9. Chapter 7
Z asha
Two weeks later
The house is silent and still, but I know that will change by tonight, once my bride moves in.
I stand in front of the mirror, the sleek black edge of it catching just a trace of morning light as I adjust my tie with steady hands.
I’m alone by choice.
I told Viktor and Lev not to swing by this morning; instead, I’d meet them at the venue. Told them — and myself — that there’s nothing sentimental about this marriage. There isn’t going to be some brotherly bonding moment of them welcoming me into matrimonial bliss.
This is business.
I smooth the fabric of my dark suit, running a palm down the crisp line of the jacket. The cufflinks click softly as I fasten them. The silver catches the light, cold and polished.
Every movement is precise, sharp, controlled.
It has to be.
I reach for the holster, slipping it on under the jacket — more from habit than necessity, but the weight grounds me.
Reminds me who I am, what world I belong to, and what this marriage is supposed to be.
I meet my own gaze in the mirror, staring hard.
The man looking back is carved from steel — sharp jaw, dark eyes, nothing soft, nothing warm.
Good. That’s how it should be. And yet, my jaw tightens as an image slices through my careful calm.
Mara.
The way she’d felt in my arms — soft, small, yet fierce, her body molding perfectly against mine when I pulled her close and kissed her outside under the stars.
I exhale hard through my nose, jaw clenching, and think to myself.
You better fucking remember what this union is all about.
This is politics. Alliance. Strategy. A marriage made to stitch two worlds together, nothing more. So, instead of thinking about how soft my bride feels, I think about the shipping corridor that is about to be opened up to the bratva. And the increased flow of cash that will come with it.
But Mara keeps poking through my thoughts and defences no matter how much I try to shove her down and box her up. She’s vibrant, sharp, brave, and young. She’s sharp. And she’s not supposed to get under my skin.
Not like this.
I grab my keys from the dresser, the cold metal biting into my palm.
For a moment, I just stand there, the house around me silent and empty.
Then I square my shoulders, shake the thoughts off, and head for the door.
There’s no space for doubt. No space for longing or softness or hesitation.
Today, I walk into this as a soldier. A strategist.
Not like a man quietly unraveling on the inside.
The car door shuts with a soft click behind me, and I adjust my jacket as I stride toward the ceremony location, shoes hitting the stone path in steady, measured beats.
Cartel men with familiar faces and deadly reputations glance up and nod as I walk by. Bratva associates, also standing in quiet clusters, offer small, respectful dips of their heads. I return each gesture with the faintest nod, no more, no less.
Every step brings me closer to the heart of it — to the altar where, in just minutes, I’ll stand and wait for the woman I’m about to call my wife.
My pulse pounds steadily in my throat, sharp and insistent, no matter how much I tell myself to ignore it.
Inside, there’s a weight — a heaviness in my chest, a restless coil tightening and tightening, refusing to let go.
Get your head right, Zasha.
I force my breathing to be slow and measured, drawing from the same focus I use before operations and before hits.
I’ve handled deals that would’ve left me gutted if I made even one wrong move.
I’ve walked into enemy territory knowing I was one breath away from death.
Why, then, does this — standing here on the edge of marriage — make my heart slam like I’m walking into a goddamned ambush?
I shift my shoulders, exhaling through clenched teeth. It’s not nerves. It’s not emotion. It’s just… noise.
Noise I need to cut through before I step up to that altar. Because when Mara walks down that aisle, I need to be ready to say I do.
I stand outside the ceremony room, adjusting my cuffs, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric.
My heart pounds harder than I want to admit — a slow, relentless drumbeat that echoes louder the more I try to ignore it.
I remind myself that this is just like any other business deal: a one-year alliance that will strengthen both sides, stabilize territories, and open new channels.
Nothing more. Nothing to get worked up about.
But inside, my chest feels tight—too tight—as if a fist is slowly curling beneath my ribs. Suddenly, I realize my apprehension stems from knowing that Mara and I will be living under the same roof, and I’ll have to keep my hands to myself.
I’ve tried not to kiss her again since our date.
I’ve attempted to keep my distance, to maintain sharp and clean boundaries.
But every time I think of her — her sharp wit, her unflinching gaze, the quiet fire that lingers just beneath her composed surface — something slips, and fractures just a little inside me.
I exhale slowly, adjusting my cuffs again, trying to steady myself.
How is she feeling right now? Is she nervous? Is she regretting this?
A flicker of something sharp cuts through me at the thought — something too close to jealousy, too close to longing.
I shut it down and tighten the grip around it. Because I can’t afford to walk into that room rattled.
Not when I’m about to stand at the altar and claim her — if only for a year.
I shift my weight, rolling my shoulders back in an attempt to loosen the tensions in my muscles.
“Why do you look like you’re about to face a firing squad?”
The voice cuts through my thoughts, sounding sharp, amused, and playful.
I snap my eyes open just as Scarlett enters my line of sight. Viktor’s wife moves with the same confident grace she has always possessed. She has managed to step into our world and fit in so seamlessly, as if she were born into it.
Yelena trails beside her, elegant and watchful, a spark of mischief in her blue eyes.
And behind them, Alina, Viktor’s youngest sister and Lev’s wife, grins widely, her eyes twinkling as if she knows exactly where this is going.
I straighten immediately, schooling my face back to neutral.
“Scarlett,” I say smoothly. “Ladies.”
Scarlett lifts a brow, smirking. “You’re wound up tighter than a garrote wire, Zasha. Relax.”
I grunt, giving a faint shake of my head. “I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Yelena steps forward, poking me lightly in the arm.
“Come on, Zasha,” she says with a teasing lilt. “We all know you’ve been growling less since she showed up.”
My jaw tenses.
That’s not true. Or is it?
Before I can argue, Alina tilts her head, grinning sweetly.
“And blushing more.”
I shoot her a sharp look, my mouth tugging down in a scowl — but I know, even without seeing it, that the three of them are exchanging victorious glances.
I mutter something under my breath, turning slightly away, hoping they’ll take the hint.
They don’t.
Scarlett plants a hand on her hip, eyes glinting with wicked amusement.
“Did… you just almost smile?”
I exhale hard, dragging a hand down my face.
“Stop scrubbing your hand across your face so that you do not end up rubbing off your signature scowl,” Alina says.
Finally, I let out a soft, low laugh, shaking my head.
Scarlett lets out a small, mock gasp, dramatically clapping her hands together.
“Victory,” she whispers to Yelena and Alina.
Yelena grins, nudging Alina. “We should’ve bet on this.”
I roll my eyes but feel the knot in my chest loosen — just a little. It’s strange, how easily they disarm me.
Scarlett, Yelena, Alina — they’re the only ones in this world who can poke fun at me without risking a broken nose. They are Family, not by blood, but by every bond that matters. And even I can’t deny that their presence here, their laughter and sharp teasing, grounds me in a way nothing else does.
But as soon as they drift off, leaving me alone again, the quiet rushes back in, heavier than before.
I square my shoulders, steadying my breath.
Because in just minutes, Mara will walk down the aisle to me — and no matter how much they joke, no matter how much I try to tell myself this is all tactical, I know the truth.
Nothing about this feels simple anymore.
While I am still contemplating, I sense them before I see them. The subtle shift in the air, the faint softening of conversation as people glance toward the doorway.
Viktor and Lev.
They move through the space with sharp, effortless authority — no loud announcement, no unnecessary fanfare.
Just the presence of two men who command a room by existing in it.
Viktor reaches me first, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, dark eyes flicking over me in one smooth sweep.
He claps a firm hand on my shoulder — not hard, not soft, just enough to rattle me.
“Ready?”
I draw in a breath, slow and deliberate, exhaling just as carefully.
“As I’ll ever be.”
And it’s the truth.
No amount of prep or mental strategy will change what’s coming next. I’ll stand at that altar and take her hand.
I’ll do the one thing I never imagined for myself, which is to become a husband.
Even if — especially if — it’s only temporary.
Lev steps up beside Viktor, sharp-eyed, his mouth curled in the faintest smirk.
“Try not to scare her at the altar, Zee.”
I grunt softly, giving him a sidelong look. “She knows exactly what she’s walking into.”
Lev chuckles under his breath, shifting his weight slightly.
For a moment, the noise of the room fades — the murmured conversations, the shuffling footsteps, the undercurrent of expectation running through the air.
All I feel is this tight, steady circle we’ve built over years of loyalty and blood and unspoken understanding.
Viktor, Lev, me.
A family not born of blood, but forged in fire and iron will. They know and understand that I’m not the kind of man who needs pep talks or sentiment. But standing here, with their quiet presence beside me, I realize just how much their steadiness matters.
How much it’s holding me up, even now.
Viktor’s hand lingers on my shoulder for just a beat longer before he lets it drop.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he says quietly, voice pitched low so only the three of us can hear. “The bratva will be ten times stronger with this move.”
I nod once, the words settling heavy but true in my chest.
Lev claps me lightly on the back, flashing a faint grin.
“Look at it this way: at least you’re marrying someone gorgeous.”
I huff a low, reluctant laugh, shaking my head. “Asshole.”
He just grins wider.
The moment stretches, quiet and solid — a rare, grounding pause before the storm.
Then Viktor glances toward the far door, sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
“It’s time.”
I draw in one last breath, squaring my shoulders.
I’ve faced worse. Hell, I’ve survived worse.
But as I step toward the altar, one thought curls quietly in the back of my mind:
I’ve never faced anything like her.
I move into place at the altar, my steps steady, calculated — but my heart?
It’s another matter entirely.
Each beat feels too loud, too heavy inside my chest, no matter how tightly I pull my control around it. I clasp my hands in front of me, fingers locking together, keeping the posture formal, neutral, untouchable.
Guests shift quietly in the seats, low murmurs passing through the room like a thin current of air.
The Bratva men, sharp-eyed and suited, flank one side; the Delgado cartel elders and their families fill the other, their glances sharp with curiosity, calculation, and no small dose of power politics.
And me?
I stand tall. Keeping my face composed and my eyes fixed forward.
I’ve faced assassins with knives at my throat, walked into boardrooms where one wrong word could cost me everything.
And yet, standing here, waiting for a woman I’m about to claim as my wife almost makes my hands tremble.
The music starts, and the room stills. A hush ripples through the air, sweeping across the rows of seated guests like a single, collective breath.
I lift my gaze.
And there — framed perfectly at the end of the aisle — stands Mara.
Soft ivory hugs her figure, elegant and understated, but it’s her face that hits me hardest.
Glowing.
Not with wide-eyed innocence, not with nervous uncertainty — but with quiet determination, and fierce grace. She is a woman who knows what she wants.
Her chin lifts just slightly as she takes the first step forward, her eyes locking onto mine without flinching. And in that instant, every carefully stacked wall inside me wavers.