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He nods, still not meeting my eyes. We head to the showers in silence, and I can't shake the feeling that something's shifted between us. Gregory has always been solid and reliable, the one person I could count on without question. But today, for the first time, I wonder if there's something going on in his life that I'm missing.

That afternoon, I attend a gathering of several powerful Bratva leaders at a private club downtown. What should be a routine meeting to discuss territory agreements and supply chain issues quickly turns irritating as rumors of my engagement spread. The congratulations start before I've even sat down.

"Samuil, I heard the news." An older boss who controls the docks claps me on the shoulder. "Congratulations on the engagement. Princess Anastasia is quite a prize."

"Thank you." I keep my tone neutral, accepting a glass of vodka from one of the servers.

"Combining the Rostova and Galkin families." Another boss, younger and ambitious, leans forward with obvious interest. "That's going to shift the balance of power significantly."

"It's a marriage, not a merger," I say flatly.

But the speculation continues throughout the meeting. Some congratulate me with genuine warmth. Others watch with calculating eyes, clearly trying to figure out what this means for their own positions. More than one man seems nervous at the news, their smiles tight and their questions carefully worded.

The Rostova name commands respect across multiple territories. Their bloodline goes back centuries, and their connections run deep through both legitimate and criminal enterprises. Marrying into that family doesn't just tie me to Ivan. It ties me to an entire network of power and influence.

The meeting drags on for hours. Business gets discussed, agreements get made, but the undercurrent of tension never fully dissipates. Everyone is too busy trying to figure out how my engagement affects them to focus properly on the actual agenda.

By the time the gathering starts breaking up, I'm ready to leave. I stand, exchanging final pleasantries with the men nearest me, when an elderly boss pulls me aside.

He's in his seventies, one of the oldest active leaders still operating. His territory is small but strategically important, and he's survived longer than most by being smart and cautious. He gestures for me to step away from the others, his expression serious.

"Congratulations on your engagement," he says quietly, his voice rough with age.

"Thank you."

He studies me for a long moment, his pale eyes sharp despite his years. Then he leans closer, his voice dropping even lower.

"If I were you, I'd find out why the last three men who tried to marry a Rostova ended up dead."

11

ANA

Iwake Sunday morning with a mission. The library discovery from last night still burns in my mind. The cryptic warning about guardians and the centuries of tension between our families are good reasons to get out of the engagement with Samuil.

I spend the early hours in my bedroom, laptop open, pulling up every piece of family history I can access digitally. Old newspaper articles about business disputes between Rostova and Galkin enterprises. Court records showing legal battles over territory and contracts. Even social columns mentioning the families attending the same events but never photographed together.

For generations, the Rostovas and Galkins have circled each other like wolves, never quite attacking but never trusting, either. Every interaction has been transactional, cold, calculated. My father does business with Samuil now, but only because it's mutually beneficial. The relationship is strained at best.

By mid-morning, I've compiled enough evidence to make my case. I dress carefully in tailored black pants and a cream silk blouse, pulling my hair back into a sleek ponytail. I need my father to see that I'm serious and not just being difficult and spoiled.

I find him in his study, sitting behind the massive mahogany desk that's been in our family for three generations. He's reviewing documents, his reading glasses perched on his nose, and a cup of coffee sits cooling beside him. The morning light streams through the tall windows, illuminating the room's dark wood paneling and leather furniture.

"We need to talk." I close the door behind me.

He looks up, removes his glasses, and sets them down with deliberate care. "About?"

"The engagement." I move to stand in front of his desk, keeping my posture straight and confident. "I've been researching our family history with the Galkins."

"Have you." His tone is neutral, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes.

"The families have never trusted each other." I pull out my phone, showing him the timeline I've created. "Every generation has competed for influence, territory, and power. There have been legal battles, business disputes, even rumors of violence between the families in the early 1900s."

My father leans back in his chair, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "And?"

"And combining the bloodlines is a terrible idea based on history." I set my phone down on his desk. "You taught me to learn from the past. Every piece of evidence shows that Rostovas and Galkins don't mix. We're too different and competitive. This marriage goes against centuries of precedent."

"Precedent." He picks up his coffee, takes a slow sip. "You think I don't know my own family history?"