Chapter 25
ALINA
T he emerald-cut diamond slipped down my finger again as I raised my hand to smooth the intricate beadwork on my sleeve.
The massive stone caught the afternoon light streaming through the penthouse windows, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the mirrors surrounding us.
"Stop fidgeting with that ring," Yelena scolded, pins between her teeth as she adjusted the hem of what might have been the most beautiful wedding dress I'd ever seen. "You've lost weight. Again."
I had.
The ring that fit perfectly two weeks ago now hung loose on my finger, sliding around no matter how I positioned my hand.
No matter how Pavel coaxed or demanded, food turned to ash in my mouth.
My stomach stayed knotted with anxiety, rejecting everything but the smallest sips of water and occasional bites of plain bread.
"It's stunning," I whispered, staring at my reflection in the three-way mirror.
And it was—layers upon layers of silk and French lace that whispered sophistication rather than screaming wealth. The bodice hugged my torso perfectly, the sweetheart neckline both modest and alluring.
Tiny seed pearls and crystals had been hand-sewn into intricate patterns that caught the light with every breath I took. The skirt flowed like water, creating an ethereal silhouette that made me look like something from a fairy tale.
Everything I would have chosen…if I'd had a choice.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
None of this was my choice.
I was standing in a penthouse with a breathtaking view of the river and the city's monuments—while trying on a custom haute couture wedding gown for a wedding I never agreed to.
The penthouse had been transformed into a bridal salon for the afternoon.
Dress forms displayed various undergarment options, jewelry boxes overflowed with sparkling accessories, and champagne glasses sat mostly untouched on silver trays.
It was surreal, like playing dress-up for the most important day of my life while feeling completely disconnected from the reality of it.
"Of course it's stunning. I don't do mediocre." Yelena stepped back to admire her work, her narrowed eyes critical as they swept over every detail. "Though Pavel giving me only two weeks to create a masterpiece was completely unreasonable. Do you know how many hours of hand-beading this required?"
She gestured to the intricate patterns covering the bodice and trailing down the skirt like constellation maps. I could only imagine the painstaking work that had gone into each tiny detail.
Around us, the other wives murmured approval—Marina with her warm smile and gentle hands as she adjusted the delicate cap sleeves, Samara holding up different jewelry options against my skin, Viktoria quietly observing with understanding in her eyes, and Nadia offering encouraging nods.
All married to men just as dangerous as Pavel, yet they glowed with happiness that seemed impossible given their circumstances.
From what I could tell, none of the others had a family member at the mercy of these monsters, so why were these women with killers?
How could they love such treacherous men so completely?
"The veil is next," Marina said, lifting a cascade of silk tulle adorned with the same intricate beadwork as the dress. "Yelena recreated Pavel's grandmother's veil from some old family photos and added beading to match your dress."
Family heirlooms, custom gowns, elaborate ceremonies—why was Pavel insisting on all these traditional elements?
He didn't love me.
We weren't dating .
This was to ensure my silence about the brutal murder I saw him commit.
Nothing more.
He wasn’t my lover.
I was an enemy he was keeping close. Under control.
The contradiction of it all gnawed at me.
Why make this big show about a lie?
Why not just have a courthouse wedding?
Why do any of this?
Yet, at the same time, he had placed my grandmother in the best facility.
The staff had impeccable standards and were not overworked; my grandmother got the attention she needed. Pavel had her placed in the best room, ensuring she received the highest level of care.
"You know," Marina said quietly as Viktoria carefully positioned the veil, "I was terrified too. Right up until I walked down that aisle. I kept thinking about running, about fighting, about anything except saying those vows."
Nadia laughed. "Strictly speaking you didn't exactly walk down the aisle."
Yelena poked her head from around me to glare at Marina. "I still haven't forgiven you for how you ruined that beautiful veil I made by tearing it off your damn head in the middle of the ceremony."
Samara handed her more pins. "Be nice. The veil would have gotten in the way when she slapped Kostya."
My eyes widened as I stared at Marina in the mirror's reflection.
I couldn't imagine her slapping Pavel's brother Kostya, who was every bit as big and scary as Pavel. How did she even reach him to slap him? He was so much taller than her.
I couldn't resist asking even as my cheeks warmed. "Did he…" I hesitated. I didn't want to use the word punish . Even the word brought illicit images of Pavel forcing me to bend over a table as he strapped me with his belt like a misbehaving child. "Did he…get mad?"
Nadia bumped Marina's shoulder with her own then winked. "I think he was way more pissed off when she ditched him and returned to Chicago in the middle of their honeymoon."
Marina winked back. "He got my point, didn't he? At least I didn't try screaming the rafters down in the church like Viktoria."
I blinked and turned in my dress, which earned me a pinch from Yelena. "Eyes forward."
Viktoria passed out the champagne flutes. "Artem wouldn't know what to do with himself if I quietly did what I was told."
They all laughed.
What. The. Fuck.
It was like I'd stumbled into some parallel universe.
These women were joking about provoking their incredibly violent and terrifying husbands.
Even the idea of disobeying Pavel made me want to break out in hives.
"I wasn't even given a warning about my wedding," Samara added with a laugh that seemed genuine despite the horrifying circumstances. "Gregor just announced we were getting married after he practically kidnapped me onto his private plane. The officiant was waiting for us when we landed."
"At least you weren't carried down the aisle in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt like a sack of potatoes while he threatened the priest," Viktoria chimed in, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Samara gestured with her champagne flute as she laughed. "That poor priest's face every time you kept answering NEVER to all his vow questions."
The sound grated against my nerves, highlighting just how alone I felt in my terror.
Jesus Christ. It just kept getting worse and worse.
"How?" The question burst out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. "How are you all so happy? They're killers. Monsters. They took your choices away, forced you into marriage, and you're laughing about it like it's some romantic comedy."
The laughter faded, replaced by understanding smiles that somehow left me feeling even more isolated.
"Because," Viktoria said gently, her voice carrying the weight of experience, "they're not just killers. They're complicated. Possessive, yes. Controlling, absolutely. Dangerous in ways that should terrify us. But devoted in ways that..."
"That what?" I pressed, genuinely desperate to understand how they'd made peace with their situations.
"That make you feel like the most precious thing in their world," Marina finished softly. "Like they would tear apart anyone who even thought about hurting you. Like you're not just wanted, but needed. "
I wanted to scoff, to point out the insanity of Stockholm syndrome masquerading as love.
But Pavel's face flashed in my mind—the way he'd sat patiently with my grandmother, listening to her stories and laughing at her jokes.
The gentle hands that washed me after claiming my body so thoroughly I forgot my own name.
The way he'd held me during that movie, stroking my hair until I fell asleep feeling safer than I had in years.
How could the same man who threatened my grandmother's safety also ensure she received the best care available?
How could hands capable of violence be so tender when they touched me?
"He's holding my grandmother hostage," I said flatly, needing to voice the ugly truth that separated my situation from their romantic narratives.
"Artem threatened me," Viktoria replied without missing a beat. "Multiple times. Very creatively."
"Gregor bought me from my parents," Samara added matter-of-factly. "Literally purchased me like livestock."
"Marina was stalked for months," Nadia contributed quietly.
"But here we are," Marina said, spreading her arms to encompass our surreal bridal fitting. "Not just surviving but thriving. Loved, protected, cherished in ways we never thought possible."
Here they were indeed—radiant, protected, loved by men who would burn the world down for them.
But at what cost?
What had they given up to achieve this happiness ?
"I don't understand how you made that transition," I admitted. "From terror to...this."
"Time," Viktoria said simply. "And honesty. With them, but mostly with ourselves about what we actually wanted versus what we thought we should want."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," she continued, her voice gentle but firm, "when was the last time you felt truly safe? Not just physically, but emotionally? When did you last have someone anticipate your needs, care for your wellbeing, make your happiness their priority?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
The honest answer was never.
My entire adult life had been about survival, about shouldering responsibilities that weren't mine, about making everyone else's needs more important than my own.
I looked at the women around me, now deep in conversation about something happening at the compound.
They were all glowing, radiant with happiness.
They didn't know the specifics of my story.
I didn't know what I was allowed to tell them.
They told me a little of theirs and it seemed like they were in…similar situations.
But now they were happy, in love and flourishing under the protection and support of the most dangerous men in the world.
Pavel mentioned me going back to school.
Would he let me do that?
Would I be allowed to create the future I wanted, as long as I stayed by his side ?
It seemed too good to be true.
I was lost in thought when the air shifted.
"Ladies."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Pavel's voice cut through our conversation, and even these fearless women straightened slightly.
The easy camaraderie of moments before shifted into something more formal, more careful.
"Time for you to leave."
I met his eyes in the mirror, my breath catching at the intensity I found there.
Something dangerous flickered in those dark depths—not anger, exactly, but something that made my pulse spike with equal parts fear and unwanted anticipation.
He filled the doorway like a storm cloud, his expensive suit doing nothing to civilize the predatory energy that seemed to radiate from him.
The other women exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that spoke of experience with their own dangerous husbands.
Yelena helped me out of my dress and into a robe before packing the dress up along with her tools, while everyone else gathered their things with practiced efficiency, no questions asked, no protests offered.
Yelena pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, her voice barely above a whisper. "The dress will be ready first thing tomorrow morning. Try to get some rest tonight."
Marina squeezed my hand. "Everything will be fine. Trust me."
Samara and Viktoria offered encouraging smiles, while Nadia simply nodded her understanding .
Then they were gone, leaving me alone with Pavel, who had walked in and caught me in a wedding dress that suddenly seemed more like a costume for a play I'd never auditioned for.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension.
I remained frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. In the mirrors surrounding us, I could see him studying me from every angle.
"Did they have to go?" I asked finally, lifting a champagne flute I hadn't touched all afternoon.
The crystal felt impossibly delicate in my trembling hand as the bubbles tickled my nose, sending another wave of nausea through my already unsettled stomach. "We were having fun."
It was a lie, and we both knew it.
I'd been too anxious to truly enjoy anything, too caught up in my own spiraling thoughts to engage properly with the women who'd tried so hard to include me.
"Yes." His gaze never left mine in the mirror, dark and unreadable. "You and I need to talk."
Oh god.
Nothing good ever followed those words.
Not in my experience with Pavel, and certainly not when delivered in that particular tone—calm on the surface but with undercurrents that made my skin prickle with warning.