Marcus felt the weight of those words punch him square in the chest. Guilt gnawed at the edges of his conscience, a cruel reminder of the lives lost in the tangled web of his creation.
“I didn’t-” he started, but Sergei held up a hand.
“Spare me your excuses, Marcus” Sergei’s voice dropped an octave, cold and cutting. “You know how I despise lies.”
He lifted from his seat, using the table as leverage as he straightened to his full height.
“Three of my men died because of you.”
“I didn’t know-”
“But you should have.” Sergei’s voice was a low growl now. “You had one job – bring me guns. Good guns. And yet you sent my men into battle with weapons you swore would work. Faulty guns, Marcus. You armed my men with death.”
If this were any other conversation and not one that determined his life or the life of his daughter, Marcus would’ve pointed out how dramatic Sergai was being.
He hadn’t known that the guns he’d delivered to the Volkovs would be faulty. He hadn’t anticipated that any of Sergei’s men would die.
There was a reason why two of the three families chose to do business with him despite it all. He was the best in the game and one who never mixed his priorities. With his stance as a weapons dealer for each family, he secured protection from all. Sure, some might consider it careless to play both sides, but Marcus had never been careless. He was calculated. Precise. Every deal was measured, every weapon inspected – or so he thought.
But this time… this time, he had failed.
And people were dead because of it.
Not just any people either; they just had to be Serigei’s men.
Fuck.
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat dry. “It wasn’t betrayal. I never meant for this to happen.”
Sergei’s lips curled in a snarl. “Intentions don’t bring back the dead.”
The weight of those words crushed down on Marcus, but he forced himself to meet Sergei’s gaze. “I can fix this.”
“Fix it?” Sergei let out a sharp, bitter laugh, “I admire the enthusiasm but even you can’t bring back the dead.”
His shoulders slumped.
As much as Marcus wished he possessed said ability, he didn’t. He couldn’t bring back the dead, because if he could, his darling Orla would be first in line to return to this torturous existence. At least then, he would know that there would be someone to raise his children after Sergei Volkov most certainly killed him today.
“I’ll replace the weapons. For free. I’ll double the shipment. I’ll-”
Sergei doubled over in laughter. The sound was sharp, ripping through whatever words wanted to spill from his lips.
“I don’t need any of that.”
Marcus froze. “Then what do you need?” He was scared to know the answer but it seemed knowing was the only way forward.
“Your life” Marcus’s heart plummeted once more, “Is an option but not the only one, fortunately”
Marcus’s breath caught in his throat. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at Sergei, searching for any sign that he was bluffing – a crack in the cold, unyielding mask he always wore. But there was none.
“You would spare me?”
He shrugged, “I am nothing if not reasonable.”
Marcus almost laughed. There was not a single reasonable bone in this man’s body even if you tore him limb from limb. Which was why he knew they had to be something he wasn’t seeing.
“What’s the catch?”
Sergei smiled that smile again that made every hair on Marcus’s body stand at attention.
“There is no catch, Old friend. Consider this a favour, one I expect to be repaid in due time”
A cold chill slithered down Marcus’s spine and curled itself around Marcus’s throat where it sunk its claws and squeezed. There was no way he could be asking what he thought he was.
Surely, someone like him would not be so cruel.
“No,” Marcus’s response was quick and one filled with finality “I won’t let you have her.”
Sergei chuckled, the sound low and dark. “Do not misunderstand. I do not want her for myself. She’s far too young for my taste but rather, I want her for my son.”
He wanted her for his son?
Marcus felt the room tilt slightly as the words sank in. His throat suddenly felt drier than usual, and for a second, he wondered if he’d misheard.
“You… you want my daughter?” His voice was rough, barely a whisper.
Sergei’s smile widened. “For my eldest son, yes. Consider it a marriage pact. Insurance.”
“Insurance,” Marcus repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. “You want me to trade my daughter’s future for my life?”
Even saying the words out loud made him want to double over and spill his guts out on the polished marble. In the mafia, arranged marriages were a norm. Marriage to them was done out of necessity and not out of love.
Long ago, when he still very much considered himself a prideful man, he’d done the unthinkable and helped a daughter of the Irish mafia escape. They came to America shortly after. Back then, the Influence of the Irish Mafia in the States wasn’t as strong as it was now, so it was easy for the two of them to lay low and get married.
His wife gave birth shortly after to their son, and then two years later, they were blessed with a girl.
And for a while, his life was full.
An arranged marriage contract was one he knew he could never get out of, and if he were to refuse, Sergais’ version of generosity would be gone in an instant, and his lifeless body would be splattered all across the floor of this very study.
His pulse thundered in his ears, heart slamming against his ribs as he tried to steady his breathing. He wanted to rage – to lash out and bury his fists in Sergei’s smug face. But what good would that do? Sergei already had the upper hand.
Violence wouldn’t save him and It most certainly wouldn’t save her.
“She’s just a child,” Marcus said quietly, his voice thick with desperation. “You can’t seriously expect me to promise her hand in marriage.”
Sergei tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward in amusement. “She’ll grow. They all do. Besides,” his fingers curled into a fist, “I’ve seen the girl’s mother; if your daughter is anything like your wife, then she will be perfect for my son. A beautiful, obedient wife… raised to understand her duty.” he laughed to himself, “The perfect bride.”
Marcus clenched his jaw so hard it ached. He felt sick. Nauseous. His stomach churned violently at the thought of his daughter – his innocent, sweet girl – being used as a pawn in one of Sergai’s sick games.
“She’s only seven.”
“And in eleven years she will be eighteen. Perfectly marriable and legal.” His lips curled, “It’s a win-win.”
A win-win would be him leaving this study with his head intact and with his daughter in his arms while Sergai bled on his table for even having the audacity to offer him such a ridiculous condition.
But that wouldn’t happen.
How did the saying go? Marcu realized that he was indeed, quite literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“So do you agree?”
It was only then that he realized that the great Sergai Volkov was waiting for a response from him.
His jaw tightened and so did his fist. He clenched and unclenched his fingers like some sort of ritual, silently willing the spirit of his dead wife to appear before him and tell him what to do as she always did in life.
And as usual, she did not come, leaving the weight of his decision to rest solely on his shoulders.
“I have one condition.”
Sergei almost laughed. “If I remember correctly and I do. You are the reason my men are dead, and therefore, you cannot be making conditions. You either agree or die. It’s as simple as that.”
Was it though?
“You will give me time. Please. My daughter, Ava, is too young. She cannot fully comprehend what this means. You will give me time to explain things to her and you will leave her with me until she comes of age.”
Sergei arched his brow, “Now, why will I do that?”
“Because you owe me.”
“I owe you?”
Marcus nodded and watched the realization slowly creep into Sergai’s face. Sergei’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing as the words hung heavily in the air. He tilted his head slightly, the corners of his lips pulling downward. “You’re reaching,” he said, his voice low. Dangerous. “Tread carefully.”
Ah, yes, because why would the great Sergai Volkov want to be reminded of his one moment of weakness in a life full of strengths?
Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat. His pulse thundered in his ears, but he held his ground. He had to. If he didn’t, he would lose everything. “I saved your life once,” he said quietly. “Or have you forgotten?”
Sergei’s jaw ticked.
“Fine.” He resigned, “Your daughter will stay with you until then, but once she is of age, she moves into the estate and marries my son.” He extended his hand, “Do we have a deal, Fixer?”
Marcus cringed. The name Fixer was his title. One he earned solely by doing his job. He hated being called that name. Being called a fixer served as a reminder of the life he had no choice but to live to save his family.
Taking Sergai’s hand, he ignored his body’s visceral reaction to draw him in and sucker punch him in the nose and gripped it firmly. “We have a deal.”
It took twenty minutes for Sergai’s lawyer to arrive and an hour for an agreement between the two families to be drawn and signed.
When Ava was placed in her father’s arms after almost a week of being away from home he couldn’t believe how lean she’d gotten. She seemed almost breakable and he cradled her gently to his chest as he walked out of the estate.
When she finally woke up six hours later, her smile caused his heart to ache and he wondered what he would’ve done without it.
It doesn’t take long for Ava to start asking questions. Questions like why it took him so long to come for her and what would happen to a person called Bear now that she was gone.
He had no idea who this Bear was so he did not mention it when he took her to her first hypnotic session just days later after her release. Weeks after, he would attempt to convince himself that he’d done so to protect her.
And it would be a lie.