"You want me to propose to her?" Even Zoya will see that as moving too quickly. I told her I love her, but proof is in the pudding, and I'm serving yogurt right now.
"I want you to make her believe you're going to propose. Talk about the future, about commitment, about making it official. Make it clear that you're serious about her." He leans back, sets his coffee down, and smirks at me with a nasty expression in his eyes that is haunting.
"And then?"
"Then you make it public. Let word get around that Zoya Mirova is about to become Zoya Vetrova. Let people know she's under our protection, that she's going to be family." His fingers drum on the table and I tense.
I understand the strategy immediately. It's brutal and effective. "You think her brother will hear about it."
"I think her brother has sources in the city, people who keep him informed about what's happening to her. And I think he'll lose his mind when he finds out his sister is about to marry into the organization that's hunting him—his enemy." Grisha's eyes narrow. "Don't you think?"
"He'll come back to stop it." I lift an eyebrow and look away. It's getting harder to push down thoughts of her to begin with. Escalating things to the level of talking about a future with her is going to fuck me up in ways I'll never be able to talk about. Why the fuck does this woman have such a spell cast over me?
"He'll have to. No way he lets her take the Vetrov name, not when he knows what we'll do to her if we find him."
The logic is sound. Damir won't be able to stay hidden if he believes his sister is in immediate danger. He'll surface to protect her, and when he does, we'll be ready. Ready to make him pay for every problem he's caused, every life he's cost us, every day we've had to spend cleaning up his mess.
But the plan also means lying to Zoya on a deeper level, making promises I have no intention of keeping. It means using her feelings against her, turning her trust into a weapon. I have to remind myself that this is my job, that this is what my brother is expecting, but it's going against the grain inside my thoughts as I picture her crying face when she's pleading with me not to harm him, not to harm her.
"What if she says no?" I ask, deflecting. He can't know what's going on inside my head or they'll just haul her in and torture her instead of letting me play the slow game.
"She won't. Not if you play it right. She's already halfway there—lonely, attracted, starting to believe in the fantasy you're selling her. Give her a reason to say yes."
"Such as?" There has to be another way, but if Grisha is here pushing this idea, I might not have a way out of it.
"Tell her you love her. Tell her you can't imagine your life without her. Tell her you want to protect her from whatever dangers she's facing." Grisha pauses. "From what I heard on those recordings, she's scared of something. Use that fear."
I know he's right. There was something in her voice last night, a tension that went beyond normal caution. She's afraid of something, and that fear is making her more vulnerable to offers of protection.
"How public do you want this to be?" I ask, sighing. I have no choice but to do what he's asking. This is going to end badly, and she's going to end up dead because of it, and I'm not sure how I'll feel when that happens. But worse things have happened to me and I've survived. I can do this.
"Public enough that word gets back to her brother. Put the engagement announcement in the papers. Throw a party. Make sure everyone knows that Zoya Mirova is about to become untouchable."
"And when her brother surfaces?"
"We take him down. No negotiations, no second chances. He's caused enough problems already."
The plan is elegant in its simplicity. Use the sister to draw out the brother, then eliminate the threat permanently. It's exactly the kind of strategy that's made the Vetrov family successful for three generations.
"There's one problem," I say.
"What's that?"
"She's not stupid. If I push too hard, too fast, she'll know something's wrong. She already suspects I'm not telling her everything."
"So don't push. Make her come to you. Create a situation where marriage feels like her idea, or at least like the natural next step."
"How?"
Grisha stands and walks to the window, looking out at the city below. "Be obsessed with her. Give her the world. It's the role of a lifetime, Maksim. Play it with the intent on winning an Oscar." He turns to narrow his eyes on me and says, "And make your love for her seem more real than the love she has for her family. It's the only way."
"Give me a week to lay the groundwork," I say. "Then we'll see how much Zoya Mirova is willing to sacrifice for love."
Grisha nods and heads for the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're good at this. She really believes you care about her."
After he leaves, I sit alone in the surveillance office, surrounded by the tools of my trade. I pull up the recording from last night one more time, but I don't listen to the strategic parts. Instead, I find the moment when she laughed at something I said—a genuine laugh, surprised and delighted.
I replay it three times before I catch myself and shut off the audio.
