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The air whooshes from my lungs, my mind spinning in a million different directions.Marry!He wants me to marry Daniil!? When my brain finally catches up with my mouth, I slam my hands down on the armrests. “No. Just no. That makes no sense. He wants me to marry Jorge, not you.”
He scoffs. “The feeling is mutual,printsessa.” He takes a slow sip of his water, and when he puts his glass down on the tray, his eyes flick towards me, filled with contempt. “Apparently I compromised your honor, and it would be a great insult to your family if I don’t put a ring on your finger.” He cracks his neck. “Maybe your parents can intervene.”
“My parents are dead.” He flinches, but when he doesn’t respond, I fill in the gaps. “I was sixteen. It was a car accident that took my younger sister as well. My uncle has been my legal guardian ever since,” I add, the words coating my tongue in bitterness.
His eyes soften, and he gives me a look of pity that causes my stomach to clench. I fucking hate that look. But he surprises me by saying, “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve lost both of my parents as well.”
A normal person would say, “I’m sorry, too,” but the last thing we need right now is a pity party, and I don’t want to distract him from the point of this conversation. The point being—I can’t marry him.
So, I take a deep steadying breath, and attempt to think rationally. “I’ll talk to my uncle when we get to Miami. He thinks something happened between us, which obviously it did not.” I shake my head, my words meant to soothe myself as much as Daniil. “He much prefers me to be with Jorge, he just needs to calm down and listen to logic. It’ll be fine.”
I hear how frantic I sound. Desperate. Because this will compromise everything, and I can’t allow that. I’m so close, just a few more months, I can taste it.
“Good luck,” he spits, “because we’re supposed to get married tomorrow.”
The water tumbles from my hand, soaking my pant leg, but I don’t bother cleaning myself up. “No, no, that won’t work.”
Tension lines his shoulders as he eyes me carefully, studying me as if I’m a puzzle to be solved.
“I’m not saying this is ideal for either of us, but why in the world would you want to marry Jorge? I may not be perfect, but I’m gonna guess I’m a hell of a lot better than that scum.”
“Maybe I love him,” I shoot back.
His face darkens, and his eyes lock with mine. “No fucking way. I saw the hatred burning in your eyes. You don’t love him. You don’t even like him. Your uncle wanted you to become his wife, and now… guess what. Plans have changed. Never forget, printsessa, we’re both pawns in this underworld, and we just got played.”
“He’s never hit me before,” I blurt. God, as if that makes it any better. I know it doesn’t, I know Jorge is an animal, and I’ll make sure he gets his. But right now, I need Daniil to be on my side. To fight against this marriage.
The sneer on his face turns ugly. “Like that makes it better? There’s always a first time but never a last. Men who do shit like that don’t change.”
“You don’t understand—” I start to clarify, then stop. Why bother? I can’t explain myself to Daniil. He can’t know the truth—it’s better if he believes I hate him and love another. That I want nothing to do with him. Maybe he’ll even back out of this arrangement when he realizes what a total brat I can be. Because the one thing I am sure of, I didn't suffer through years under my uncle’s roof just to walk away now. Not when we’re so close. Not when I almost have what I need to avenge my family’s death. So I use my words as a weapon. “You think you're so much better than Jorge?” I scoff and shake my head. “Despite your silky words and unchecked hero complex, you’re just another bloodthirsty mobster. Don’t fool yourself, Daniil. Marrying Jorge or you… there’s no difference in my mind.”
His eyes flash with a viciousness that he’s kept under wraps so far. But he doesn’t make a move, doesn’t move a muscle. He merely runs his tongue over his teeth and flicks his wary gaze out the window, dismissing me as if I hadn’t even spoken.
CHAPTERSIX
DANIIL
Emilio’s compoundis a gorgeous sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion in an exclusive gated community outside of Miami Beach. Secluded and well protected. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Bianca and I exit the vehicle to stand on the stone driveway. Everything sparkles in the Florida sun—the marble lions flanking the stairs to the entrance, the black Range Rovers lined in the circular driveway, even the sunglasses perched on the noses of the mini army standing guard in the front of the home. Palm trees rustle in the warm breeze as a hulking guard with a shaved head approaches.
“Bianca,” he says with a curt nod that she returns. And then to me he says, “Mr. Kozlov, I’ll need to confiscate any weapons you have on you.”
Is he fucking serious?
My hand instinctively flexes over the Glock tucked into my waistband. Bianca’s eyes track the movement of my hand, and she raises an eyebrow at me. “My uncle is paranoid. It’s a hard-and-fast rule for anyone entering his private residence.”
I’d like to tell cue ball here to fuck off, I don’t give up my piece ever—especially when I don’t trust the players involved—but if I refuse, it won’t be taken kindly. I might as well declare war against the Zegas, and I’m not quite ready to take up that mantle.
“I’d better get it back,” I mutter, handing over the pistol.
Like most, I’ve never met Morales. With an ongoing war with the Mexican cartels, he lays low, running his empire from afar while Días attends to all in-person business. But his lack of face-to-face time hasn’t affected business. He’s obviously doing well, very well, judging by this prime piece of real estate.
A moment later, a stern-looking older woman, who introduces herself as Maria, the housekeeper, ushers us inside through a wide set of steel doors.
“Your uncle will meet with you shortly. Would you like to freshen up first?” Assessing eyes travel the length of Bianca, taking in Kira’s yoga pants and T-shirt.
“Yes, I’ll go upstairs to change.” Then to me she says, “Would you mind waiting in the library while I get cleaned up? I won’t be long.”
I nod and allow Maria to escort me to the library off the main foyer. Settling into one of the velvet armchairs in the corner, I take my phone from my pocket and text my brothers to ask when they are arriving. This whole situation has me on edge, and I’d feel better knowing my people are around.
