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Eden glares at me as she loads up another spoonful. “Dominika made this for me. It’s overnight oats with chia seeds. She says I’ll need my strength if I’m going to marry you.”
My gaze falls to the engagement ring I gave her, ridiculously large on her hand, and my gut tugs at my chest. Again, I meet her harsh gaze as she pops another spoonful of that rude mess in her mouth.
Her lips purse in disapproval. “You don’t have to look so unhappy about it,” she replies coldly. “It’s not my choice to marry you.”
“I explained it, Eden. It’s to keep you safe.”
“My dad can keep me safe,” she scoffs tauntingly. “He’s done it all my life.”
I narrow my gaze on her, and her eyes widen in alarm. “How many times had you left home before the night I met you?”
Eden shifts in her seat. “I had snuck out before.”
I scoff coldly. “Running off to a friend’s house around the corner? If the Bratva had wanted you, we could have gotten you at any time.”
Her spoon hits the table with a loud clap. “Why don’t you go out and play crime boss with your little friends?” The office door opens, and Pavel walks in as if on cue. Eden smiles in triumph while folding her arms over her chest. “There’s one now. Go play,Kolya.”
My expression hardens at her disrespect in front of others, but I choose to ignore it as Pavel eyes me. He’s not going to get an explanation as to what she meant by that sly comment. But later, when I’m alone with Eden, I will lay down the rules. It’s mychoice to have meals together to teach her a lesson. We’ll have them in the office on the same table I fucked her on. The thought tightens my trousers, and I can’t stand up yet.
I bark at Pavel. “Wait for me downstairs.”
Pavel nods as he closes the button on his suit. It’s the only dark suit he owns, and he only wears it when we have business to conduct with outsiders. My gaze latches on a smug Eden; she knows too much about what I do.
“Remember who your father is,” I tell her. “Even if Zakhar Budanov were not a traitor, he would want his daughter to be an obedient wife. Like her mother.”
I don’t flinch as the spoon flies past my face, and her face contorts into a look of pure seething hatred. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother unless you plan to tell me who killed her.”
I gaze into Eden’s eyes, seeing the depths of how much she hurts in the pain etched all over her face. I catch my breath. I know those depths because I’ve wandered through that same abyss before.
For a brief moment, I regret going too far, but I won’t appease her. Eden needs to be reminded of what she is.
I square my shoulders and fix my gaze until there is no feeling behind it except contempt. “Listen to Dominika, Eden. You will need your strength for what is to come.”
We headto a sprawling concrete batching plant in a well-kept working-class neighborhood upstate. Long shadows from thetrees lining the street crisscross the road as we drive toward the entrance. The air is thick with the choking scent of dust, and the rhythmic hum of machinery echoes through the industrial yard.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires of our SUV as a rusted chain-link gate creaks open. We pass by rows of towering cement silos, their surfaces marred with gray paint streaks covering graffiti. Standing by their SUV near the low brick office building, I spot Gunsyn and Alexander speaking to a third man.
Immediately, I recognize Dmitri Chuikov.
A puff of hot breath sails out of my nostrils. “Anton, driver’s seat. Pavel, with me.”
Annoyed that the meeting has started without me, I ignore Gunsyn and Alexander, extend my hand toward Dmitri, and grip his hand. “I hoped to see you at my wedding, not here.”
Dmitri smiles. “Dirty business always has bad timing. “
He tilts his head toward the office door, and I enter first. The air is stuffy, filled with the faint scent of machine oil and cleaner. I scan the unoccupied room and eye the cracked leather armchair behind a steel desk.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
“No, just shaken up,” replies Dmitri. He passes his hand over his forehead, revealing the scar he’s proud of. “His purpose was to live and tell us who jumped him.”
I wonder if it’s payback for Bianchi. “And who was it exactly?” I ask.
“May I?” Gunsyn interrupts and looks toward Dmitri, and Dmitri nods his consent with an amused expression. “Zakhar ledthe Lanzzare Mafia to our contact,” he tells me. “And obviously, the attack has sent a message to the other small-time criminals who deal with the Bratvas.”
Dmitri shakes his head. “This is your own mess to clean up, Starukhin.” He stares me in the eye. “Not ours.” Dmitri bows slightly as he moves to the door. “The Barinov Bratva will not interfere. But I remind you to keep your little family squabble contained.”
Silence dominates the stuffy room as concrete trucks barrel past the double-hung windows, heading toward the long, towering chutes. We watch from the window as the truck is lined up beneath the chute before the concrete is poured. The large barrel spins methodically, taking a little sting out of my building anger.
