Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Dominic stared at the files he gathered about Celeste. Her whole slate was clean. She’d even graduate from college next month.
Right before the marriage.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he was sure he was really afraid to lose control. He wanted her to wake up every morning to him with a smile.
But instead, all he got was her silence. Her absence. Her unfinished texts. And that damn engagement ring she refused to take off. Even though she knew the truth.
Sitting behind his desk, he tried to focus on the countless deals flooding his laptop screen. He rubbed his forehead, brushing the stray strands of hair back.
His sharp suit jacket sat perfectly over his broad shoulders. His sleeves rolled slightly to reveal the hint of an expensive watch that gleamed under the overhead light. Despite the financial warzones he fought daily, today felt heavier. And it wasn’t because of the Russians.
But still, the Russian was coming.
His intercom buzzed. His secretary’s clipped, calm voice came through, "Mr. Dominic, your guest has arrived. Shall I let him in?"
Dominic closed his laptop slowly. "Let him in."
The doors opened.
Grigor Ivanov walked in like he owned the building. Fifty-five, thick-bodied with silver streaks running through his jet-black hair and beard.
His icy blue eyes didn’t blink often, and when they did, it looked more like calculation than instinct. His tailored coat flowed behind him like a storm cloud, and his scowl was enough to make lesser men shrink. But not Dominic.
Dominic leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Grigor."
"Dominic," the older man greeted with a voice like crushed gravel.
Grigor advanced into the room, and the sheer opulence of Dominic’s office seemed to go unnoticed by him. But it was impossible not to acknowledge.
Floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed the city skyline far below. The entire penthouse office was drenched in natural light, cascading over polished marble floors, a custom matte black desk, and sleek leather couches. A decanter of whiskey sat untouched on the side table. Behind Dominic, a giant abstract painting cast sharp shadows in the sunlight.
"Beautiful view," Grigor muttered, stopping just before the desk. "But beauty fades."
"You didn’t come for poetry," Dominic said coldly. "Let’s talk."
Grigor sat down without permission. "You and I had an agreement to save your father and brother’s life."
Dominic clenched his jaw. "And my father’s dead."
"And yet you and your brother breathe. Which means the deal still lives."
Dominic narrowed his eyes. "I offered you the out. I gave you generous compensation, and a clean withdrawal. You refused."
Grigor’s lips curled. "I don’t want money. I want allegiance. I want blood, and ties that bind."
Dominic’s jaw clenched. He clenched and unclenched his fist. "We’re not in the Middle Ages."
"But we are, Dominic. In my world, we are."
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the bottom drawer of his desk. He stared at the silver handgun he hoped never to use.
Dominic sat straighter. "You want me to marry your daughter."
"You say it like it’s an insult. Viktoria is beautiful. Sharp. Young. Russian-bred."
Dominic let out a low breath. "I’m not your son-in-law, Ivanov."
"Yet."
"I have a fiancée."
Grigor shrugged. "Break it off." He paused, "Or don’t. Viktoria doesn’t mind sharing."
Dominic’s gaze darkened. "I’m not a pawn."
"But you are at war, whether you like it or not. You end this alliance, your entire Europe operations go up in flames. You want bloodless business? Then give me your hand in marriage."
Dominic didn’t reply. He ignored his words, and stared into his laptop. He hated every moment he spent with this man but he doesn’t regret what he did years ago.
"Wait," Grigor smacked his lips. "How’s Celeste? Still in college?"
Dominic paused now. His whole attention was now on Grigor. He shook his head with a mocking scoff. "You touch her, threaten her, or even as much as mention her name to anyone, I will end every deal I have in Russia."
Grigor laughed, low and dangerous. "So, she means something."
Dominic said nothing.
"Good," Grigor said, standing. "That means you’re vulnerable. Which means you’re human."
He turned to leave. "You have three weeks." He smiled at Dominic. "So many things can happen in one day, after three weeks."
Dominic didn’t flinch. "There are a thousand ways to make money, Grigor. I no longer need this one."
"It is not about money," Grigor snapped, his voice sharp and accented like broken glass. "It’s about legacy. About keeping what’s been built. You think this ends because you say so?"
Dominic leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You think I care about legacy?"
Grigor fully turned to him. He stared at him for a short while. "Three weeks," he reminded and walked away.
Dominic stood alone, the silence of the office screamed in his ears. He stared out at the city, fists clenched.
Three weeks. To choose between an empire...
And a girl he should never have wanted in the first place. He didn’t want this life.
Not this part of it, anyway. The empire had been handed to him soaked in blood and burden.
It had made him rich, untouchable, and dangerous, but not whole. His conscience was caged.
He watched Celeste for years, and struggled to hate her because she was light in all the places he’d turned cold. And that terrified him more than Grigor ever could.
Dominic turned away from the window and stalked back to his desk. He picked up the file on her again, scanning details he already knew by heart. He glanced through her college transcripts, her volunteer work, and even the application she sent to that nonprofit in Florence.
He tossed the folder aside and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The burn didn’t help. It didn’t numb anything.
If anything, it sharpened everything. Celeste’s laugh. Her lips when she wasn’t hiding. Her defiance, and the way she kissed him like she hated herself for it.