Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ALEKSEI
I’ve stared death in the face. Watched men beg and break. Felt the crunch of bone beneath my fists, the warmth of blood on my hands.
But standing at this altar? This feels far more dangerous.
Because she might not come. Because a part of me isn’t sure she should.
On the outside, no one can tell what is going through my mind. But inside, a sliver of something sharp turns low in my chest.
She’s late. Not by much. But enough that I start to wonder…will she run? Would she dare?
Kirill lets out a quiet laugh beside me, posture lazy, hands folded behind his back like we’re not surrounded by enough firepower to overthrow a small government.
“Think she drove off yet?”
“She could try.” I flick a speck of lint from my sleeve. “But there’s nowhere she can go that I won’t find her.”
He grins. “Romantic.”
Konstantin steps closer, palm clamping around my shoulder. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Especially with everything we know about her. This could bring us a lot of problems.”
“This is the only way, and you know it.”
“Perhaps. But she’s also a prosecutor. Marrying her could burn everything we’ve built.”
“Says the man who married a fed.”
He laughs under his breath. “Ex-fed.” Then his voice drops. “But know this, brother. Fiona may be your wife, but Emilia is mine. And Emilia loves her. If you hurt someone who matters to her…I’ll take it personally.”
My face nears his, and I meet his stare head-on, my blood pumping louder in my temples. “Love has made you soft.”
He closes the distance, expression sharper. “And obsession has made you blind. You keep pretending this is just about business. About revenge. But I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
I say nothing.
“You claim you don’t care, but you watch her like a starving man watches bread. You have stalked her, chased her, protected her. Not because you had to, but because you couldn’t help yourself. You keep saying she means nothing, but you have built a cage just to keep her close.”
I adjust the cufflink on my wrist, eyes narrowing as he fixes his jacket and backs away.
“You’re addicted to the idea of her,” he continues, and the temptation to pull out my gun and use it is too strong. “And every time she gets too close, you push her away. Then you try to sew the hole up afterward like it didn’t tear through you. But love can get to anyone, even you.”
My jaw flexes. “You finished?”
“Almost,” he adds just as the first notes of the violin begin to play. “Try to be a decent husband. It is the only way this doesn’t end with both of you miserable.”
I ignore him, keeping my eyes trained on the entryway where she’s meant to appear. “She makes me miserable.”
“No,” he says simply. “She doesn’t. And that is the part you hate the most.”
I despise it when he’s right.
She drives me mad. Cuts beneath my skin. But I crave her like oxygen.
The crowd rises.
Then she appears, flanked by her parents, the only ones she invited.
And the second I see her, my heart beats faster, even when I beg it not to.
She’s veiled and radiant, the gown hugging her body in a way that steals the air from my lungs. Worth every dollar I spent.
Her eyes slam to mine, her head high, back straight. She looks like she’s ready for the next battle, and I grow hard just thinking about our next fight.
Every step she takes toward me only tightens the pull—this sick, hungry need I keep trying to fight. To crush.
But Konstantin was wrong. Love has nothing to do with this. This is nothing more than need. Possession. Obsession that’s been festering ever since the day she first sat in that courtroom, lips cunning, promising to take everything from me.
Her parents say something to her, then her father presses a kiss to her temple before turning his attention to me.
“You hurt my daughter…” he fires as he shifts her hand into mine. “And I’ll find a way to make you regret it.”
I nod once, not offended in the slightest. I would do far worse if she was my daughter.
He holds my gaze a second longer, then steps back, guiding his wife to the front pew as Father Pasha begins the ceremony.
But I’m not looking at anyone else. I bring Fiona’s hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. Her fingers twitch in my hold.
“You look beautiful, moya ptichka.”
She doesn’t smile. Instead, she leans in, her tone razor-sharp beneath the veil. “You’re making a huge mistake. And you may think you’re only hurting me with this sham of a marriage, but you’re hurting yourself too, Marinov. Because I will never love you, and everyone needs that.”
I laugh under my breath, the sound vibrating in my chest as I kiss her hand again. “Your love is the last thing I want. Believe me.”
I don’t let go, tightening my grip instead. She glares at me, heat flaring behind her eyes, and all I feel is fire. The kind that burns. The kind that brands.
The priest starts speaking, but his voice fades behind the roar in my head. All I hear is her breath. The shift of her gown. The crack in her voice as she repeats the words she’s forced to say.
Then Konstantin leans in, speaking low behind me. “Don’t waste this chance to have more than he ever let us have.”
I say nothing.
Because I’m not wasting it. I’m claiming it. I’m claiming her.
But love? Love makes men weak. Makes them forget who they are. What matters.
Just because he forgot that doesn’t mean I will. I won’t falter, and I won’t fall.
Not for her. Not for anyone.