.
“Please, Adrik,” she whispers again.
That pitiful little voice makes my cock throb painfully. It’s getting harder to ignore the things happening inside of me: the hunger and the commitment to my duty alike.
The facts are simple. She’s single. She’s beautiful. And she’ll do anything for my help.
Perhaps we can find an accord.
“I’ve told you that there is a balance,” I say suddenly. I turn her hand in mine and run my thumb along the soft inside of her wrist. “I don’t hand out favors without getting something in return.”
“Name your price,” she gasps. “I told you I have money, and—”
“Pay attention, kiska. I don’t need money.” I keep her wrist cradled in one hand and use the other to stroke the curve of her throat. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing here.
Selling her soul to the devil. Offering it up like a lamb at the slaughter.
She doesn’t know how easily she’ll break when the time comes.
The air between us is tense. Her chest heaves with every breath. I can practically see her heart beating in her throat, pounding with fear and anticipation.
But I’m perfectly at ease.
This is what I was born to do.
“Then what do you need?” she asks, her voice barely more than a hoarse croak. Her wide green eyes are locked on me.
I grin wickedly. “I need a wife.”
