Page 8 of His Stolen Bride

Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t give him that.

“I can buy time,” I whisper.

My mother’s voice breaks. “Then buy it. Buy it and stay alive.”

I pull her back into my arms, holding her tight. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she whispers. “I should’ve seen more. I thought we were surviving. I didn’t know we were being lined up.”

I close my eyes hard, breathing through the panic.

A guard clears his throat.

Mikhail’s voice stays calm. “Time.”

My mother pulls away fast, wiping her face. She forces her shoulders back, then looks at me like she wants to pour strength into my bones through her eyes. “Be smart,” she whispers. “Don’t fight in ways that get you killed.”

I nod once before they separate us and lead her away. Moments later, Mikhail enters and stands where she did. “You got what you asked for,” he says.

I glare at him. “You enjoy this.”

His eyes flick to mine, and this time, the threat in them isn’t imaginary. He looks dangerous. “Enjoy a situation you’ve put me in by getting my brother killed? I assure you, you’re wrong.”

My feet go cold at how silken and soft his voice becomes when it dips, not unlike a snake’s before a strike. “Then why are you doing it?”

“Because your father created a mess,” he replies, “and he died before he could clean it.”

My voice shakes, anger and fear tangled together. “I’m not his mess.”

Mikhail’s tone stays even. “No. You’re mine.”

There’s nothing that I can say to counter this.

He sighs. “What will it be, Alina?”

My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m sure he can hear it as I look deep into his eyes, those cold, piercing specks of light that seem to cut right through me. I catch my own reflection there, small and defiant. My stomach twists with a wild, reckless flutter—not just fear, but a thrill that makes my breath catch. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall could destroy me but feeling the pull to jump, anyway.

If the way out is through, I’ll have to take it. “I’ll marry you.”

Inside, my mind is already moving, counting time, building exits.

3

MIKHAIL

Alina’s a pretty young thing, and it makes me angrier than it should because pretty doesn’t belong in my driveway with her hands raw and her eyes sharp. It’s a shame her stubbornness got Sergei killed, and it’s a bigger shame that I can’t decide whether I hate her more for it or for the way my body reacts.

Sergei’s death puts a mark on the Morin family, and Vienna notices marks like it notices money.

The Morins have been in this city long enough that people forget we ever arrived, but we did, and we didn’t come politely. My grandfather ran guns and protection when the borders shifted and the police were hungry, and my father turned that into contracts, shipping, and a banking web that keeps men quiet because men like profit more than they like truth. We don’t scream to be feared. We don’t need to. We move money and we move men, and if someone wants a deal that can’t go on paper, they come to us and they pay in ways they don’t brag about later.

Sergei didn’t have my patience, and he didn’t have my discipline, but he still wore our name.

Now he’s dead on a café floor, and the city will decide what that means unless I decide first.

I stand at the top of the steps while Enzo keeps a grip on Alina’s elbow, and she stands there with her chin lifted like she’s daring me to speak with her. I like that, I think to myself dryly. And that ass… those breasts… the full lips… I’d have a massive hard-on for her if she weren’t responsible for my little brother’s death.

“Orders, Boss?” asks Enzo, pressing his lips into a thin line after he finishes the question. He doesn’t approve, and as my oldest soldier, he has his rights. Whether I agree or not is a whole other matter. For now, Alina interests me.