Chapter 23
EMBER
I’d give anything to go back to the safety of one of my books right now. Back to where there are always happily ever afters, and the bad guys never win… unless they’re the bad guy you fall in love with.
Like me.
Because right now, I’m in the back of an armored car next to my soon-to-be husband, forced into a marriage he tells me is temporary when I know better, fleeing from the vindictive son of a bitch I’ve spent years trying to escape.
In the books? This is an easy one. My Bratva hottie saunters in, impervious to the laws and consequences. He defeats the bad guy and claims me as his own; we suspend disbelief, and there’s no legal fallout. Maybe I have his babies, and somehow, our two extremely different lives meld into a happily ever after.
But this is nothing like that. Right now, my nerves are so raw I’m nauseous. Rodion’s anything but romantic as he curses in Russian and gives me short, cryptic answers, as he’s glued to his phone.
Right now, we’re hurtling toward our wedding day.
I want to keep my mind in the present, to ground myself in the reality of what’s tangible and real.
I’m safe.
We’re getting married.
We will make this work.
He loves me.
Loves me? I feel like I’m saying one of those affirmations they tell you to say as if saying I’m beautiful, I’m rich, I’m perfect, will somehow make it so. But there’s a disconnect between the words and reality.
Loves me?
How do you really, truly know someone does?
“Here we are.” Rodion doesn’t look at me, his jaw clenched as he stares out the window. I want to reach for him. I want to bring him back to me. I want to see that passion in his eyes I saw last night. I’d give anything for that smirk right now.
But instead, I see nothing but the cold, impassive face of the Bratva. My future husband.
“Here we are,” I echo. I sigh and look away.
The Romanov estate stretches out into the sunset as if it’s carved straight from the earth—unyielding and imposing, as old as sin. With the brief conversation I had with Yana and Zoya last night, I gathered the Romanovs practically own everything in The Cove here in New York, nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan.
The car comes to a stop, but I don’t move.
He said Shawn was here. Where exactly is he? How safe are we?
“Let’s go.”
“Rodion—”
When his eyes meet mine, something in me softens. I feel vulnerable and afraid, and no one, no one has ever made me feel as safe as Rodion has. My words come out in a shaky whisper despite my bravest attempts to speak up. “Where is he?”
Rodion reaches for both of my hands, his gaze burning into mine. “Rafail said he’s gone for now. Told him he’d be back, and there would be hell to pay.” He shakes his head. “As if he thinks he can take on the Romanov and Kopolov family combined.”
But there’s a flicker in his eyes. This isn’t as simple as it seems.
I try to mask my feelings, try to pretend that I’m not a nervous wreck knowing Shawn’s flown all the way here to end whatever there is between me and Rodion. And right then, for one fraction of a second… I’m relieved we’re getting married. Even if it isn’t my choice. Even if it’s temporary.
I can feel the tension beneath Rodion’s calm exterior, his pulse rapid.
I can feel my own.
Rodion wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his. The kiss is tender and chaste, a reminder that he’s going to do everything in his power to protect me. To keep us safe.
I have to hold onto that.
“You’re strong, Ember Steele. Even your name is fire. Unyielding.” He shakes his head, holding my gaze with his. “And no one, not even me, is going to take that from you.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “ Especially me.”
I have to believe him.
I have no other choice.
While the rest of this situation feels fraught and uncertain, there’s one thing I know for sure: the Romanovs don’t do modest. Do any of them?
For one fleeting second, I don’t feel like Cinderella in a borrowed gown, waiting for the clock to strike midnight before I turn back into a pauper. No. I hold my chin high, and for a fleeting second, I don’t care about Shawn. I don’t care about temporary or forced or whatever restrictions we want to put on my marriage to Rodion. For one fleeting second , I belong here .
Maybe I am a queen. His little queen, yes, but… a queen.
The world outside the window looks something like a dream. The gorgeous estate is sprawling and beautiful despite the marble, steel, and sharp edges of a New York winter. Ice crystals decorate the bare branches of the weeping willows that line the walk to the house.
Silhouettes of spire columns stand dark against the morning light backdrop.
Even from here, I can see sparkling chandeliers glinting from massive windows and staff inside milling about with efficiency and decorum. The magnificent display of ice sculptures takes my breath away, silver garland glinting on the wrought iron fences and rail that line the home.
And then there are the people.
I don’t know most of them, though I recognize Yana and Zoya, as well as Rodion’s brothers Semyon and Rafail. I’ve always struggled to remember names, so I didn’t make myself memorize more than those few.
For now.
Yana stands beside a man I don’t know, with dark skin and snappy black eyes. He has a wide, handsome, friendly face. She holds his arm with elegance. Her husband.
Zoya fiddles nervously with the red velvet edge of her sleeve. She offers me a small, hesitant smile and a little wave.
“She’s sweet,” I whisper to Rodion.
“Somebody has to be,” he mutters back.
Behind Zoya, Rafail stands like a shadow, broad and imposing. His expression is thunderous as if the permanent scowl he wears is carved into his features. Semyon lingers just a step behind, his eyes flicking between me and Rodion as if cataloging our every move.
He probably is.
And then there are the guards.
Armed men stand at every corner and entrance, their black suits pressed and sharp, not even bothering to hide their guns.
Well, then. I guess this is how we roll now.
They’re not subtle. Neither is the Bratva wealth that exudes from the entire setting as well as every person here—the stretch of imported cars, the perfectly curated lawn, even frozen in mid-winter.
Rodion steps out first and adjusts his tie. My god, why is that so sexy? My romance-cultured brain short-circuits at the sight of him dressed in a tux I had barely processed before now. We were so rushed, and I was so nervous. He fills out the suit with perfection, his tall, lithe, powerful form barely contained. The tiniest hint of a tat peeks out from under his collar, his eyes somehow both serious and dancing.
My heart swells. I love that about him. I love that so much.
He holds a hand out to me silently, palm up. It feels oddly symbolic. I wish I could capture it in a picture. For now, I’ll have to commit it to memory.
His hand is rough as I place mine in his. The warmth of his touch is the only thing grounding me as I step into the cold air.
Every eye is on us. I know somewhere out there, Shawn takes in every detail.
I hope he notes my future husband in detail.
Rodion’s grip tightens as he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Smile, little queen. Everyone’s watching.”
I lift my chin, my heart pounding against my rib cage, and let him lead me forward.
“Ember. I’m Ekaterina Romanova. Welcome.” A woman with a swath of silver hair tucked into a bun smiles at me, her eyes stern yet welcoming. Ah. A woman with a spine of steel but with heart. I like that. I suppose it’s a combo that would serve a woman of the Bratva well.
She extends a hand, and I take it gratefully. Next, she turns to Rodion. “And welcome, Rodion. I’ve heard you two have quite the circumstances surrounding this whole ordeal.” Stepping back, she leans into my ear. “I love romance too, Ember. It’s so… escapist , isn’t it?” With that, she turns and gestures for us to follow her.
“Fortunately, we were in full preparation for tonight’s gala, so a simple wedding ceremony was easy to pull off.”
She goes on about flowers and food, a simple guest list and plans, while I follow Rodion, his family trailing behind us.
I can feel the tension beneath Rodion’s calm exterior, his pulse rapid.
“It’s freezing out here. They didn’t all have to come out,” I say in a small voice to Rodion as he opens the door.
“They came out in case they’re needed.”
Ah. So beneath those elegant, sleek clothes, they’re all armed to the teeth.
Yana winks at me, and little Zoya squeezes my hand as Ekaterina leads us into an elegant living room. I barely notice the details.
I’m about to be married.
“Aren’t there… legal things we need to do?” I ask Rodion.
“Taken care of.”
I give him a half smile, and he snorts under his breath. “Competency porn?” he whispers.
“Mhm.”
At the sight of the officiant, however, I freeze.
This is real.
I’m going to be married. In real life.
Into the Bratva.
Rodion’s wealthy and charming and dangerous as hell, and I have… mixed feelings.
Shawn is breathing down our necks like the predator he is, but the Kopolov family presses in on all sides, reminding us of who they are and what we promise.
This is real.
But as the officiant drones on, I hardly hear them.
Is this really how it ends?
I glance at Rodion, uncertainty swelling in my chest. I feel like I’m waiting for a sign that, at any moment, he’ll give me the signal to run or drop another bombshell on me.
But there’s nowhere to run.
And this is all too real.
We take our vows in a rush of whispers. This is nothing like the formal weddings I’ve read about in the books, but fast and pragmatic.
When he slides the ring onto my finger… it feels heavier than it should.
Done.
This isn’t the wedding of my dreams.
And when I look at Rodion, I wonder.
Is it his?
I stare at the ring on my finger, my breathing shallow. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what, as the room erupts into cheers and someone starts pouring vodka. I take the shot glass thrust into my hand, even though I haven’t eaten breakfast and morning vodka sounds like a terrible idea. I’m afraid if I decline, I’ll break some type of unwritten rule.
Rodion’s eyes meet mine, anchoring me in place. When he brushes his fingers to my jaw, he leaves a trail of heat across my skin. Leaning in, he kisses me. And I remember why we’re here.
I remember his promise last night. I remember the way he said he loved me, the way he held me. The way he told me he would never let anyone hurt me, not ever again.
I remember how he promised to protect me and devote himself to me.
We may be new to this but hope blossoms in my heart.
Rodion is trying. So will I.
“Done,” he mutters, his hand resting at the small of my back as he steers me away from the officiant.
“We have coffee and breakfast for all in the dining room,” Ekaterina says with a smile. “Let’s celebrate.”
After Rodion and I sit down, Yana approaches with her husband. “Welcome to the family,” she says with a wide grin. “Try not to cause too much trouble. I’ve heard about those books.”
I let out a laugh, the tension in my chest easing a little. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Oh, I don’t,” she replies with a wink. “I’ve…seen the covers.”
Zoya is next. She steps forward with an almost apologetic smile. The poor girl is so timid. “If you need anything at all, please let me know,” she says with a smile and a swift hug. “It can be overwhelming at first. I know Polina had her work cut out for her though…” Her voice trails off. “She had other challenges too.”
Overwhelming is one way to put it.
Semyon is the one who makes a shiver trail down my spine. His eyes are ice, his tone even colder. The mood shifts like a cold wind. He stands apart from the rest, his movements deliberate and measured, as if he’s sizing me up.
“Welcome,” he says without a trace of a smile. The words are polite. The tone isn’t. He lifts a drink to his lips.
I muster a tight smile. “Thank you.”
Rodion’s stiffened posture beside me feels like a quiet warning, but before the tension can thicken, a booming voice breaks through.
“Ah, so this is the woman that think she knows all about us!” Matvei strides over, his grin wide and devilish. “Rodion, you didn’t warn her about the initiation, did you?”
“What initiation?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.
Matvei’s grin widens. “The one where you have to prove you can survive in a room full of men who think your mafia book heroes are a joke.”
“Matvei,” Rodion says in warning, but his eyes are dancing.
“Oh, don’t forget the part where they’re all billionaires,” someone else chimes in. “Damn it, I missed the sign up.”
“Tell me,” Matvei says, “in these books do the men walk around in suits all day? Even when fighting off entire armies with their bare hands?”
“Bare hands and six packs,” Zoya chimes in, giggling.
I can’t help but laugh even as my cheeks flame. “I don’t write them, I just read them, okay?”
“But you’re the expert!” Matvei says, sitting down across from me with an exaggerated lean forward. He unfastens the top button of his shirt and gives me a wink. “So tell me how accurate they are. I am single…”
“Better start working on that six-pack. I mean, more accurately… nine pack, right?” Yana asks with a snort.
I glance around at them, realizing that for all their dangerous edges and reputations, there’s one thing the books get right: the sense of family loyalty you can’t ignore.
I look over to see Rafail standing next to a man the rest seem to be deferring to. He looks about Rafail’s age, with a tall, muscular build and tanned, golden skin. I watch him chatting with Rafail, their voices rising and falling, even when they maintain decorum.
“Mikhail Romanov,” Rodion whispers in my ear. “This is his home. His sister Polina is married to my brother.”
Oooh, right. I forgot about that. This is why they had to come and prove themselves, something about making a good show of things.
It doesn’t feel like a ceremony. I don’t feel… married.
But Rodion? His hand closes over mine, solid and sure, as he talks to the Romanov family.
I don’t know any of them and won’t be able to remember their names. I’m lucky I remember mine at this point. But there’s a tall, dark, and classically handsome one talking about biometric tracking and drones with Mikhail’s wife, a spitfire of a woman with glasses and a mane of curly hair, alongside a few lethal, menacing-looking Bratva types, as well as one who’s so big he has to turn sideways to walk in the room.
The estate glows with candles, the atmosphere softened with streams of classical music. It’s nearing lunchtime when Ekaterina says it’s time to begin preparations for the gala. In the meantime, Rafail wants us to get pictures taken.
It feels so surreal. I long to escape into one of the expansive rooms in this mansion, just me and a book, preferably with a pair of noise-canceling headphones. The sound, sights, and intense atmosphere are almost oppressive. I don’t want to be on anymore. I don’t want to pretend to fit in with people I have nothing in common with.
“Smile,” Rodion murmurs, his voice a low vibration in my ear. “You’re mine now, Mrs. Kopolova. It’s time to play the part.”
I feel the weight of those words. The expectation.
But I smile until my face feels sore. I savor the weight of his hand on my lower back and the way he says my wife.
And when it all feels like too much, I remind myself that it’s only temporary, that this won’t be my life forever… even as the thought of separation from Rodion makes my heart ache.
I can’t have him and pass on Bratva life though. The two are irrevocably entwined.
“Ember? I just wanted to wish you congratulations.”
I turn to see a tall, willowy blonde with pale blue eyes and a ready smile extending her hand out to me.
“I’m Polina Kopolova, formerly Romanova. My mother’s arranged for you and Rodion to have a room on the third floor so you can regroup and get a little rest before tonight.” She snorts. “It’s the room marked with white balloons. She’s so cute.”
I shake her hand. “Ah, thank you. Wait, so you’re the one who joined these two families together?”
“Oh, well…” she begins hesitantly. “I… am still in the process of trying. ”
“And doing an excellent job,” Yana says. “Old habits die hard and all that. You know how pigheaded our brothers are.” She rolls her eyes.
“Yup. Listen, Mom needs me in the kitchen. We’ll catch up later? We have so much to do,” Polina says. “Mom gets a bit frantic before the gala.”
“They do it every year,” Zoya explains. “It’s epic. ”
“We have to,” Polina continues as she turns to head to the kitchen. “It’s our way of keeping local people pleased with us and keeping money in the community coffers.” She gives me a slight grimace. “Believe me, it helps.”
She flits to the kitchen as Rodion joins Rafail and Semyon. I sit heavily in a chair. The dress I’m wearing feels so heavy, too stunning, too extravagant for someone like me, like a costume for a role I haven’t rehearsed.
Rodion’s in a heated conversation with Rafail, even as his gaze constantly assesses the situation. I watch him eye every exit, every window, and every person who walks in the room.
“When will people start arriving for the gala?” I ask Zoya. Yana’s gone off with her husband, and I’m left alone with the shy youngest sister.
She bites one of her nails thoughtfully. “Hmm. Shortly after they’re supposed to, is my guess.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm,” she says with a nod. “These are not the types who show up early for events.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone has to make an entrance. ” She sips a glass of champagne. “It isn’t here, though, but offsite in a gallery or something?”
“Did you ask Rafail for permission for that, Zoya?” Rodion quirks a brow at her.
Zoya’s cheeks flush adorably pink. “They poured it for me.”
My heart thumps at the way he quirks a brow at her. Rodion as big brother is so damn cute.
He gives her a stern look. “Do you think Rafail would take that as an excuse?”
Zoya sighs. “ Rodi. ”
“He wouldn’t mind a little champagne, would he? It’s our wedding,” I tell him, my hand on his chest. Seems ironic a man who deals in everyday illegal activity would balk at his sister having a little bubbly.
“You really don’t know Rafail,” Rodion says with a grimace, scratching at his jaw. “Make it your last, Zoya.”
She nods. Poor kid. It must be insufferable to be under the watchful eye of all those bossy brothers.
Before I can wade in and defend her, his phone buzzes. He glances down, his body tensing.
“Something wrong?” I try to peek at the screen. I swear to god, if Shawn?—
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he replies, slipping his phone in his pocket.
“If it’s Shawn…”
“Ember. I said I’ll handle it. Trust me.” I place my champagne down and press my hand to his chest. I can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath my palm just before his hand closes over mine, trapping it against his heartbeat.
I draw in a deep breath, and I… release it.
Whoosh.
Can I trust him?
He kisses my cheek.
“I need to step out a minute.”
I nod. “Polina said they have a room upstairs for us to rest in if we want to.”
Of course, red-blooded alpha male that he is, he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “I would love to rest. ” He somehow puts air quotes around the word rest .
“ Rodi. ” I stifle a giggle, repeating Zoya’s nickname for him just because I love the way his eyes narrow in on me.
“Call me that again, little queen.” He clucks his tongue at me. “Go, Ember. Rest. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
But it’s hard to rest knowing Shawn is out there, that he’s never going to walk away from me, knowing I shunned him and knowing that I just married into the Bratva.
What does that even mean?
I consider taking the dress off, but in the end, keep it on because… well, if I’m honest, I want Rodion to take it off. So sue me if I still have book boyfriend fantasies I want to live out.
I lie in the bed, propped up on a variety of pillows, and pull out my phone. My heart rate races when I see I got another message from Shawn.
I put the phone down.
I pick it up again.
I stare at it as if it’s a lethal snake about to bite me.
I finally click the message to read it, despite everything in me screaming at me not to.
Shawn: you looked beautiful today. White always suited you. You look beautiful now. Careful not to wrinkle the dress, Ember
I sit up in bed, my heart racing. Footsteps sound outside the door. I try to remember everything about self-defense, but I haven’t practiced, and my mind is a blank of nerves and fear.
Oh god.
Oh god.
I look wildly around the room, but it’s just a simple guest room, well-appointed but simple. Pillows, blankets, and—my eyes come to rest on a bottle of champagne on the dresser.
I could break it. If I have to, I can use it as a weapon, and I could?—
The door handle jingles. Someone pounds at the door. I scream.