Chapter 24
Alexei
Breathe in, breathe out.
Getting married to Zoya today is nerve-racking, and I don’t know what to do with my hands. I look at myself in the full-length mirror, adjusting my Armani suit for the hundredth time. The jacket fits perfectly, and the tie is straight, but I still feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
The door opens behind me.
“Well, well, well. It seems you actually want to be tied down,” Bohdan muses as he looks me over.
“Zip it. Do you want me to find a new best man?” I reply snarkily, but a smile blooms on my face anyway.
He chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “My good friend, just make sure she’s as happy as possible.”
“I will,” I say firmly. “Always.”
“Good. Because if you fuck this up, I’m stealing her for myself.”
“You’re married with three kids, Bohdan.”
“Minor details.” He laughs, but then his face turns serious. “I’ve known you since we were fifteen, Alexei. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone. She’s good for you.”
I look at him - Bohdan Volkov, my oldest friend and the only person besides Zoya I actually trust. We survived our fathers’ brutality and built our empires side by side. “How are the kids?” I ask.
“Loud, exhausting, and perfect.” His face softens. “Larisa wants to know when you and Zoya will give her cousins to play with.”
“Tell your wife to be patient.”
“You know she won’t be.” He walks to the window, looking out at the garden. “Speaking of cousins…”
I join him at the window and look down into the garden.
And I immediately burst out laughing. Taras is in the garden with Anya, holding her phone and taking photos from different angles while she poses.
When she’s satisfied, she hands him her champagne glass and her extra heels.
He’s carrying her things like an obedient puppy.
“Is he seriously holding her clutch, too?” Bohdan asks, squinting.
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
We watch Taras crouch down to get a better angle for her. He’s always been shy and awkward, but now he looks completely whipped. “I’ve never seen him like this,” I say. “He’s always been the awkward one. Now look at him.”
“He looks happy,” Bohdan observes.
He’s right. Taras has a goofy smile on his face while Anya bosses him around.
“She’s got him completely whipped,” I say.
“Good for him,” Bohdan says. “Every man should be whipped by a good woman. Look at us - you’re acting like a lovesick fool, and I haven’t won an argument with Larisa in eight years.”
“How is it really? Being married?”
“It’s the hardest, most exhausting thing I’ve ever done, but it's also the best. You’ll fight and drive each other insane, but at the end of the day, you have someone who chooses you every single day. That’s worth everything.”
I nod. “I’m worried I’ll fuck it up.”
“You will. But you’ll fix it.” He pauses, his voice getting quiet. “And Alexei? She’s not your mother.”
I tense up instantly.
“I know you’re worried about ending up like your father,” Bohdan continues. “You're afraid of loving someone who doesn't love you back. But Zoya isn't Mariya. She’s choosing you right now.”
“My father loved my mother more than anything,” I say, “and she couldn’t wait for him to die.”
“I know, but you aren't him. Don’t let your mother’s coldness poison this. Zoya is disgustingly in love with you. If she hasn't run away from your obsessive ass yet, she isn't going to.”
I laugh despite myself. “Fair point.”
I pick up the wedding bands and hand Zoya’s ring to Bohdan. “Don’t lose this.”
“Relax. I’ve got it.” He tucks it in his pocket. “Time to tie yourself to your obsession.”
I stand at the altar in front of many guests.
Each one I’ve known for years, some I’ve known only for a few months.
All gathered here today to witness my marriage to my beautiful Vedma.
Some of them I wanted in this auditorium.
Some of them I specifically uninvited, but they still decided to come. The mafia doesn’t really respect RSVPs.
I look to my left toward the front row where my mother sits. Mariya Romanov. Mother and wife to the late Yan Romanov. A good woman to the old regime, but an absolutely terrible mother to me.
My father loved her dearly. He did everything for her.
She was the apple of his eye, the woman who could do no wrong.
But she never loved him the way he loved her.
I suspect that when my father died, she was overjoyed.
She wasn’t married to him because she loved him.
She was married to him because she was arranged for him.
Just like I almost was with someone I didn’t want.
My father was definitely not a good man. He was brutal. Violent. A monster to most people. But he was a damn good husband and a damn good father. He loved us with everything he had.
I can’t say the same for mother dearest.
She was cold. She screamed at me. She didn’t want to be married into this household, didn’t want a son who reminded her of her prison.
After father died, she moved abroad with her new husband within a month.
The younger man sitting beside her probably never held a gun in his life.
Good for her, I suppose. She finally got her freedom.
But she never once asked if I wanted mine.
I try not to dwell on my dark past. I have fucking mommy issues, and I’m not proud of it. But they’re there. Taking a deep breath, I steady my failing heart in anticipation of my beautiful Vedma. My wife. My life.
The music starts playing. “All of Me” by John Legend bursts softly through the speakers. My breath stops as the doors open.
There she is. My world stops.
She isn't just my wife. She’s my obsession.
Beside her, holding her hand, is her father Artem, guiding her into the hall.
She’s breathtaking. Her dress is perfect - white lace and silk that hugs every curve.
Her hair is up in an elegant style, showing off her neck.
Her smile is infectious, and all I can see is her.
The crowd stands as they begin to walk forward.
She gives me a knowing smirk, staring directly at my face.
Fuck, she’s not real. She can’t be real.
But she is. And she’s walking toward me.
Toward our future. As they get closer, reaching me, her father stops.
He takes her hand and places it in mine.
I press down on it gently. She climbs the small stairs to the podium, then slowly she faces me.
When I bend to kiss her forehead, she smiles up at me.
The priest clears his throat and begins. His voice carries through the silent auditorium. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Alexei Romanov and Zoya Koval in holy matrimony.”
I can’t stop staring at her. She’s looking at me with those eyes, that small smirk still playing on her lips.
The priest continues. “Marriage is a sacred bond. A commitment between two souls to love, honor, and cherish one another through all of life’s trials and joys.”
I squeeze her hand gently. She squeezes back.
“If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Silence.
I glance briefly at the crowd. No one moves. Good. I would’ve killed them anyway.
The priest nods. “Alexei Romanov, do you take Zoya Koval to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?”
“I do. And if we’re ever poor, it’s because I’m dead. Even then, I’d have left you everything so that would never even happen.”
A few people in the crowd laugh nervously. Zoya’s eyes widen slightly, laughter mixed in those stunning pools.
“Zoya Koval,” the priest says. “Do you take Alexei Romanov to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She looks right at me. “I do.”
Fuck. She actually said it.
“The rings, please.”
Bohdan steps forward, handing me Zoya’s ring.
A platinum band with diamonds circling it.
Simple but expensive. Like everything I give her.
I take her left hand and slide the ring onto her finger.
Then she takes my ring from Anya and slides it onto mine.
Her hands are steady. Mine are shaking a little, but I hope no one sees.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says. “You may kiss the bride.”
I don’t wait. I pull her close and kiss her. It’s deep and possessive. I want everyone to see she’s mine. The crowd starts cheering and whistling.
“Mrs. Romanov,” I whisper when I pull back.
“Mr. Romanov,” she whispers back.
The reception hits full swing with the pulse of music, the blur of dancing bodies, and a constant flow of champagne.
I spend twenty minutes searching for Taras.
He is supposed to give the family toast, but he is nowhere to be found, and Anya is missing along with him.
I check the hallways and empty rooms until voices drift from a private sitting room near the back - raised, angry shouts followed by a heavy crash.
I push the door open to find that Taras has a man pinned against the wall.
His massive fist connects with the guy’s face over and over, sending blood splattering across the white wallpaper.
The guy’s nose is clearly broken, leaking crimson down his shirt as he gasps, “I’m sorry, man!
Fuck! I didn’t know she was your woman! I swear to fucking god… she was the one that approached me!”
Taras refuses to stop, landing another brutal punch that echoes in the small room. “Taras, stop!” Anya shouts, pulling desperately at his arm, but he ignores her. He pulls his gun and points it directly at the guy’s head.
“TARAS!” Anya lunges forward, grabbing the weapon with both hands.
They struggle for the iron, she pulling and he refusing to let go, but the truth is obvious.
He’s letting her take it. A man of Taras’s size could easily push her away or break her grip.
Instead, he stays careful, ensuring she doesn’t get hurt while she wrestles the gun from his hand.
Finally, she yanks it away and steps back, breathing hard. Taras doesn’t even look at her; his eyes stay fixed on the guy. “Get out,” he says, his voice cold and deadly. The guy scrambles up, blood still pouring from his face, and runs out of the room as fast as he can.
Silence falls over the room. “What the fuck happened?” I ask.
“He was dancing with her,” Taras says flatly. “They were about to kiss.”
“We were just dancing!” Anya snaps back at him.
Taras turns to her, his hands covered in blood and his eyes looking wild. “Stop fucking playing with me.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Stop fucking dancing with these men,” his voice rises as he steps toward her. “Stop fucking letting them put their hands on you.”
“You don’t own me…”
He crosses the room in two strides and grabs her face with both of his bloody hands, kissing her in a way that is hard, possessive, and brutal.
She struggles against him, pushing at his chest and trying to turn her head away, but he doesn't let go. He holds her tighter and kisses her deeper until she finally gives in. When he pulls back, she’s breathless, her face smeared with blood from his hands and her lipstick completely ruined.
“You’re mine,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone.
Anya stands there alone, breathing hard and trembling slightly. I look at her and ask, “So. What exactly is your relationship with my cousin?”
She wipes the blood off her face with shaking hands. “We don’t have one. We just fucked three days ago, and he’s taking this way too seriously.”
I laugh at the absurdity of it. “You know what? I don’t even think you can end it at this point. Except maybe by suicide. Let that sink in for a moment. That would definitely hurt you and him, but especially you.”
Her eyes widen as she looks at me.
“You started this,” I continue. “You allowed him to fall in love with you. You fucked him, and played with him, and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”
“Alexei…”
“You think you can just walk away? You think he’ll let you?” I shake my head at her. “That man just beat someone bloody and pulled a gun at my wedding. All that for a dance. What do you think he’ll do if you try to leave him?”
She stays quiet, the weight of the situation finally hitting her.
“So here’s your choice. Marry him eventually and live, or try to leave and see what happens.
Either way, it’s your problem.” I move toward the door but stop for a second.
“Anyway, clean up and fix your lipstick. I don’t want Zoya worrying.
Today is not the day for your relationship drama. ”
“Alexei…”
“Take your relationship problems out of my wedding. That is not my business.” I look at her one last time before leaving. “But for what it’s worth? You should probably just marry him. It’ll be easier for everyone.”
This is going to be a disaster.
Back in the reception hall, Taras stands at the microphone with a wine glass in his hand, looking shy and uncomfortable. His voice isn’t loud, but everyone quiets down to listen. He’s my only cousin, and with no brother of my own, the tradition of the toast falls on him.
“I’ve known Alexei my whole life,” Taras begins quietly. “He’s more than my cousin. He’s my brother. My family.” He pauses to take a breath. “And in the four days I’ve met Zoya, I can see why he chose her. She’s kind, she’s strong, and she’s perfect for him.”
His eyes stay fixed on a figure in the crowd. “I hope,” Taras continues, “that they have a long, healthy, and happy marriage. That they find the kind of love that makes everything worth it.”
He raises his glass. “To Alexei and Zoya.”
“To Alexei and Zoya!” the crowd echoes back.
Everyone drinks, cheers, and applauds. I pull Zoya close and kiss her again, and she laughs against my mouth while wrapping her arms around my neck.
The night goes on with more dancing, more singing, and more champagne.
Through it all, I keep my wife close with my hand in hers and my eyes on her, ensuring she’s happy and smiling.