"She has a good point." Maksim uncrosses his legs and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "A three-week engagement looks panicked. And I don't panic." He turns to me and his eyes move over my face cautiously. He might actually believe me, and he may fear my complete refusal. It's a wise choice on his part to side with me. Losing this alliance won't cost him anything, but he stands to lose if the Radin organization prospers too. "We can begin aligning the business operations now, before the ceremony. The paperwork can be done immediately, and by the time we walk down the aisle, the integration will already be underway."
He nods at my father while resting a hand on my knee. "Give her what she wants, Sergei. It costs us nothing and it buys us goodwill... Besides," he says in a saccharine-sweet tone, "my beautiful bride deserves the wedding of her dreams."
My father doesn't look happy, but Maksim has spoken, and in this room, Maksim's word carries more weight than his does. He glowers at me but he knows keeping Maksim happy and interested in this benefits them both. It isn't easy to form an alliance between two families in the same enterprise. Both of them are taking risks, but Maksim's risk is greater—opening his routes to us could cripple him if he's not careful. But if he's willing to wait and move forward, I'm willing to follow through.
"Fine," my father says. "Six months."
Maksim turns back to me and smiles that handsome, empty smile. "A summer wedding, Marina. I'll make sure it's everything you want." He brings my hand to his lips and presses hollow kisses there. He's a sweet talker who achieved nothing in this negotiation, but the alliance is still on the table and everyone is at least calm for now.
I take my hand away and stand, smiling at him the same plastic smile he offers me. "Thank you," I tell him, nodding and bowing at the shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am exhausted and famished. I want to get a snack and go to bed." Maksim stands too, moving closer as if he might kiss me. I turn my cheek like always and avoid the press of his lips, but this time, the kiss doesn't feel so cold and distant.
This time, it feels like a serpent has slithered its way into my blouse and wrapped its long, slimy body around my chest to squeeze. Maksim backs away, letting me go, and I walk out of the room carrying a heaviness that threatens to suffocate me.
It's one thing to talk about an arranged marriage in some distant future as if it's someone else living a different life. But the cold reality is, it's not someone else. It's me, and I'm going to beforced to go through with this. When we made these plans years ago, I balked immediately, then I warmed to the idea.
As I walk up the hall, I think of all the family dinners where Maksim came and spent time with us. I used to think he was so handsome, but his good looks fade the more I get to know him. And the fondness he had for me seemed to diminish too, right about the time I told him I wasn’t interested in having sex with him until we were properly wed.
But now, after the thrill I had tonight flirting with that handsome man, I don't know that I'll ever feel any zing of arousal or attraction to Maksim at all. I'm pretty sure the idea of being forced into something has ruined the magic of it and my wandering heart wants an adventure before I enter the shackles of marriage.
I just hope Stepan really is as interested in me as he seemed to be tonight. He has my number.
I hope he uses it.
4
STEPAN
Timur's kitchen table is covered in printed reports from the past few fight nights and the incidents that took place. He's got a mug of coffee next to his elbow that he hasn't touched in an hour and a pen tucked behind his ear. The annoyed expression on his face tells me he'd rather be doing this on his computer, but when Kazimir requested old school paper, it was for a reason.
"Thursday's fight had three attempted entry breaches," he says, running a finger down the paper in front of him. "The south door guys weren't checking hands for stamps. The dock, I don't even know what happened. Somebody propped it open with a crate and nobody noticed for forty minutes."
"Who was on the dock?"
"Oh, I don't know. Kazimir's running fighters in a loop, which limits their ability for fight cards, but it really is smart." I heard all about this when Kaz told Roman the other night, but my mind spent exactly three seconds on it before I started noticingour guest. Marina is too distracting. I should've been paying better attention.
"Hmm," I muse, "guess I need to up my game on recruitment." I scratch my chin as Timur types something without looking up. He's been running tech and logistics for the family since his early twenties, and he's really good at it—but not so much when it's all on paper and not in digital format.
"The real problem," Timur says, leaning back in his chair, "is that we're running fight security and delivery logistics with the same crews. That worked six months ago when we were smaller, but Roman's scaling up the gun operation and I don't have enough bodies to cover both." He purses his lips and nods a few times and I know where this is going.
Since the rebuild, everything's been stretched thin. The Radin merger gave us some numbers, but most of those guys are still bickering amongst themselves at times. They need fighters on security for their gun shipments, but we need them watching guests and bettors. It's a sticky situation and drafting help for illegal operations is tricky. You can't just accept everyone who wants to join. They all have to be vetted, which is a slow process.
"What do you need?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. I have a feeling my job's about to get way busier, and all while I'm trying to navigate destroying this alliance.
"I need you to build me two separate teams—one for the ring, one for the runs. We need two dedicated crews that don't overlap. Roman has pretty much separated himself from Kazimir's realm, though he still heads everything up, but we can't have either side weak. You know?"
"How many for each?" I'm taking mental notes. If Ro has three groups who operate simultaneously at times, we need at least nine men for him. Three for each group, but with fighters on the cards and men for the crowds, doors, and locker rooms, Kaz may need twice that many.
"Fifteen minimum for the fights. Ten for the deliveries, once Roman's routes are fully operational. And I need team leads for both—guys who can make decisions on the ground without calling me or Roman every time someone looks at them funny."
I pull one of the reports toward me and flip through it. Timur's already drafted a preliminary structure—names, roles, shift rotations. I have to admit he's thorough.
"I'll have a list for you by the end of the week," I say. It's gonna challenge me, but it'll be a chance to prove I'm the right person for this job. Roman talks about sending me to Moscow in six or eight months to find more fighters there, and if this pans out well, it'll be perfect timing to lay low after pissing off the Orlovs and Belovas.
"Good. Because Roman wants the next gun run to happen within the month and I'm not sending product through this city with a crew that can't keep a loading dock secure."
He turns back to his files, scowling, and I let my mind wander for a moment. Finding good men to join the team who can fight won't be impossible if I sift through former fighters who didn't make the cut for fights. I can recycle men we looked at and see if they meet the criteria for security. There may be some overlap there.
But every time I try to conjure up some names in my thoughts, the only one that sticks is Marina Belova and that alluring smile of hers.