As he turned, I grabbed his arm. “What if they can’t be bought?”
He looked back, eyes burning. “Then I’ll take the position by fire. And if that doesn’t work... I’ll bury Chernov under it.
We sat together in the aftermath like nothing had happened.
The shadows clung to the edges of the ballroom, music low and ambient, but the air was tight with tension—like everyone was waiting for a match to drop. Misha poured the drinks himself, the amber liquid catching the dim chandelier light as he handed me a glass. His touch lingered. Possessive. Grounding.
I sipped slowly, trying not to look at Lev and Chernov standing across the room. Watching. Calculating.
Misha’s thigh pressed against mine under the long white-clothed table, his hand resting loosely on the back of my chair. He hadn’t said a word since he made that quiet promise to take the Volgograd estate by fire. But I felt the weight of him. The control simmering under the surface.
“They’re waiting for you to explode,” I said under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
His smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Let them wait.”
But then Lev moved. Smooth, smug, with the kind of entitlement only a second-born in a mafia family could carry. He was younger than Chernov but no less dangerous, his hands too clean for a man with his reputation, his smile too polite.
He stopped two feet from us, lifting a glass in mock salute. “Beautiful night for an upset, don’t you think?”
Misha didn’t respond. He simply sipped.
Lev took that as invitation.
“You’ll lose the Volograd estate if Chernov wins, of course,” he said, glancing at me like I was some prized item in an auction. “And Luna... well. She’ll be part of our family then. Officially.”
I didn’t flinch, but my stomach turned.
Lev tilted his head. “You should’ve worn white, Luna. Red makes it look like you’re bleeding for him already.”
Misha’s hand twitched on the table.
“Leave,” he said quietly.
Lev grinned wider. “Or what? You’ll make a scene in front of the five families?”
Misha didn’t blink. “If I stand, it’s war.”
That moment stretched thin. The silence was brittle. I reached under the table and placed my hand on Misha’s, trying to anchor him. He didn’t move. But his pulse was hammering.
Then Chernov appeared behind his brother, smirking like a devil dressed in Brioni. “You should relax, Misha,” he said, voice slick. “This banquet isn’t yours yet. Let’s not forget what kind ofman you are. You don’t do diplomacy. You break things. That temper of yours, it’s going to cost you votes.”
Chernov leaned in just slightly toward me. “And Luna’s safety.”
Misha’s fingers tensed beneath mine.
Chernov pushed further. “Tell me, does he always breathe this heavily when he’s about to lose control?”
And then he did the one thing he should not have done.
He reached out and touched my hair.
Just a strand, gentle, mocking, deliberate.
I barely had time to gasp before Misha moved.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t speak. He just stood and struck.
A blur of motion. A sharp crack echoed through the hall as Misha’s elbow drove into Chernov’s face, sending him stumbling back.
