Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FIONA
The ceremony is over.
The fake vows, the diamond rings on my finger, the man gripping my hand… I survived all of it. Somehow.
Now I’m standing in the middle of his estate under a silk-draped tent strung with crystals, surrounded by more criminals than a Manhattan courthouse on indictment day.
Roses. Peonies. Velvet chairs. White centerpieces that probably cost more than my car.
It’s all stunning. And suffocating.
My wedding reception looks like a war council disguised as a black-tie gala. There must be a hundred people here, probably more. Everywhere I look, someone is watching me, their eyes taking in every detail.
The room is packed with designer suits and dresses, like everyone showed up to audition for a Vogue spread.
And me? I didn’t invite anyone. Not a single friend. Not a single coworker. Because how do you invite people to witness your legally binding fall into hell?
Come celebrate as Fiona Clark marries Aleksei Marinov, the man she once tried to put away for life! Open bar. Armed guests. Please RSVP.
I’d laugh if it didn’t feel like I might scream.
People keep walking up to us, congratulating us like we’re some happy couple and I’m a blushing bride who wasn’t emotionally blackmailed into marrying a man who may or may not bury someone alive before dessert.
I really wouldn’t put it past him.
Aleksei plays the role well: smiling tightly, nodding politely, his hand resting low on my back like he owns me. Which, to be fair, he kind of does.
I’m trying to remember all the names and faces of those I don’t know, but they start to blur the moment the Quinn family arrives, also known as Irish Mob.
“Congratulations,” Eriu, the youngest sibling, says warmly, her brown hair pulled back into some elegant braid I could never pull off.
She kisses my cheek like we’re old friends, and she has this light about her that shouldn’t belong in this world, but somehow does.
Her husband, Devlin, gives a polite nod and a firm handshake.
There’s a pause when he turns to Aleksei.
A subtle shift in the air before they shake hands.
Like there’s history there neither of them wants to revisit in public.
Tynan Quinn, the head of the family, follows, his expression stoic as he greets us. I swear he could pass for a Marinov with that stare. But his wife is softer, more open.
“I’m Elara,” she says, offering a gentle hug. “It’s very nice to meet you. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I fight the instinct to excuse myself and hide in the bathroom.
God, I just want this day to end. None of this is normal for me—to interact with these people, to break bread with them.
Tynan’s brother Fionn and his wife, Amara, come next. It’s obvious by his easy grin that he’s the more laid-back member of the family. Well, as laid-back as the Mob can be.
Then another Quinn arrives—Cillian this time, with two women beside him, both stunning and dark eyed. Though the older one carries a smile that could melt steel.
“Hey, I’m Dinara,” she says, extending a hand. “Aleksei’s cousin. And this is my sister, Tatiana.” She gestures toward the younger one. “My condolences, by the way.”
Her lips quirk as her gaze flicks to Aleksei.
He raises a brow. “Careful.”
“What?” She laughs, flipping her hand in the air. “It wouldn’t kill you to smile. It’s your wedding, after all.”
“You’re not funny,” he mutters flatly.
“I think she’s hilarious.” Cillian slides an arm around her, kissing her cheek like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
And for a moment, something in me twists. Because I want that. Not just the kiss. Or a man. But the ease of it. The quiet intimacy of being with someone who makes it feel simple.
I glance across at Aleksei, and the muscle in his jaw tics. When his gaze drops to my mouth, I wonder if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I clear my throat. “So, is every Quinn in attendance? Because I’m trying to remember everyone’s name and feel like I’m failing.”
Except that’s a lie. I know the names of each one.
Eriu glances around. “Well, my sister should be—”
“Saving the best for last,” comes a voice behind her, and Eriu instantly grins.
A woman steps forward, tall and striking, flipping her bright red hair past her slender shoulders. As she approaches, she does nothing to hide the holster around her thigh, clearly visible through the slit in her black gown like it’s part of the outfit.
“I’m Iseult Quinn, and this is my husband, Gio Marino.”
A tall man with dark eyes nods. “Nice to meet you.”
I know exactly who the Marinos are. They’re Italian Mafia, the ones who run the Messina crime family, one of the five families in New York.
And just behind them, the boss himself arrives: Michael Marino. Dark features, expensive suit, and the long scar on his right cheek only makes him that much more terrifying.
He gives me a firm handshake while his wife, Elsie, beams at me like this is a Hallmark movie.
“I’m sorry my brothers could not attend,” Michael says. “They sent a gift.”
“It was last-minute.” Aleksei throws a hand in the air. “We understand.”
Dinara leans into me while Aleksei talks to Michael. “You’re going to need a family tree when this is over.”
She’s not wrong.
“How many crime families are actually here?”
She lets out a laugh, like I’ve asked if the sky is blue. “All of them. It’d be an insult if even one didn’t show. Usually they send a representative, or the head of the family comes.”
“Right.” I nod slowly. “Totally normal.”
Silly me. How did I not know that?
“You’ll get used to it.”
I scoff under my breath. “Highly doubt that.”
“Nervous?”
“Only mildly terrified.”
She smirks. “Good. That’s the appropriate response to marrying a Marinov.”
I spend the next stretch of the reception nodding politely, smiling when expected, and repeating thank you until it loses all meaning. My cheeks ache. My feet hurt. And the whole time, it feels like I’ve been dropped into the center of a den of wolves.
Except I’m the only one here without a weapon.
By the time Adriano Scutari of the Grazia family approaches, I’m exhausted and need a nap.
He walks with the kind of ease that comes from power, a calm and confident stride that carries a quiet threat rather than comfort. He’s maybe around Aleksei’s age, even a little older.
The Grazias might be respected in legitimate business circles, but everyone here knows they’re just as cutthroat as the rest.
Adriano reaches for my hand, bending slightly to kiss it.
He never gets the chance. Aleksei is there in a second, a shoulder angled between us, hand on my waist.
“You don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you,” he says, each word a warning.
Adriano raises both palms, grin still firmly in place. “Of course. My apologies. We’re here as friends. My family and I hope to leave any…recent tensions in the past.” His eyes flick to mine for a beat too long.
What the hell was that about? My gaze darts to Aleksei, who hasn’t moved, every muscle in his body strung tight.
Do these two families not get along? I haven’t known of any problems between them. Not anything known amongst the legal world, anyway.
Adriano moves on to say hello to the Quinns, and when he approaches young Tatiana, her lashes dip, her body shifting. She clearly has a thing for him. When he picks up her hand and kisses the top of it, she just about melts.
I lean into Aleksei. “I think your cousin likes him.”
“Too bad,” he mutters. “She’s not marrying into that family.”
“Why not?”
His features tighten. “Not your concern.”
I arch a brow. “Aren’t I your wife now? Shouldn’t I be aware of such things?”
That gets his attention. “Oh?”
His arm slides around my waist, heat pouring off him as he pulls me closer. His eyes flicker with something possessive and altogether dangerous.
“You’re my wife now, huh? I thought this was just pretend…or how did you call it? A sham?” His fingers claim my chin, mouth inches from mine, breath hot against my lips.
“That’s right. Still is.” My voice wavers, but I don’t back down. “I just said I should know, seeing as how I’ll now have to tolerate you.”
“Mm.” He leans in, his mouth grazing mine. “Then show me, katyonak. Show me how well you can tolerate me.”
His words strike low, curling right through my core.
“How should I do that?” I whisper.
His grip tightens at my waist, dragging me flush against him. “Kiss me. Show me what a good wife you can be.”
My breath hitches, every nerve ending pulsating as I lean in and give him a small peck.
“Is that what you call a kiss?” His tone is low, lethal, his fingers snaking into my hair as he tips my head down. “Kiss me like you mean it. Like you’re begging me not to destroy your family. Like you’re begging for your life.”
For a heartbeat, reason claws to the surface, then drowns in the heat of him. The part of me that knows better flickers out, and the part that wants him, craves him, takes over completely.
I surge forward, crashing my mouth to his. My fists twist into the lapels of his jacket as I pour everything into the kiss. Every edge of fury, every pulse of desire, every breath I shouldn’t give him, but do anyway.
It’s not soft or sweet. It’s a collision. A surrender. A war we both lose.
He meets me with equal hunger, kissing me like he wants to punish me for wanting him, like he wants to ruin me for anyone else.
But this isn’t just a kiss. It’s possession. He consumes me, and I let him.
Worse, I welcome it.
Because in this moment, I want the fall. I want him. I want the plunge and the wreckage that follows.
Soon enough, I forget everything but the man kissing me like he’s waited a lifetime to do it.
And I hate how much I never want it to end.
ALEKSEI
The moment her mouth finds mine, feverish and angry all at once, I lose my fucking mind. One hand tangles in her hair, the other fastened on her hip, dragging her closer like I can mold her into me.
She tastes like defiance laced with surrender, and I kiss her harder, just to see which one breaks first.
She whimpers into my mouth, and I want more.
I want the dress off. Want her bare beneath me, flushed and cursing and clinging to me with the same vicious fury I can’t shake.
I want to drag her inside, peel the fabric off inch by inch and watch it pool on the floor before I take her against my walls, in my bed, anywhere I want her, until she remembers nothing but my name.
But not yet. That’s for later, when there’s no one here but her and me and the heat that never seems to die between us.
When we finally break apart, she’s breathless, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like she’s run a mile. Like every man in this room just watched her come in my arms.
I see them. Some look at her like they wish she was theirs. Others stare at me like I’ve lost my mind.
A prosecutor, they’re thinking. You married a goddamn prosecutor.
There’s no hiding who she is. Her face is public record. The case made headlines. Everyone knew I’d been caught—and worse, they knew it was her. The woman who tried to bring me down. I can almost see the headlines even now.
Prosecutor takes aim at the Marinov empire. Will she be the one to bring them down?
She gave it her all. I have to give her that. But failure was inevitable. I was never going to go to prison, no matter how hard she tried.
She smooths the front of her dress and starts toward her seat, but I catch her hand before she gets far.
“Dance with me, Mrs. Marinova.”
Her brows arch. “You dance?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” Her finger trails slowly down the center of my chest, featherlight and dangerous. “You’re always so…stiff. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Mm. Is that so?” I lean in, close enough to feel her breath catch. My mouth grazes the shell of her ear. “You should know by now, detka, I don’t back down from a challenge.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.” She laughs, an unguarded, rich sound that punches straight through my chest like a damn knife.
She’s never laughed like that for me before, and it tears through every raw nerve I have.
I clench my jaw, shoving that feeling down. This is nothing. It’s just a dance. A distraction. Nothing more.
I lead her toward the dance floor just as the music shifts and slows and pull her in, one hand resting at her waist, the other cradling her hand in mine while her arm slides around my neck.
And just like that, we fall into step. Like we’ve been doing this forever. She tilts her face up to mine, eyes flicking over every inch like she’s trying to read me. There’s wariness in her gaze. Curiosity too.
And I can’t look away.
Konstantin’s words echo like a curse in the back of my mind, a truth I don’t want to hear but somehow need. Because this moment, with her here in my arms, feels like more than a dance. And I don’t know if I want to push her away or pull her closer and never let go.
She’s not even trying to seduce me, and still, no one else comes close. That dress clings to her like a damn invitation. Her mouth, still swollen from our kiss, tempts me right back in. And her eyes…
Her eyes hold the storm I’ve spent a lifetime trying to outrun. And for one breathless second, I can’t imagine losing her.
She has no idea what’s circling around us or the danger she’s in, and I’m the only thing keeping the wolves at bay.
She can’t know the extent of it. If she finds out, she won’t survive it.
If anyone comes for her—when they come for her—I’ll be ready. I’ll spill blood so fast, the rivers will run red. I’ll bury their families, torch their homes, carve my warning into every wall they hide behind.
Because she’s mine now. And God help the man who forgets it.
But if she ever learns the truth, if she uncovers even a fraction of what I haven’t told her, she’ll never forgive me.
That used to mean nothing. Now…it somehow matters, and I don’t know how to reconcile that.
I tighten my grip on her waist, her body curving into mine, warm and trusting, and I despise myself for not telling her the truth. Her fingers trail along the back of my neck, nails grazing skin, and I lean in to press a kiss to her forehead.
She tilts her head back just enough to meet my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I almost laugh. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that before.”
“Don’t get used to it.” Her mouth tugs into a half-smirk, but her thumb brushes my jaw like she doesn’t mean a damn word.
Leaning down, I kiss her again. Slower this time. Softer.
Like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her before it all burns to the ground.