Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“This will be an alliance and give us proximity,” he replied. “It gives us access and time to decide how far this goes before it becomes something neither side can contain.”
No peace or resolution. Control. That’s what this was always about.
“Who?” I asked quietly.
He studied me for a moment before answering. “Alexei Drakovich.”
The name settled into place, unfamiliar but already carrying weight. I let out a slow breath as everything aligned into something clear and unavoidable.
This was about power, control, and making sure that whatever came next happened on our terms and didn’t leave us exposed.
I lifted my chin slightly, meeting his gaze with controlled grace, because if this was where I was being placed, then I wasn’t going to step into it blindly.
“When?” I asked.
“Soon,” he said.
There was no hesitation in that, either, no room for delay because there never was when something like this started moving.
I nodded once. I understood exactly what was expected of me.
“Then tell me what you need from me,” I said, my voice steady and my focus clear. Because if I was going to be part of this, I would be more than just a piece moved into place.
I would be prepared.
Chapter Four
Alexei
The Rossi estate looked exactly how I expected it to, expansive and beautiful, and built to impress. But it was more than that. It was a fucking fortress with security layered into every detail, cameras embedded into the structure, guards placed with deliberate precision, and nothing about it left to chance.
The wrought-iron gates stretched high and wide, intricate without being delicate. The long drive curved through perfectly maintained grounds that led to the massive home.
Power lived here, quiet on the surface, absolute underneath, and it didn’t take more than a glance to know that everything beyond those walls operated on the same principles as what we controlled.
The car slowed as we approached the front, and my focus shifted away from the exterior before we even stopped because none of that mattered once we stepped inside. This wasn’t a courtesy visit, and it wasn’t diplomacy in any sense that relied on trust or good faith. This was positioning, a calculated move made on both sides, and every second from this point forward would determine whether it held or collapsed into something far harder to contain.
My father sat in the back seat beside me. He’d been silent the entire trip, and I knew he was playing out what would happen once we were inside.
“You understand what this is,” he said, his voice low, measured, speaking of the arrangement between our families and what it was meant to control.
“I do.” We’d already covered everything. There was nothing left to say that would change this union—this deal.
The car came to a stop, and I stepped out the moment the door opened, my attention lifting toward the entrance just as the front doors shifted inward. They were already waiting, Rossi men placed with intent just inside the doorway. They were the kind of soldiers trained to look like nothing more than staff until you paid attention long enough to see the outline of weapons underneath their jackets and their straight-backed, disciplined stance, along with the way they watched everything and missed nothing.
“Mikhail. Alexei,” one of them greeted, his tone polite but stripped of anything that could be mistaken for warmth.
My father acknowledged him with the same restraint, and we moved inside without slowing. The shift was immediate as the doors closed behind us and the outside world was cut off completely.
The interior matched the exterior in all the ways that mattered. Marble floors stretching beneath high ceilings and old-world detail layered into something that spoke of legacy rather than display.
We were led into a sitting room, though nothing about it felt relaxed, not with the number of men already present. Their attention flicked toward us in quiet assessment before settling again like they’d already decided what we were worth.
Then he entered. Francesco Rossi, head of the Rossi Italian Family. His expression was unreadable as he watched us.
There was nothing soft that came from that man, but then again, I knew the same would be said about me and my family. It’s how it had to be.
“Mikhail,” he said, extending his hand.
My father took it, the exchange brief before he stepped back. “We won’t drag this out,” he said, his voice low and even.
Rossi gave a short nod. “No point in it.”
That was all that needed to be said. This had already been decided before we walked in, and neither of them were here to circle it or pretend it was anything else.
“The wedding will happen soon,” my father continued, like it was just another part of the plan. “We will lock in an agreement and move forward.”
Rossi didn’t hesitate. “Agreed. The sooner it’s done, the better.”
There was no pushback, no pause, no negotiation, nothing that suggested this was up for debate. It was already in motion. This meeting was just to make my marriage official.