The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 242

Vivian

The moment I interrupted their bizarre severance ceremony, every remaining Iron Wolf turned to glare at me with undisguised hostility. The atmosphere in the junkyard shifted from melancholy resignation to outright aggression.

"You!" A burly man with a scar running from his ear to his jaw stepped forward, jabbing his finger at me. "You're the fucking bitch who caused all this mess! Made our boss miscalculate the whole goddamn situation!"

Another man, this one missing two fingers on his left hand, spat into the dirt. "Yeah, your little revenge fantasy got us all marked for death. Thanks a lot, princess."

"Should've minded your own business instead of dragging us into your family drama," a third voice called out from the back of the group.

I could feel my cheeks burning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, but I refused to back down. These men might be intimidating, but I'd come too far to be scared off by some disgruntled mercenaries.

"We made a business transaction," I said firmly, raising my voice to carry across the scrapyard. "I got what I needed, he got what he wanted. That's how deals work. The consequences were always going to be each party's responsibility."

My face flushed slightly as I said it, because I couldn't help but remember exactly what Dmitri had received as payment. That night was burned into my memory with startling clarity—every touch, every sensation, every moment of complete abandon I'd never experienced with anyone else. Even now, standing in this grim wasteland surrounded by hostile criminals, the memory sent heat coursing through me.

Dmitri raised his hand for silence, and his men immediately obeyed despite their obvious anger. That kind of instant compliance spoke volumes about the respect he commanded, even in their current dire situation.

"The lady speaks the truth," he said with that familiar sardonic smile playing at his lips. "I received exactly what we negotiated for, and she achieved her desired outcome. From a purely transactional standpoint, both parties fulfilled their obligations."

He stepped closer to me, those ice-green eyes studying my face with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "However, since learning that dear Devan's beloved son was actually Nikolai Volkov's nephew, I've been forced to confront my own spectacular stupidity."

There was something in his tone that made me pause and really listen. He didn't sound genuinely afraid—more like he was testing the waters, seeing how I'd react to his supposed capitulation.

"I've managed to make an enemy of someone even Victor Kozlov crosses himself before mentioning," he continued, beginning to pace in front of his assembled men. "The same Victor whose family has enough firepower to level city blocks. So tell me, sweetheart—exactly how do you expect me to fight someone like that?"

Despite his words, there was an undercurrent in his voice that didn't match the resignation he was displaying. It was almost like he was playing devil's advocate with his own situation, probing for weaknesses in his own arguments.

"Look, if I'd done proper intelligence gathering before taking your contract," he said with an exaggerated shrug, "maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation. Maybe my organization wouldn't be dissolving like sugar in the rain."

Before I could respond, several of his men spoke up with surprising loyalty.

"Boss, you know we'll stay if you want to keep fighting," said the scarred man who'd initially attacked me. "We didn't join the Iron Wolves to run from the first real challenge."

"Damn right," another added. "We've faced impossible odds before and came out on top. This is just another job, right?"

A younger man with prison tattoos covering his arms stepped forward. "Whatever you decide, we're with you. That's what family means."

I felt a spark of hope at their words, but I needed to be strategic about this. Looking at the remaining men—maybe fifteen or twenty of them—I could see they were genuinely torn between loyalty to their leader and fear of the legendary Pakhan.

"Exactly!" I said, seizing the moment. "I mean, your organization has always been... well, you've never been about traditional principles or honor-bound codes like the old families. You're purely professional, mercenary, but that doesn't mean you can't—"

I stopped mid-sentence, realizing I was essentially cataloging their lack of noble qualities as if they were selling points. The men were staring at me with expressions ranging from confusion to outright offense.

"What I meant was," I continued hastily, "your flexibility has always been your strength. You're not bound by the same rules as everyone else, which means—"

"Lady," interrupted the man with the missing fingers, "are you trying to compliment us or insult us? Because it sounds like you're calling us unprincipled assholes."

"Which, to be fair, is pretty accurate," added another man, which earned some dark chuckles from the group.

I felt my face burning with embarrassment, but I pushed through. "The point is, you have advantages that traditional organizations don't!"

The men erupted in fresh complaints about my diplomatic skills, but I ignored them completely, focusing all my attention on Dmitri. I could see something calculating behind his casual demeanor—he wasn't nearly as resigned to this fate as he was pretending to be.

"I know you're not really afraid of Nikolai," I said quietly, stepping closer and lowering my voice so only he could hear. "You're different from everyone else in this city. I respect whatever choice you ultimately make, but before you decide, I need you to ask yourself something honest."

His eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"Can you really bear to abandon everything you've built here? These men, this reputation, this empire you've carved out of nothing?" I gestured toward his crew. "Without your leadership, where do they go? What do they become? Street thugs? Bodyguards for rich cowards? Is that the legacy you want?"

I paused, watching his expression carefully. "More importantly, do you want to spend the rest of your life known as the man who ran when things got difficult? The great Dmitri Petrov, who folded the moment he faced a real challenge?"

The grumbling from his crew died down as they realized I was making a serious point. They waited, tension crackling in the air, for their leader's response.

Instead of answering directly, Dmitri reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a familiar card. My heart lurched as I recognized the crimson logo and elegant script—identical to the threatening message that had been left on Aveline's pillow.

"Since my eloquent explanation hasn't adequately conveyed the severity of our situation," he said with dangerous calm, "perhaps this will provide the necessary context."

I took the card with trembling fingers, though I'd already known what it would say. The weight of the expensive paper, the raised lettering, the sense of menace radiating from such a simple object—it all felt surreal.

"I can see you understand the significance," Dmitri observed, watching my face pale. "This isn't a dinner invitation or a business proposition, Vivian. In our world, this is called a 'Black Mark.' It means that Pakhan Nikolai Volkov—my former mentor, the man who taught me everything I know about this business—has personally added both you and me to his kill list."