Chapter 35 Alyona
Alyona
Iround the corner too fast and nearly slam straight into a broad, solid chest. A startled gasp tears out of me as my bouquet jerks sideways, petals scattering against dark fabric. Then two familiar hands catch my elbows before I can stumble backward in my heels.
“Careful,” Kazimir murmurs, low and warm.
My heart ricochets against my ribs as I look up at him.
He’s standing in the narrow hallway behind the church sanctuary like he has every right to be there, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that makes his shoulders look even wider and his waist narrower.
His hair, smoothed back into that tight bun, his jaw freshly shaved.
Light from the stained-glass spilling through the windows paints faint colors across his cheekbones, softening the hard edges of him into something almost unfairly handsome.
For a second, I can only stare.
“You scared me half to death,” I whisper.
His mouth curves, apologetic but amused. “Sorry, solnyshko.” He’s taken to calling me that—a word I learned means something like sun, an affectionate nod to my blonde hair.
“What are you doing back here?” I hiss, glancing toward the sanctuary doors. “You’re supposed to be up there waiting. That’s how this works.”
“I know how it works,” he says, a faint smile on his lips, as if this is an inside joke.
“Then why are you lurking in the hallway like a mobster about to make a deal?”
His smile widens, slow and wicked. “Because I made you a promise.”
I blink. “A promise?”
He steps closer, thumb brushing a stray curl from my face with surprising tenderness. “You said you wanted a partner,” he reminds me quietly.
My throat tightens.
“So I won’t stand up there and wait like you’re something being delivered to me,” he continues. “We walk down together. Side by side.”
For weeks I’ve been bracing myself for this to feel like a performance, like another strategic move dressed up in white and gold, but this… this feels like us. Like something stubbornly human and soft in the middle of all the chaos we live in.
A rush of affection swells in my chest so fast it almost hurts.
“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper, blinking back sudden tears.
His hand slides into mine, warm and steady, grounding me.
Then his gaze shifts past my shoulder. “There is something else.”
I turn.
Liev stands a few feet away near the wall, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He looks out of place in his dark suit, broad and intimidating and strangely unsure, like a kid who wandered into the wrong room.
This is the father I always imagined and never wanted—a sharp, dark, dangerous man.
But he’s been different this last month. Softer, somehow.
He calls more. Checks on me. Shows up with groceries as if the staff doesn’t shop, and pretends it’s nothing. He still argues with Kaz like they’re two old wolves circling each other, but there’s less bite in it now.
He finally wrapped his head around me.
Around us.
Kaz’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Would you be okay if he walked with us too?” he asks gently.
My chest squeezes. For so long I told myself I didn’t need my father, that it was easier not to expect anything from him, but seeing him standing there now—nervous, hopeful, trying—cracks something open inside me.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”
Liev looks up when I nod at him, surprise flashing across his face before he covers it with a gruff little cough. We fall into place without talking about it.
Kaz on my right. Liev on my left.
Me in the middle.
The cream-colored gown hugs my curves without squeezing, soft fabric flowing around my hips and down my legs, the bodice comfortable instead of punishing. I feel like me.
Like a woman who chose this.
The doors open, and the low murmur of guests fades into silence. We start walking, moving forward together, and when we reach the front and Liev reluctantly steps aside, Kaz leans close, his voice barely brushing my ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Especially like this. Especially with my child.”
Heat floods my face, but the way he says it—proud, possessive in that dark, tender way that’s only ever for me—makes my heart stutter.
It’s funny how little the ceremony itself matters.
I spend the entire time staring into Kaz’s face—the hard lines of it, the teasing hint of tattoos.
The silver just beginning to touch his hair.
His eyes on mine. The priest tells us we’re married, and we share a joyful kiss, smiling into it, half-aware of our guests.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks on the ride to the reception—an outdoor venue he’s rented out, a beautiful open pasture curated to the tastes of a billionaire Bratva leader.
He’s referring to the fact that our honeymoon will be brief, and we’ll be leaving for it tonight; likely close to midnight, when this party is over.
If I’m not already napping in a corner somewhere.
“It’s fine,” I insist, “really. I have to say… I’m more interested in meeting another Bratva wife than lazing around the south of France.”
Kaz smiles, but his eyes are wary. In less than a week we’ll fly to Maine to negotiate with his new partner—a man I’ve heard whisper of, who they call “The Bear.” I’m not sure what a nickname like that signifies, but Devin has gossiped that the wife has her own ambitions and is making headway in the environmental sector. I’m curious, to say the least.
We arrive at the reception as the sun is starting its descent, gracing the open field in a golden hour. Guests mingle under massive tents, catering staff slip among them, and a five-piece group plays beautiful, subtle instrumentals in the background.
After the first dance, we’re barely settled when my father appears at Kazimir’s elbow. He clears his throat. “You did well,” he says to Kaz first, voice gruff but sincere. “The ceremony. The arrangements. Everything.”
Kaz inclines his head, respectful in a way he rarely is with anyone; he’s the boss, after all. “Thank you, old friend.”
Then Liev looks at me, and something in his face softens. It still surprises me how gentle he can look when he forgets to guard himself.
“I’m glad you’re happy, Alyona,” he says quietly. “That’s all I wanted.”
I take a deep breath, and when I let it out, we share a small smile. A few months ago, we could barely speak without old resentments rising like smoke, and now he’s standing in front of me like a man trying very hard not to ruin a fragile second chance.
“I am,” I tell him. “Terrifyingly so.”
His mouth twitches.
“And congratulations,” he adds, glancing pointedly at my stomach. “On everything.”
I grin. “You realize this makes you a grandfather, right?”
He blinks like I’ve slapped him.
“A what?”
“A grandfather,” I repeat sweetly. “There’s no escaping it. I’m buying you one of those ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ shirts.”
He makes a strangled sound of protest, which only makes me laugh harder, and after a moment he shakes his head, muttering something in Russian under his breath before excusing himself toward the bar.
Kaz watches him go with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I ask.
His mouth curves slowly. “There might be more surprises heading his way.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s practical,” he says mildly. “Just business.”
I narrow my eyes. “Kazimir.”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “During negotiations with Hinto, Ryder made several demands of her own. She is smarter than her father and significantly more difficult.”
“That tracks,” I say dryly.
“One condition was a formal pairing between our operations,” he continues. “And Hinto ran with it when his daughter was out of earshot. A marriage tie. Something binding enough that neither side is tempted to start another war.”
“Wait. What?”
Kazimir continues, his features suddenly serious, voice low. This is business. “With Ryder as Hinto’s only heir and you very pregnant,” he says, brushing his knuckles over my waist, “someone else must step forward.”
It clicks a second later.
I stare at him. “No.”
He lifts a brow. “Yes.”
“My father?”
“He’s the obvious choice on our side,” Kaz says calmly. “Experienced. Loyal. And aside from me, the most powerful man in the Savannah Bratva. Hinto likely already has someone in mind. Though whether Ryder agrees is another matter. She is a firecracker.”
I picture my father being verbally dismantled by that sharp-eyed woman who supposedly made him lose his cool and immediately start laughing.
“This is insane,” I say.
“Probably,” he replies.
We lean into each other, shoulders touching, watching our guests swirl across the floor while the future rearranges itself in unpredictable, ridiculous ways, and for once, the uncertainty doesn’t scare me. It just feels like life.