Zara
The room was far too quiet for a morning like this. I sat at the long, polished table inside the private study of the Rossi estate—my father's domain. The walls were lined with shelves of leather-bound books that nobody touched, and the air smelled faintly of cigars and old secrets.
Across from me sat Victor Antonov.
He leaned back in his chair like he owned the place, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers absently tapping the edge of the mahogany table. The tapping echoed in my skull, louder than it should've been. He hadn't said a word since I walked in. Not that I expected him to. Victor never talked unless it was absolutely necessary and even then, it came with a look that said he'd rather not.
I hated how calm he looked.
His tailored black suit hugged his broad frame. A sharp jawline, cold steel-blue eyes, and thick dark hair slicked back with almost military precision—he was all Russian precision and danger. A man carved out of ice and unfortunately, the man I was now promised to.
My stomach twisted.
I heard the heavy thud of a cane before I saw him. My father, Luca Rossi, strode into the room with the usual air of importance. Beside him walked Nikolai Antonov—Victor's father. Older, greyer, but just as intimidating, with a stare that could shatter bones.
"Let's get this over with," Nikolai said in Russian-accented English, waving a hand toward the table. "We don't have all day."
My father ignored his tone, taking a seat beside me.
"Zara," he said, looking at me with the same expression he wore when discussing the price of weapons shipments. "You understand what's at stake here."
"I understand you've decided to marry me off to the son of your business partner," I said flatly, not bothering to look at Victor.
"I'm not thrilled either, princess." Victor muttered.
I snapped my head toward him. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? You act like one." he smirked, tilting his head slightly, as if amused by my defiance.
"Enough," my father snapped. "This is not a negotiation. The arrangement was made years ago. Your engagement will be announced this weekend. The wedding is in six weeks."
"Six weeks," I blinked. "You're joking."
"We've waited long enough," Nikolai chuckled dryly. "The Italians need protection, and we need territory. You two are the bridge."
"Or the sacrifice." I whispered.
Victor's eyes flickered toward me for a moment. For the briefest second, there was something almost human behind them. But it was gone just as quickly.
"I thought I had more time."
My father leaned forward.
"Zara, this is bigger than you. You know that. Your mother would've—"
"Don't bring her into this." I said sharply.
The room went silent. Even Nikolai seemed to pause.
"I'm not here to be liked, Zara," Victor said, standing, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit. "But I'll do my duty. I always have."
"You mean following orders without question?"
"No," His mouth twitched. "I mean protecting what's mine."
I stood, too, squaring my shoulders. "I'm not yours."
"You will be," he said, not unkindly. "Whether you like it or not."
His words landed like a weight on my chest. He wasn't threatening me. That was the worst part. He was just... stating a fact.
My father rose from his chair.
"You'll be moving into the Antonov estate next week to begin preparations."
My blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"
"It's necessary," Nikolai said. "You'll get to know each other. Learn to act like a real couple before the wedding."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't informed of this."
"I'm informing you now," his father said sharply.
"I'm not some pawn you can just push around a chessboard."
"You are, actually." my father said softly.
I stared at him, the betrayal louder than any gunshot.
"Wow."
Victor met my gaze. "You wanted freedom, didn't you?"
I laughed bitterly.
"I wanted a choice."
"You never had one," he said, voice low.
We stood there in silence, the four of us, in a room heavy with decisions made long ago. Decisions that neither Victor nor I had a say in—but would now define the rest of our lives.
"You're dismissed." Nikolai said, waving us off.
Victor turned and left the room without another word. I followed a few seconds later, feeling like my body was moving but my soul had stayed behind.
As I stepped into the hallway, I caught up with him.
"You're not even angry?" I asked.
"I've been angry my whole life," he said, glancing sideways at me. "This is just... part of the plan."
"You talk like you've accepted it."
He stopped walking. Turned toward me.
"Because I have. That's how you survive in this world, Zara. You accept what you can't control. And then you own it."
I stared at him, stunned. Not by the words, but by the quiet conviction behind them.
"And if I don't want to be owned?" I whispered.
He leaned closer, just enough for me to catch the heat of his breath.
"Then fight me but know that when it's all over... you'll still be mine."
He walked away, leaving me in the cold, empty hallway.
And I realized something terrifying.
The game hadn't even begun yet.