Arranged By The Bravta King

19

Mikhail

Maria and I sit across from one another in the dining room, surrounded by glass and mirrored walls as dinner is served.

Every item of furniture in this room is translucent or made of glass. The sensation of being suspended in nothingness makes me feel alive. Others find it agoraphobic, but I like feeling untethered among the universe, as dramatic as it may sound. It gives me a sense of freedom away from my responsibilities. She doesn't seem to notice the room except every once in a while. She looks up at the window.

I glance at Maria, dressed in one of the household staff's dresses. Somehow, it suits her—almost like a goddess has fallen to Earth and taken on the guise of a mortal. She seems unconcerned with her surroundings as she cuts into her chicken to take a bite. I sip my wine as I watch her, but she refuses to look at me.

To be fair, she has other things to worry about.

Tension makes me want to control it, and by extension, her. She glances at me and then back at her plate. But there is no mistaking the look she gave me. It was a look of contempt, seconds away from hate.

I stare at her auburn hair, the perfect shade of Titian red, and her long lashes that conceal her hazel eyes. Tonight, she looks more like a Pre-Raphaelite beauty avoiding the artist's gaze. It's good that she hates me. I want Maria to hate me. Hate will keep me from growing attached to her. Hate will keep the distance I need between me and her.

Hate will make it easier for me to remain in control.

I smile kindly. "Are you pleased with your dinner?"

Maria glares at me as she places her silver beside her plate. "I'm not hungry. Why are you after my father? What has he done to you?"

I lean forward, holding my wineglass loosely in one hand. And though a whole table separates us, Maria flinches as if I'm in her face.

"I'm the one who asks the questions here."

"You have to be kidding me!" She scoffs with disgust. "You abducted me, and then you dropped me off a roof."

"There were nets." I raise a finger to halt her words. "And you were the one who said you'd rather die."

Her expression shifts to concern, and she stares at me wide-eyed. "Are you a criminal?"

Her unexpected directness knocks me off balance. "You aren't the one asking questions, I am."

"When you took me," she says, ignoring what I've said. "You said it was for my protection. From whom? Those three men?"

I narrow my gaze and nod. "You have no idea what those men are capable of."

"Is that a threat?" she asks, matching my hard gaze and I feel that surge of attraction rushing through my blood again.

I stand from my side of the table and walk over until I'm looking down at her. Those innocent yet defiant hazel eyes turn toward me, and all I can think is how I can bend her to my will.

"What is your father's name?" I ask coldly. "His real name."

"His name is Michael Rostova," she replies hotly. "He's a good, honest man. Not a criminal like you."

"Do you really believe that?" I ask coldly. "I need you to think carefully now, Maria. Has your father never done anything so out of character from the man you know?"

Maria is quiet as she thinks it over. She stares out the window as if in a daze. I wonder if she is thinking or if she is just looking into the night.

"Just once," she finally says, sincerity in her voice. "On the night I ran away from home, he got into a fight. With a boy who got too close to me."

"Oh?" My ears perk up at this revelation. "And what did he do to this poor boy?"

"He picked him up by the neck and threw him into the bushes."

I fight to keep myself from sighing in frustration. Any good, protective father will do that. This isn't proof at all.

"I saw the way you reacted to being locked in." I change tactics. "You seemed more terrified of that than death itself. Why?"

"Because my dad doesn't allow me to go anywhere or do anything," she scoffs. "He has made me come straight home from school ever since I was a kid. And he'll lock me away if I try to sneak out."

"Like a princess in a tower," I say quietly. Now we're getting somewhere. Bratva fathers spoil their daughters and lock away the pretty ones from the world. "Why?"

"He keeps telling me it's for my own protection," she replies. "But never explains. Just like you are doing right now. I guess he's right. One rash decision later, and I ended up here. Forced to marry you."

I frown.

"I need you to listen carefully," my voice is low and urgent. "Those men are ruthless and won't hesitate to hurt you or your father."

"Is that supposed to make you seem better?" she asks.

"Let's just say this is in your best interest." I take a breath to unclench my jaw. "Refuse if you want. But know that if you do, I will not lift a finger to protect you."

She looks away from my gaze and swallows hard. Her lips part and then shut tight. Despite the arguments running through Maria's mind, she looks like she's about to waver.

"That simple?" her voice trembles.

I lift my glass and swirl the wine inside. "That simple."

Her eyes widen as Maria does the math. Climbing onto the roof terrace was a stupid thing to do, but I admire that she did it. But more than her courage, I admire the fact that Maria thinks. I hope she thinks of the right answer now.

"Then I want some assurances," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Of course." I set my wine down, noting that she has offered no answer but only more demands.

Whether consciously or not, Maria seems to know how to play the game. Perhaps her innocence is all an act.

"Promise me that you'll let me go once this is over." Her voice trembles, but she holds my gaze. "And my dad. He's not a bad man. Don't hurt him."

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. "I promise that when this is over, you'll never see me again. And this will be nothing more than a bad dream."

I deliberately leave out what I will do to her father. If my brigadiers are right and he is indeed a traitor, then my mercy to Maria will not extend to him.

Maria closes her eyes, biting her lower lip again, and nods. "Fine. I'll marry you."

"Good."

I reach into my pocket, pull out a diamond engagement ring, and slip it on her finger. I do my best to ignore the softness of her hands. She gazes at the ring on her finger. Her expression is not one of greed but of curiosity. Another woman would've marveled at it with a greedy look in her eyes.

Not Maria.

She sits there looking at it as she falls deep into thought, and I turn to walk away.

That's when she breaks the silence between us.

"Wait," she says, and I turn around.

Her eyes are burning with defiance again, and I wonder what she's about to say.