The Edge of Light ✔️

Chapter Five

N I K O L A I

The air in Antonio Rossi's private office was thick with tension, the type that came with men who had everything to lose. The meeting had been standard enough: talks of expanding our operations, agreements on joint ventures that would keep the Koreans and Mexicans at bay. But business was rarely just about deals and signatures. Trust needed more than words to be sealed, especially between men like us.

Antonio sat across from me, his elbows resting on the dark mahogany desk, fingers steepled together. His eyes bore into mine, the intensity of a man who had climbed to the top with blood and calculation, a man who trusted no one.

I mirrored his silence, sipping slowly from the glass in front of me. Vodka burned its way down my throat, but I kept my gaze steady, waiting for him to say whatever he had planned. We had done this dance before, but something about tonight was different. There was a weight behind his words that he hadn't yet spoken.

"I'm glad we can agree on the logistics," Antonio said, finally breaking the silence. "But there's still one thing, Nikolai."

I didn't respond, simply giving a slight nod. I knew where this was going. The Italians had always wanted more than words, more than documents. They liked assurances—something physical, something binding.

"You've rebuilt the Russians after..." His eyes flickered to the side of my face, to the scars that stretched from my temple to my jaw, a grim reminder of the last time our families' fates had crossed. "After what happened. But rebuilding doesn't erase the past."

I could still feel the burn of his men's bullets, the knife that destroyed my face, and the fire that had not only burnt my skin but stole from me so much he could never compensate it ever. I could still recall the way the air had left my lungs when I had gone down that night. It had been their attempt to put the Russians in their place. It had failed, but the cost was one I would never forget. Back then I was still in my twenties, a mare underdog of the former boss, my uncle, Ivan Ivanov.

"We need more than promises to move forward," Antonio continued, his tone cool, measured. "I need something solid. Something I can trust."

His gaze didn't waver. This was a test—his way of seeing how far I would go to make this alliance unshakable.

I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping the rim of my glass. I knew exactly what he wanted. He wouldn't be satisfied with vague assurances. He wanted to see how much I was willing to put on the line. And I was ready to make that clear.

"I agree," I said, my voice low, cutting through the tension. "Words aren't enough. If we're going to make this work, I need something real. Something I can trust, too."

Antonio raised an eyebrow, clearly curious where this was going.

"What are you proposing?" he asked, his voice cool, almost challenging.

I held his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment. "I want collateral," I said. "Something tangible. Not money, not business assets. I want something that will tie this deal down, something that shows me you're as committed as I am."

Antonio's eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the edge of his desk. He hadn't expected this. Good. I wanted to catch him off guard.

"You want something personal," he muttered, more to himself than to me. His brow furrowed as he considered my words, his mind working through the possibilities.

There was a long pause, the room filled with the heavy ticking of the clock on the wall. Antonio wasn't a man who made decisions lightly, especially when it came to matters that hit close to home. I waited, unblinking, keeping my face blank. He had to be the one to say it.

Finally, his eyes flickered, a decision forming in the depths of his mind. He straightened slightly, meeting my gaze head-on. "Very well," he said, his voice carrying a newfound weight. "If you want something personal, I have something in mind."

I waited, watching as he weighed his next words carefully. Then the same cunning look from the time I had first seen Elena appeared in his eyes.

"My daughter."

I blinked once, the only visible reaction I allowed myself. Elena. Her name settled in the air between us, and for a brief moment, I let it hang there, pretending to consider the offer, though inside my chest, a flame had ignited.

I expected everything but this. Maybe a plan of his borders. Some intel on his business. His shipment details or maybe even the contacts he had with other people. But this. This was nothing compared to what I was expecting.

Antonio's face was set, the cool, calculated mask of a man making a strategic move. He wasn't playing with emotions. He wasn't sentimental. Offering Elena was purely business to him, a way to secure his alliance with the Russians, to bind us in a way that neither side could betray. Italians rarely dealt in marriages, but I knew Antonio. He was pragmatic, and Elena was his way of ensuring I'd never turn my back on him.

I forced my voice to remain steady, betraying none of the hunger that clawed at the back of my mind. "You're offering her... to me?"

Antonio gave a sharp nod, his expression unyielding. "Yes. Elena will be your wife. I'm offering her hand in marriage. It's the only way I can be certain of your loyalty—and mine. Blood ties are unbreakable, and this will ensure our futures are intertwined."

I let the silence stretch, pretending to mull over the offer, even though the thought of Elena being mine sent a shiver of satisfaction through me. I had wanted her from the moment I first saw her, and now she was being handed to me like a piece in this game of power.

But I couldn't let Antonio see how much I wanted this. That would give him leverage, and I wasn't about to hand him any more control than he already had.

"What does she think about this?" I asked, my voice steady, calm. As if it didn't matter to me either way.

Antonio's lips thinned. "She'll do as she's told," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She understands her duty. Just as you understand yours."

I nodded slowly, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table as I met his gaze. "If she's my wife, she's mine to protect. You know that."

A flicker of something crossed Antonio's face—perhaps a brief moment of hesitation. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask of indifference. "Of course," he said. "But don't think for a second that she'll be anything other than loyal to her family. Elena is... practical. She knows where her loyalties lie."

I let out a low hum, pretending to consider his words. I knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted Elena close to me to spy, to report back. It was a smart move, one I might have admired under different circumstances.

But I didn't care.

She could spy all she wanted. It wouldn't matter. Because, in the end, the outcome was the same. Elena would be mine.

And nothing—not even Antonio Rossi—could change that.