Chapter 10 - Keira
The dress hung in my closet like an accusation.
It had appeared sometime during the night—a simple ivory sheath, elegant and understated, exactly what I would have chosen if I'd been choosing. Beside it, a smaller box contained shoes, jewelry, everything a bride might need for her wedding day.
I hadn't asked for any of it. But he'd provided it anyway, just in case.
I chose black slacks and a silk blouse instead.
This wasn't a wedding. It was a contract signing. A legal maneuver dressed up in matrimonial language. The less it looked like a real marriage, the easier it would be to remember what it actually was.
I told myself that as I dressed. Told myself that as I brushed my hair and applied minimal makeup, and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The woman looking back at me was a stranger—pale, composed, about to marry a man she'd known for three weeks to escape being sold to a different man she'd never met.
Forty-eight hours ago, my biggest problem had been maintaining professional boundaries with a patient I was developing feelings for.
Now that the patient was about to become my husband.
The absurdity of it threatened to overwhelm me. I gripped the edge of the bathroom counter and forced myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The same technique I'd taught hundreds of patients for managing anxiety.
It didn't help.
A knock at my door pulled me back to the present. I straightened, checked my reflection one final time, and went to answer it.
The woman on the other side was not who I expected.
She was much younger than Rodion, with dark hair and sharp eyes that assessed me in a single sweep.
She was beautiful in the way all the Rysevs seemed to be beautiful: striking features, an intensity that suggested danger lurking beneath the surface.
But where Rodion's danger was tempered by charm, hers was tempered by something softer. Warmth, maybe. Or the appearance of it.
"You must be Keira." She extended her hand. "I'm Nina. Rodion's sister."
I shook her hand, my mind racing. He hadn't mentioned his sister was coming. Hadn't mentioned anyone was coming except the judge and the necessary witnesses.
"He didn't tell me you'd be here."
"He didn't know. I told Demyan I was staying out of it, and then I got on a plane." She smiled, but her eyes remained watchful. "I wanted to meet the woman my brother is about to marry before he actually married her. I hope that's alright."
It wasn't a question. She was already stepping past me into the room, glancing around with the casual curiosity of someone who felt entitled to be wherever she wanted.
I closed the door and turned to face her. "Does Rodion know you're here?"
"He does now. I stopped by to see him first." She settled into the armchair by the window—the same one I'd sat in last night, having a conversation that had ended with me agreeing to this madness. "He's not happy about it. But he's never happy when I do things without asking permission first."
"And you do that often? Things without permission?"
"Constantly." Her smile sharpened. "It drives him crazy.
All my brothers, actually. They're very traditional about certain things.
Women staying in their place, following orders, letting the men handle the dangerous business.
" She tilted her head, studying me. "Something tells me you're not particularly good at following orders either. "
"I wouldn't know. No one's tried giving me any yet."
"They will. The question is what you'll do when they do."
We regarded each other across the room. This was a test—I recognized it from years of sitting across from patients who were trying to figure out if they could trust me. Nina Rysev was taking my measure, deciding whether I was worthy of her brother.
I decided to make it easy for her.
"You want to know if I'm using him," I said.
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Direct. I like that."
"I'm a psychologist. I spent years learning to see through deflection and misdirection. I'm not particularly good at employing them myself."
"That must make family dinners interesting. In your family, I mean." A pause. "Or maybe not. From what Rodion told me, you weren't close with your father."
"Rodion told you about my father?"
"Rodion told me the basics. Demyan filled in the rest. We have resources—I'm sure you've figured that out by now. The moment your name came up, we knew everything there was to know about Keira O'Shea." She leaned forward slightly. "And Keira Walsh. And the twelve years in between."
I kept my expression neutral, but my heart was beating faster. They'd investigated me. Of course they had. I would have done the same in their position.
"Then you know I spent twelve years building a life that had nothing to do with my father's world," I said. "You know I changed my name, got my degrees, built a practice helping people. You know I had no contact with my family, no involvement in their business, no interest in anything they did."
"I know what the records show. Records can be falsified."
"Mine weren't."
"So you say."
"So the evidence supports." I held her gaze.
"You can believe me or not. But I spent my entire adult life running from exactly the situation I'm in now.
If I wanted to be involved with organized crime, I had plenty of opportunities.
My father would have welcomed me back with open arms. Instead, I disappeared so thoroughly that it took them twelve years to find me. "
"And yet here you are. About to marry into another crime family."
"Because the alternative is being handed to the Petrovics like a party favor.
" My voice came out harder than I intended.
"Believe me, if I had another option—any other option—I would take it.
But I don't. Your brother is offering me protection.
I'm accepting it. That's the extent of our arrangement. "
"Is it?"
I thought about last night, standing in the dark with Rodion, feeling the pull of something I couldn't name. I thought about the way he'd looked at me when he said he wanted me. Not as a transaction. As something real.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know what this is or what it's going to become. I don't know if I can trust your brother, or if he can trust me, or if either of us is making a terrible mistake." I exhaled slowly. "But I'm not using him. Whatever else you think of me, believe that much."
Nina was quiet for a long moment, her sharp eyes searching my face. I let her look. I had nothing to hide—at least, nothing relevant to what she was asking.
"My brother has spent his entire life performing," she said finally. "Smiling when he wanted to scream. Joking when he wanted to cry. Being the easy one, the fun one, the one who held everyone else together." She paused. "He's never let anyone see what's underneath. Not even us. Not fully."
"I know."
"But he let you see."
"Some of it. In our sessions."
"More than some." She stood, smoothing her skirt with a practiced gesture. "I've known my brother for thirty-two years. I've watched him charm his way through every situation, every relationship, every crisis. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks when he talks about you."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what to feel.
"I'm not saying I trust you," Nina continued. "Trust is earned, not given. But I'm willing to give you a chance. For his sake, if not for yours." She met my eyes. "Don't make me regret it."
"I'll do my best."
"That's not a promise."
"No. It's not. But it's all I can offer right now."
She considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough." She moved toward the door, then stopped, looking back at me. "The dress he got you—you're not wearing it."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because this isn't a real wedding. It's a business arrangement. I wanted to be clear about that. For both of us."
Something shifted in her expression. Understanding, maybe. Or approval.
"Smart," she said. "Keep that clarity. You're going to need it."
She left without another word, and I stood alone in the room, wondering what exactly I'd just agreed to.
The ceremony—if it could be called that—took place in Rodion's study at 4 PM.
The judge was a tired-looking man in his sixties who clearly owed someone a favor and wasn't happy about collecting on it.
The witnesses were two of Rodion's security team, stone-faced men in dark suits who stood against the wall like furniture.
Nina had positioned herself by the window, watching everything with those sharp eyes.
And Rodion stood across from me, looking nothing like the man I'd met in my office three weeks ago.
He was wearing a dark suit, impeccably tailored, his hair neatened, his jaw freshly shaved. He looked like what he was—a powerful man conducting important business. But his eyes, when they met mine, held something softer. Something almost vulnerable.
"You're sure about this?" he asked quietly, low enough that only I could hear.
"No," I said honestly. "But I'm doing it anyway."
A ghost of a smile. "Good enough."
The judge cleared his throat. "If we could proceed?"
The paperwork was spread across Rodion's desk—a marriage license, various legal documents, everything required to make this union official in the eyes of the law. No ceremony. No vows. No exchange of rings or promises of eternal love. Just signatures on dotted lines, witnessed and notarized.
That's what I'd asked for. When Rodion had offered the dress, the ceremony, whatever I wanted, I'd told him I wanted it simple. Clinical. A contract signing, nothing more. He'd agreed without argument, though I'd seen something flicker in his eyes. Disappointment, maybe. Or just acceptance.
Now, standing across from him with a pen in my hand, I wondered if I'd made a mistake.
The judge walked us through the documents, explaining each one in the bored monotone of a man who'd done this a thousand times. I signed where he indicated, watching my hand move across the paper like it belonged to someone else. Keira Walsh. The name I'd built my life around for twelve years.
The last time I'd sign it.
Rodion signed after me, his handwriting bold and confident. When he finished, he looked up at me, and something passed between us. An acknowledgment of what we'd just done. The irrevocability of it.
"That's it," the judge said, gathering the papers. "Congratulations. You're married."
The words fell into the silence like stones into water. Married. I was married. To a man I'd known for three weeks. A man who'd killed for me. A man whose brother had killed my father.
Nina moved forward to embrace her brother, murmuring something I couldn't hear. The security team relaxed slightly, their job apparently complete. The judge was already packing up, eager to leave.
And I stood there, a pen still in my hand, trying to comprehend what I'd just done.
Rodion extricated himself from Nina and came to stand in front of me.
He didn't touch me—we hadn't established those boundaries yet, and he was careful about respecting them.
But he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the subtle cologne I'd come to associate with our sessions.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"I don't know." The honest answer. The only one I had. "Ask me tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, then."
Nina approached, her expression carefully neutral. "Welcome to the family," she said. "Such as it is."
"Thank you." The words felt strange in my mouth. "I think."
"Get some rest. Both of you." She glanced between us with something that might have been amusement. "You're going to need it. Once word gets out about this, things are going to get interesting."
She left with the judge and the witnesses, and suddenly we were alone. Husband and wife. Two strangers bound together by paperwork and desperation.
Rodion moved to the bar cart in the corner and poured two glasses of vodka. He handed one to me without asking if I wanted it. I took it without protest.
"To interesting times," he said, raising his glass.
I clinked mine against his. "To survival."
We drank in silence, standing in his study as the afternoon light faded to evening. I was acutely aware of his presence beside me—the solid bulk of him, the coiled tension beneath his calm exterior. My husband. The word felt foreign, impossible, like a language I'd never learned.
"The guest room is still yours," he said. "For as long as you want it. Nothing changes tonight."
"Thank you."
"Unless you want it to change."
I looked at him. He was watching me with that intensity I'd come to recognize, the one that made me feel seen in ways I wasn't sure I wanted.
"Not tonight," I said.
He nodded, no disappointment visible in his expression. "Then I'll say goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He left me alone in his study, surrounded by his books and his expensive furniture and the lingering scent of his cologne. I finished my vodka and poured another, staring out the window at the city below.
Keira Rysev. That was my name now. A name I'd never asked for, attached to a family I'd never wanted, belonging to a man I barely knew.
But I was alive. And I was safe. And for now, that had to be enough.
I touched my ring finger—bare, because we hadn't exchanged rings, because this wasn't that kind of marriage—and wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Whatever it was, I'd face it as I'd faced everything else in my life.
Alone.
Except I wasn't alone anymore, was I? For better or worse, I had a husband now. A family. A target on my back and a shield in front of me.
I finished my second vodka and went to my room—my room, in my husband's penthouse, in my new life—and lay down on the bed without undressing.
Sleep didn't come for a long time.