Page 53 of Vendetta Vows

I know what he's suggesting. It's the same old power play that has always been an inescapable part of our world.

Inheritance. Marriage. War.

The unholy trinity in the pursuit of power.

"They're children," I remind Gregor. "All three of them."

"Yes, yes," he nods. "Sofia Lvovna is eight, and Stella Lvovna is seven. But age doesn't invalidate their claims. Nor would it discourage any ambitious man looking to place them in their father's seat."

The thought of my nieces being traded like commodities, married off to monsters two to three times their age—old men with dead eyes and cruel hands—all in the pursuit of power, is nauseating.

"And in case you've forgotten," Gregor says when I don't answer. "A normal bratva war has limits, but a claimant war has none. Reject this offer, and you sign the death warrants for your nieces. All three of them."

He's right.

Normal territorial disputes are negotiable. Maybe every once in a while, a few brigadiers or avtoritets are killed to save some face. For bigger disputes like what my father had with Denis Mikonov, a marriage is enough to ensure a peace.

But wars to press someone's claim? That's a brutal fight.

And when they end, rival claimants cannot be permitted to live.

If I refuse, Gregor will force my three nieces to fight each other until they're all dead.

I won't lose anyone else today.

"If I accept this offer, you promise that you won't try to broker marriages for my nieces?"

"I can only make promises for the two younger ones."

"I need it for all three."

"Mikayla Lvovna's fate is out of my hands. Semyon was very clear that the only scenario where he does not press her claims is where you marry Tamara Denisovna."

Silence stretches between us, heavy with threats.

"It would be easier to just marry your sister-in-law, Ruslan Vitalyevich." He shrugs. "Even if you have your personal grievances against her."

"Personal grievances?" My voice drops dangerously low, rage pulsing through me like a second heartbeat. "Have you forgotten what she's done? I will not marry her."

"Lev married Tamara to protect you," Gregor says, his voice cutting through my fury with surgical precision. "The least you can do is the same for his children."

"Don't pretend like you give a shit about Lev or his children."

"I don't." His eyes harden. "Nor do I give a shit about what Semyon Mikonov thinks he's owed. But Idogive a shit about retaining this delicate balance of power in Los Angeles, especially after Vadim Stravinsky lit the fucking fuse last year during LA Fashion Week."

Lev's words echo in my head.The jungle is about to tear itself down. It's going to rebuild into something different.

His eyes darken. "You've been away from this world for far too long that you've forgotten the truth of it."

"And what truth is that?"

"This mansion is a luxury that you can afford." He waves his cane around. "Fucking Hollywood actresses is a luxury that you can afford. Fine vodka and clubs are luxuries that you can afford. But love? Love is a luxury you cannot afford. Because love is the death of power."

My hands ball into fists.

"Your father understood this," Gregor's eyes congeal into chips of ice. "Your brother understood this. It's time you did too."

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