Chapter 2 - The Weight of an Empire
The quiet sanctuary of Bloom & Stem felt suffocating. Outside the shop, the heavy rumble of idling luxury engines signaled the arrival of Nikolai’s personal security convoy. Two heavily tinted black SUVs pulled up against the curb, their hazards blinking rhythmically. Pedestrians hurried past with their heads bowed low, instinctively recognizing the sleek, bulletproof caravan of the Voss syndicate.
Iris stared at the cars, then back at Nikolai. Her pulse raced at a sickening speed. "Your men are outside. If anyone sees you in here arguing with a florist, the rumors will ruin your alliance before dawn."
"Let them talk," Nikolai said smoothly, not even glancing at the window. He carefully scooped up every single fragment of the torn ultrasound, every millimeter of torn paper, and slid them into the breast pocket of his coat, right over his heart. "You thought you could cut this into ribbon and erase me? You thought I would let you raise my heir in the shadows while I play husband to a woman I despise?"
"I am not asking you for anything!" Iris shouted, tears finally spilling freely down her flushed cheeks. "I don't want your blood money! I don't want your bodyguards! My mother raised me alone in an apartment above a dry cleaner, and I turned out fine! We will survive without you, Nikolai. We have to."
"You wouldn't survive twenty-four hours," Nikolai replied, his tone turning dangerously calm, stripping away the romance to reveal the calculated mafia sovereign underneath. "You think this is about child support, Iris? The moment Celeste Renard’s father learns that a woman in the East Quarter is pregnant with my blood, you become a target. A liability. A lever they can pull to bend my knee."
Iris felt the room spin. The scent of sweet lilies suddenly turned nauseating. She pressed her hand against her lower belly, a purely instinctual gesture of protection that did not escape Nikolai’s hyper-vigilant eyes. "They... they wouldn't know. Nobody knows except Camille and the clinic doctor."
"In my city, secrets are commodities bought and sold by breakfast," Nikolai whispered, closing the distance between them until he was behind the counter, towering over her. He reached out with his bare hand, pausing for a fraction of a second before gently pressing his warm palm over hers, covering her hand where it rested against her stomach.
Iris shivered. An electric shock of memory rushed through her—the storm, his mouth against her collarbone, his whispered confessions in the dark about how tired he was of living a life dictated by dead ancestors.
"I spent six weeks trying to stay away from you," Nikolai confessed, his voice rough with emotion. "I knew who I was. I knew the darkness that followed me. I told myself that one night was a gift, an oasis I didn't deserve, and that leaving you untouched by my world was the only decent thing I had ever done." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the hair near her temple. "I was an idiot, Iris. Because leaving you behind was the greatest mistake of my life."
"Nikolai, please," she sobbed softly, resting her forehead against his chest, unable to fight the warmth radiating from his body. "What about the wedding? It’s tomorrow. At noon. Thousands of guests. The media. The families."
"The wedding was a business contract," he said coldly. "A ceasefire between two warring territories. But a contract is just paper. And paper can burn."
Before she could answer, the bell above the door jingled sharply.
A tall, wiry man in a slate-gray suit stepped inside. It was Viktor, Nikolai’s right-hand enforcer, his hand resting conspicuously beneath his jacket lapel. Viktor took one look at Nikolai standing intimately behind the counter with Iris, and his eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"Boss," Viktor said urgently, lowering his voice. "We have a problem. Don Renard just arrived at the downtown penthouse. He brought Celeste for the final pre-nuptial signing. They’re demanding to know why you’re delayed picking up the flowers."
Nikolai did not let go of Iris’s hand. He turned his head slightly toward Viktor, his expression freezing into a mask of pure, lethal granite. "Tell Don Renard that I have been delayed by family business."
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"Sir?" Viktor swallowed hard. "Family business? The Renards will take that as an insult. The wedding is in less than twenty hours."
"Then let them be insulted," Nikolai replied. "Pack Iris’s things. She is coming with us."
