I’m bent over, breathing heavily. His words don’t make sense. He’s forcing me into a marriage, and he’s concerned about his shoes?
“Did you hear me? Sofiya?” He grabs my arm and pulls me close to him. His large belly squishes against my side. I almost vomit all over again.
“What’s going on here?” a deep, familiar voice asks. When I look over, I see it’s the man I talked with in the hallway. The man who stared at me intently at the funeral. The man who I couldn’t take my eyes off during my dance.
The man whose name I don’t even know.
Boris straightens up when he sees the man, but his grip on my arm tightens. “Just having a conversation with my fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” He frowns, which should make him look ugly but only makes him look more stern in a scary, attractive way. “I wasn’t aware you were getting married.” He speaks to me rather than Boris.
“I’m not,” I blurt out. Boris shakes me a little, and I wince.
“She is,” Boris says. “I just told her the good news. You look familiar. Who are you again?”
The man stands up taller and fixes his cufflinks. “I’m Mikhail Ivanov.”
Boris looks like he’s ready to vomit himself. “Mikhail … Ivanov? As in the Mikhail Ivanov?”
The man, Mikhail, smiles faintly. “You’ve heard of me?”
I haven’t, but that’s not surprising. My father never introduced me to any men who ran in his circles, and it’s clear Mikhail is a Bratva man. He has that air about him.
“I wasn’t aware I was standing before Bratva royalty,” Boris says, nodding slightly.
Mikhail tilts his head to the side as he looks between Boris and me. His dark eyes narrow slightly. It makes me gulp and shiver in fear. “Are you going to unhand Sofiya, or are you going to hold onto her like she’s your prized toy?”
Boris deliberately tightens his hand around my arm even more. A small cry escapes me. Mikhail doesn’t move, but his expression grows darker.
“Sofiya will be my wife,” Boris explains. “We’ve just agreed to that. Now, I need to be taking her home. Are you staying in New York for long?”
“I just had some business to attend to. Funerals to go to. Pay my respects.”
“You knew my father?” I ask. Something about Mikhail makes me want to know him more while, at the same time, run far away from him.
“I knew your father.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, that’s been established,” Boris says. “Sofiya, come along. I’ll take you home.”
“My sisters are waiting for me in the car. I don’t need you to take me home. Our driver, John, will do that.”
Boris smiles. “Then I’ll join you.”
“I think I’ll join you, too,” Mikhail says, startling me. “I’d like to talk to you more, Sofiya. Meet your sisters. I’ll meet you at your house.” He doesn’t ask for permission. For some reason, that sends a spark through my body.
“I’m taking her home,” Boris says. He draws me closer to him, making me stumble. Is Boris trying to protect me from Mikhail or keep me from Mikhail? I can’t tell. There’s a danger to Mikhail that is intense.
But I can’t escape the obvious—Mikhail is a very handsome man, and Boris, well … isn’t.
“You do that, Boris. But I’ll just follow.” He gives me a nod. “I’ll see you there.” He walks away like he has all the time in the world.
“Come on,” Boris mutters, dragging me to the car. He rips the back door open and practically shoves me inside next to my sisters.
“What’s going on?” Vik asks as Boris gets into the passenger seat.
“Drive,” he barks at John, who does his job and starts driving.
“Are you ok?” Mila asks in a small voice. I try to smile for her, but I can’t. I’m too shaken up.
“I asked,” Vik says, raising her voice, “what is going on?”
“Boris wants to marry me,” I say. All I feel is numb. I don’t even think I felt my lips move when I spoke.
Vik does a double take. “What?”
“I decided I don’t want to marry you,” Boris tells my sister. “I want Sofiya instead. She’s much more … compliant.”
“You’re not marrying any of us,” Vik says.
Boris turns around in his seat and glares at her. “That’s not up to you. I get to marry one of you, and I’m choosing Sofiya.”
“I’m not going to let you.”
“You can’t stop me.” He pulls out his gun and points it at Vik’s head. The three of us jerk back in our seats. Mila clings to me and whimpers. Vik holds her head high even though I can see the fear in her eyes. “I’m not afraid to shoot a woman. Don’t test me.”
After a moment, Vik nods. Boris nods in return, puts his gun away, and sits back in his seat.
The three of us are silent on the drive back to our house.
