My father owed the Bratva $2.4 million. I did the math on my own bride price before he said my name out loud. They gave me to Nikolai Sablin in January, in a church full of men with guns under good wool, and the terms were clean. Separate rooms. Separate lives. One performance of unity for the city. He expected a decorative wife who would smile at the right people. He got a forensic accountant who reads a family's books the way other people read a face . >My husband is the coldest man in Chicago. He is also the first person who ever asked me to use my mind instead of hide it, and I am starting to want things I was not sold for. His mother traced these same numbers once. Three months later they buried her. A debt you cannot see is the one that kills you. I can see this one now.
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