The warehouse air stank of rust and oil. Shadows clung to the walls like mold, swallowing the men who stood there.
"The bitch went and married a Romanov right after the incident! The fuck are we supposed to do now?" One hissed, taking a drag from his cigarette.
Across from him, another leaned back, boots propped on the table. His grin was lazy, teeth sharp in the dim light.
"I say we still go for it. It's not likely she's found anything yet."
The first man's jaw ticked. He leaned forward, knuckles whitening against the wood.
"What if she has—and she's shown it to him? Huh?"
The booted one snorted. "Then we'd already be dead. But since you're still breathing in my face, asking stupid questions, I'd say we're fine."
The other surged up, chair screeching across the floor as his cigarette dropped. "Are you taking a crack at me? Right now?"
"Do you want me to?" The grin dropped, eyes hard now. "Because I could take you apart with less."
A low and even voice cut through.
"Enough."
Both men froze.
In the corner, the one they'd forgotten shifted forward, finally setting down his glass. His expression was unreadable, shadow cutting his features in half.
"We keep to the dark. We keep watching her. When the opening comes, we take it—and we do it without her ever knowing it exists. More importantly…" His gaze sharpened. "We stay out of the Romanovs' sight. Get in, get the thing, get out. Nothing more."
Neither man spoke.
The boss leaned back again, dismissing them with a flick of his hand.
"Try not to make me repeat myself."
The two slunk out, muttering under their breath.
For a long moment, the room was quiet.
The boss stayed very still, then exhaled slow through his nose before he poured himself another glass, but the drink sat untouched.
His jaw worked once, twice. Then his hand snapped, glass shattering against the far wall.
"Married a Romanov," he murmured, the words spat more than spoken. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
Of all the ways this could have gone, that woman had chosen the one thing that chained his plans to fire.
He dragged a hand down his face, eyes dark.
"It changes everything."
~*~*~*~*~
Nadya was hunched over her desk, the soft scratch of her pen and the rustle of papers the only noise in her father's study.
It had been a week since she got married and took the first step towards her revenge. Alexei had disappeared and since the didn't share a room, she didn't have to see his stupid face.
Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. The name flashing across the screen made her stomach twist.
Alexei.
She debated ignoring it, but experience told her that would only make things worse. With a clipped sigh, she pressed accept.
"Where are you, dorogaya?" His voice came smooth, amused. "I haven't seen my bride in far too long. You're not doing anything a Romanov wouldn't approve of, I hope?"
Nadya's grip on the pen tightened. She swallowed down the instinct to curse both him and his family name into the dirt.
"Relax," she said sweetly, coating the word in sarcasm. "The most rebellious thing I've done today is misplace a stapler."
There was a pause. Then, a low chuckle slid through the line. "Sharp as ever. But you still haven't answered my question."
Nadya groaned under her breath, leaning back in her chair. "I'm at home, if you must know."
"Funny," Alexei drawled. "So am I. And you, little liar, are definitely not here."
Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling, rolling so hard they almost hurt. "You're insane if you think I'd ever consider your house my home."
"You wound me, kotenok," he teased. She could hear his smirk in the way the word purred from his mouth. "But we'll fix that."
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. "If you called just to play word games, I—"
"No games today." His tone sharpened, dropping the playful lilt. "We need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes. Come home. Get ready."
She sat up straighter, bristling. "I can't just drop everything because you've snapped your fingers. Some of us have actual work to do."
He scoffed, low and dismissive, the sound vibrating against her ear. "Time is ticking, Nadya. Either you come home on your own, or I'll send people to collect you. Your choice."
Her pulse quickened. "You wouldn't dare—"
"You have less than thirteen minutes left, milaya. If you're not standing here by then, I'll drag you out in whatever you're wearing now." And with that, the line went dead.
Nadya slammed the phone onto the desk, teeth grinding. "That arrogant, insufferable—" She cut herself off, shoving papers into neat stacks and securing them in the hidden safe behind the desk.
No way in hell he'd ever know what she was really doing. She wasn't naïve enough to think Alexei hadn't already dug through every scrap of her past in the last week. But Darya—that wasn't in any record. And she'd keep it that way.
"Darya!" she called as she ran out of the study and down the stairs.
"Auntieee!" a high-pitched voice squealed from the hall.
Her heart softened instantly. Darya came running toward her, her tiny feet pattering against the polished floor, her nanny hurrying behind. Nadya dropped to her knees, catching the little girl in her arms.
"I have to go out, sweetheart," she murmured against Darya's hair.
"Okay," Darya said brightly, already turning to the nanny with expectant eyes, hands half-raised as though ready to be packed up too.
A quiet cough drew Nadya's attention. Victor had appeared in the doorway, silent and watchful. His sharp gaze flicked between Nadya and the child in her arms, one brow arching slightly.
Nadya smoothed Darya's curls back. "You can't come with me this time, zolotse. It's boring adult things."
The girl froze. Her lip wobbled. Then came the storm.
"But I want to come!" Darya wailed, twisting in her arms. "I'm coming too! Take meeee!" She kicked her little legs against Nadya's thigh, face scrunched and red.
Nadya hushed her quickly, cupping her cheeks. "Shh, shh. Darya, listen to me—"
"No! You always leave me!" Fat tears spilled as she stomped her feet on the polished floor.
Nadya's chest clenched. She lowered her forehead to the child's. "I'll be back tonight. I promise. And I'll bring snacks. The really good ones."
Darya sniffled loudly, still pouting, but her sobs hiccupped into silence. "Grape gummies?"
Nadya almost laughed despite the ache in her throat. "Yes. A whole bag. Just for you."
The little girl's lashes were still wet when she gave a reluctant nod.
"That's my girl." Nadya kissed her forehead, holding her close for one more heartbeat.
Over Darya's small shoulder, her eyes locked with Victor's.
She mouthed, Alexei called. Then, with the faintest shake of her head: I don't know what's going on. Finally, pointedly: Take care of her.
Victor's expression didn't flicker, but he inclined his head in a quiet promise.
Nadya kissed Darya one more time, tasting salt from the little girl's tears, before pulling herself away. Her chest ached as she forced her feet to carry her to the door.
Alexei wanted her ready in thirteen minutes?
This had better be something important.
~*~*~*~*~
Nadya made it to the Romanov mansion in record time, cursing Alexei the entire way. By the time she stormed through the heavy doors, the maids were already waiting—silent, efficient, irritatingly obedient.
"Your husband requested you change," one said, gesturing to the garment bag stretched across the sofa.
Nadya's brow arched. "Requested?"
No one answered.
She unzipped the bag. A dress. Deep emerald silk. Expensive. Showy. The kind of thing that screamed look at me—exactly what she didn't want.
Of course. She almost laughed.
So he wanted a doll tonight.
Where even was the tyrant?
Upstairs, she changed quickly, tugging the fabric into place, muttering curses in three languages. The cut at the back was a little too low for her taste.
The mirror reflected not Nadya Vasiliev, but Alexei Romanov's perfect accessory.
She clicked the last clasp of the heels and squared her shoulders. Fine. Let him think he'd won this round.
Descending the staircase, she spotted him instantly.
Alexei Romanov lounged in the living room, sprawled across the sofa like a king with all the time in the world. A glass of whiskey rested at his side, his gaze lifting lazily to meet hers.
It pinned her mid-step.
A slow smirk curved his mouth. "Perfect. That's how a Romanov looks."
She grit her teeth. "Don't start."
"Be a good wife and move faster," he drawled, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "Time waits for no one."
Her nails dug into her palms. "Don't call me that."
"Then don't make me," he murmured, setting the glass aside and rising in one smooth motion.
The air thickened as he crossed to her, deliberate and unhurried for someone supposedly on a time crunch. She folded her arms, refusing to flinch.
"You still haven't told me where we're going," she said.
"You'll see." He offered his arm.
She didn't take it. He didn't push. Instead, he led her out to the waiting car.
The car slid through Moscow's streets, neon bleeding across the glass. They stopped in front of a large building—Romanov territory.
Nadya's breath caught. The building glowed like a trap, red and gold spilling into the night.
Alexei leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered: "Smile, kotenok. You're being watched."
Her stomach dropped.
And as she sat up in the backseat, she saw it—the cameras. Flashbulbs waiting, hungry, ready to capture her every breath.
Her throat tightened. This wasn't just a night out. It was a performance.
And Alexei had just set the stage.