Bond to Break (Stolen Obsessions #4)

1. Katya

CHAPTER 1

KATYA

The season wrapped only four hours ago, and the adrenaline from the standing ovation still tingles in my fingertips. My toes do too, but from the hours spent en pointe. The role of Juliet is a demanding one.

The last show in our production of Romeo and Juliet went off without a hitch. The ballet was everything .

The cast celebrates backstage with the meals we brought in for a shared feast, cheap bottles of wine, and a couple of treasured, pricey ones that were sent as gifts. We’re all eating, happy, half drunk, and sparking with the joy of a job well done when the gentle ring of silverware on crystal breaks the conversations and laughter.

My best friend Natalia smiles and shakes my shoulder, drawing my attention to the center of the room, but I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I can’t see through all our friends and castmates. The faces around me are mostly excited—only a few are clueless, like mine. People part, leaving a path to where Pietro stands, still in his costume—my Romeo.

He holds a glass of champagne, and when our eyes meet, he gifts me with one of his smiles. Warmth, true love, home.

“I’ve been in love with you a long time, Katya. Dancing across from you is a partnership beyond my wildest dreams. Your steps always match mine. Your heart beats in the same tune. Marry me.” He drops to his knee as he speaks the last word, and pure joy bursts inside me.

I don’t have a family. My parents died when I was young, and I don’t have siblings. I’ve loved him since we were fifteen, but this is more. This is my family, my Pietro .

I run into his arms, tackling him half to the floor and landing kisses all over his face rather than answering.

“Is that a yes? Please, my love.”

“Of course it’s a yes.”

A little while later, the party comes to an end. Our friends and the other dancers hug us goodbye and offer their congratulations. There wasn’t drama like some shows, and we’ll be leaving on a good footing with everyone.

“It was so obvious you guys are forever,” Natalia tells me with a squeeze.

“The two best dancers around. Imagine how talented your kids will be,” comments Carlo, the oldest in the company.

We hug, kiss, and say goodbye, then climb into the car with well-wishes called behind us. I’m happy, bubbling with the joy and promise of the life we’ve decided on.

“I can’t wait to marry you, Katya,” Pietro says, echoing my thoughts as he grabs my hand and settles them on the rest between us.

Pietro’s love seeps into his words and the way he holds my hand, but there’s a flirtatious edge both of us struggle to ignore. We’ve fooled around a bit, but we’re Russian Orthodox, so we’ve never had sex. We’re waiting for marriage, and after four years together, it’s been a very long wait. He finally put an expiration date on it.

His fingers climb my thigh, and I playfully slap his hand away. He depends on me to say no for us both, and that hasn’t changed just because the wait is almost over. Heat flows past the trail of his fingers and pools deep inside me.

“Stop, Pietro.” I giggle, and while I mean it, neither one of us wants him to.

Snow falls, sleek and shining. Christmas is fast approaching, and I hope it will be white and perfect for that morning. It feels like that will happen, like anything I want will unfold in front of me because that’s how life is for me. How it’s always been. How it’s meant to be.

My fiancé is beside me, and my performance will be the top billing in tomorrow’s headlines. I’m unstoppable.

The air changes before anything happens, or maybe Pietro sees something I don’t. He hits the brake and tries to swerve, but it only prolongs the inevitable by half a second.

Headlights blind me before the collision shakes every part of me. Heat, the sense of combustion, and the smell of gunpowder all surround me as the airbags detonate, and the flying glass cuts my skin.

The car is a cage of metal and pain. My legs scream in agony, but I can’t tell if I scream along with them. I’m crushed. I can barely breathe. I’m about to die. Pietro.

“Pietro?” I find my voice to call for him. “Pietro!” I scream as I reach over the center console where our hands rested just a few moments before. He doesn’t respond. He’s just unconscious , I tell myself.

The night is dark except for the headlights, and it seems we’re more alone than two people can be, but before I know it, someone opens my door.

“Are you okay?” I can’t discern anything about the person asking me. I’m too focused on him.

“Pietro.” I sob this time because he still hasn’t spoken. The airbag deflates in front of me, revealing the truth—beautiful blond curls full of blood, head turned at an unnatural angle, and eyes forever open.

I was wrong when I said he did nothing but prolong the inevitable. He changed the trajectory of the collision. He put himself between that car and me. He died for me.

I scream in heartsick pain and unbearable physical agony until I lose consciousness, and I don’t regain it again for a very long time.