Everyone understood what that symbol meant.
The Yezhovs.
This was not dinner like I thought. It was a wake masquerading as haute cuisine.
God, I’d hoped I would never have a reason to share a space with the Yezhovs since Yulia’s funeral. But it looked like I’d been wrong because my father never patronized their business outside of when he had a meeting with them.
I reluctantly got out of the car when the driver pulled up by the entrance of the restaurant. I did a sign of the cross, holding my breath and praying I make it through the night.
We walked inside the restaurant, and my blood chilled at the silence that swallowed us. The kind of silence that did not seem peaceful—it seemed calculated. Fatal.
The interior of the restaurant was basically velvet and black stone walls. Low lighting. Bodyguards lined every corner of the place, and my father’s bodyguards trailed behind and in front of us as if war was expected to break out at any second.
I could throw up any second from the anxiety reeling inside me.
“Private dining,” my father murmured to the waitress who came to receive us. “Under Yezhov.”
The woman nodded and led us down a long corridor, her heels silent on the plush carpet.
Each step made my chest tighter. I had no freaking idea of what this was, but I suspected I was not going to like it.
My father’s face was frozen. My stepmother’s was white and knitted up in worry.
They exchanged a glance, but neither of them said a word. The silence was killing me.
The private room was large, with dark wood paneling on the walls, and only a long table set for a handful of people. The lights were low. The mood was suffocating.
Everyone else knew why we were here except me, and I felt like prey being led to its cage.
I kept my chin up as I settled down on one of the chairs around the table. A part of me wondered if Yulia’s death had caused a fallout between the Carters and the Yezhovs, but that couldn’t be all there was to it.
My father wouldn’t bring me along to a business meeting unless there was something else.
I was still trying to make sense of what was happening when Matvey Yezhov stepped into the room.
He was tall. Well dressed. Black-suited like a ghost given flesh. His expression was cold, contained, completely devoid of emotion. He didn’t even look at me. Just pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down.
And standing behind him—
My breath caught in my throat.
Rurik.
Yulia’s husband. Her murderer in Bratva clothes. He sat across from me like he hadn’t just put my sister in the ground two weeks ago. His presence made my blood boil. And I hated how he dominated the room even without saying a word.
No one spoke until my dad cleared his throat and turned to me. “Zoe, I want you to know this is nothing personal. It’s just politics. A formality for the good of the families.”
I remained quiet as my brain tried to process what he was saying. It didn’t make any sense.
“I don’t understand you, Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is happening? What do you mean?”
My father remained quiet for a moment while I burned with anticipation. A part of me must’ve caught on to what he was trying to say, but I couldn’t accept it.
“You will marry Matvey Yezhov,” he finally answered after what felt like an eternity.
For an instant, I didn’t think I had heard him correctly.
The room spun around.
