Chapter 8 – Timofey
The Rusnak wedding isn’t a quiet event.
Even though the ceremony is held privately in the estate, it still carries the weight of something far bigger than intimacy or tradition. It isn’t just a marriage. It’s an agreement being sealed in real time, under watchful eyes and silent understanding.
Members of the Rusnak organization arrive from across the city, moving through the estate with controlled precision. Their presence alone shifts the atmosphere—men and women who don’t speak loudly, who don’t linger unnecessarily, who understand exactly what this day represents.
Power consolidating.
Lines being redrawn.
I stand on the stage at the front of the hall, waiting while music plays in the background.
Waiting for Valeria to enter.
Around the hall, conversations remain low and measured. Glasses clink softly. Chairs are adjusted. Security stands at intervals along the perimeter, their eyes constantly scanning. Everything is controlled. Everything is intentional.
Except for the part I haven’t fully controlled.
Valeria.
My jaw tightens slightly at the thought of her name.
I’ve faced negotiations that decided territory. I’ve stared down men who would rather die than concede an inch. I’ve survived betrayals that should have ended me.
And yet—
None of it carries the same weight as what is about to happen in this room.
Because this is not just business anymore.
It hasn’t been since the moment she walked into my life and refused to break.
I haven’t seen much of her since the last time we had sex. Since everything shifted in a way I didn’t plan for and haven’t fully corrected since.
And it irritates me more than it should.
Not because she’s gone.
Because she’s not where I can see her.
My jaw tightens at the sound of her name somewhere behind me—two guests murmuring like I can’t hear them.
Valeria.
Something in my body reacts before I can stop it. A subtle tightening in my chest. A focus I don’t welcome.
I exhale slowly through my nose and force myself to stay still.
This isn’t supposed to be personal.
It was never supposed to be personal.
The room continues to settle behind me. Chairs shift into place. Conversations drop to lower tones. The music swells softly, filling the hall with something ceremonial, something final.
I keep my gaze forward, expression controlled.
But my thoughts don’t stay with the ceremony.
They drift—uninvited—back to her.
To the last time I saw her clearly.
To the way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of consequences. Like she would still choose this, even knowing what it means.
My hand flexes once at my side before I still it again.
This is a contract.
A strategy.
A consolidation of power.
That is all it is supposed to be.
I am aware of the strange path that led to this moment. Only days ago, I was convinced Valeria Petrova was a potential threat to the organization. Now she’s about to become my wife.
The thought should feel absurd.
It doesn’t.
The doors at the far end of the hall open.
Everything in the room shifts at once—sound, movement, breath. Conversations die instantly, like someone has cut a wire.
Valeria steps in.
And the silence deepens.
It’s not just attention she draws. It’s stillness.
Her wedding dress catches every eye in the room immediately, but I register it last—because for a second, I’m locked on her face.
Composed. Beautiful. Ethereal.
Then my gaze drops.
Matteo’s work has transformed her. Not into something fragile or decorative, but into something insurmountable. Elegant lines, precise structure—beauty shaped like authority. Like she belongs in this room full of men who think they understand power.
A quiet satisfaction settles somewhere in my chest before I can question it.
I chose Matteo for a reason.
When I did my research, there were dozens of designers I could have brought in—names, reputations, people who dress politicians and celebrities. But Matteo’s work stood out. Clean. Intentional. Elegance without noise.
And he’s gay.
Which, at the time, mattered for reasons I told myself were purely practical. No complications. No misunderstandings. Valeria would be comfortable. Nothing more.
That’s all.
Nothing more.
I keep my expression unchanged.
Matteo enters just behind her, adjusting the fall of her train with practiced hands, smoothing the fabric once as if sealing the final detail of a finished work. Then he steps back, immediately fading into the background as though he was never there at all.
My eyes stay on Valeria.
Because, despite everything I told myself, the room doesn’t feel like it’s watching a contract anymore.
It feels like it’s watching a beginning.
She walks down the aisle, and she doesn’t look away from me. Not once.
Not at the guests. Not at the room. Just me.
Her gaze is steady.
By the time she reaches me and steps onto the stage, something in my chest has already shifted.
Fuck.
I have never met a braver woman. No. I have never met a braver person. The memory hits without warning—her fighting back that night the house was infiltrated, refusing to break even when she should have been overwhelmed. If she hadn’t been trained…she would have been dead before I got to her.
My jaw tightens. My chest follows.
I take her hand.
Turn toward the priest.
The ceremony begins.
It moves forward with quiet efficiency. Words are spoken. Vows are exchanged. Witnesses watch with the kind of understanding that doesn’t need to be explained aloud.
They know what this is.
An alliance.
A decision that will ripple far beyond this room.
And yet…there’s something else beneath it. Something less controlled. Less predictable.
Something real.
I hear my own voice as I speak the vows, steady, measured. I hear hers in return—clear, unwavering.
No hesitation.
When it’s done, the final words are spoken, sealing it.
A shift.
Permanent.
I turn slightly, my hand still holding hers as I address the room.
“Valeria Petrova,” I say, my voice carrying easily, “is now Valeria Rusnak.”
The name settles into the space like something solid.
Like it belongs.
The hall breaks into a loud round of applause.
We step down from the stage together.
And just like that, the structure of the ceremony dissolves into movement.
Valeria barely has time to adjust before Ellie is already there, sweeping her away with an energy that cuts through the heaviness of the moment.
I watch it happen. Watch as Valeria turns toward her and smiles. A bright, sunny smile. She hugs Ellie tightly, and Ellie laughs, pulling her along toward the other Rusnak wives, who are already waving, calling her over, and welcoming her without hesitation.
Valeria goes with them.
Just like that.
And I stand there for a second longer than necessary, watching her disappear into them.
“With how stubborn you were about protecting Valeria, I’m still shocked you went ahead to marry her.”
Irritation sparks in my chest as I turn to see Mike smirking at me. The others are with him—Dimitri already reaching for a drink, Konstantin watching with interest, Sebastian quieter, more observant.
Dimitri presses a glass into my hand. I take it without looking away from Mike.
“I already explained why this has to happen,” I say flatly. “It was her idea. And it made sense.”
Mike hums, lifting his glass to his lips to hide another smirk.
Of course, he doesn’t believe that’s the full story.
He’s not wrong.
“Anton is tearing Moscow apart as we speak, looking for her,” Sebastian cuts in, his tone more serious. “After this ceremony, he’ll know she’s with us. We need to prepare for the backlash.”
My grip tightens slightly around the glass.
“I’m aware,” I start—
Then I see Lukyan.
Across the room.
Moving toward us.
Everything else fades into the background for a second.
Black suit. Same quiet, brooding presence. People try to stop him, greet him, speak to him—but he brushes past them like they don’t exist.
Like nothing here matters.
My gaze locks onto him.
The others notice.
“What?” Konstantin asks, following my line of sight. Then he freezes. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Yup,” Dimitri says under his breath. “That’s Lukyan. When the hell did he get back?”
I shrug slightly, still watching him approach. “A few months ago. He’s been at my estate since he arrived.”
That gets their attention.
All of it.
They snap toward me like I just confessed to a crime.
“And you kept it from us?” Mike demands, genuine outrage breaking through his usual calm. “Lukyan has been gone for decades.”
“He asked me to,” I reply simply. “Didn’t give me a reason. I didn’t ask.”
Mike stares at me like he wants to argue.
I hold his gaze.
“But he’s family,” I add, quieter now. “I’ll keep his secret for as long as he wants me to.”
A beat.
“You all would do the same,” I say.
Silence settles between us for half a second.
Then the tension breaks.
Because they know I’m right.
We might not all share blood, but the name binds us tighter than most families.
Rusnak means something.
And loyalty isn’t optional.
Lukyan finally reaches us.
His eyes sweep over us once, taking everything in without giving anything away.
“Hello, brothers.”
We’re not affectionate.
We don’t do emotional reunions.
We don’t do…this.
So I’m caught off guard when Dimitri is the first to step forward and pull him into a rough embrace.
Konstantin follows. Then even Mike.
One after the other.
Lukyan stiffens at first, clearly not expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away immediately.
And for a split second, a small smile touches his lips. Then he attempts to push them off.
“Alright, enough,” he mutters.
We all laugh. Lukyan joins us.
Mike presses a glass into Lukyan’s hand.
“Care to explain why you’ve been hiding like a ghost?” Mike asks.
Lukyan takes the glass, his expression settling back into that familiar, unreadable calm. “Didn’t know if I wanted to stay, so I didn’t tell you all not to get your hopes up.”
Dimitri tilts his head. “And now?”
Lukyan looks at all of us. “Yes,” he says simply. “There’s nothing for me out there anymore. I’ll stay.” His grip tightens slightly around the glass. “With family. Build the business.”
Something in my chest eases at that.
Around me, the others nod. No questions. No pressure.
Just acceptance.
That’s how it works with us.
Movement catches my attention.
Misha.
He appears beside me like he always does—quiet, efficient, but something is off. His mouth is tight.
That’s all it takes.
I’m alert immediately.
“What?” I ask.
“Sir,” he says carefully, “a package just arrived for Valeria. It was found outside the premises.”
My expression hardens.
“I’ve checked it. No explosives,” he adds quickly. “But…it wasn’t sent through any channel. It was just left outside.”
That’s worse.
“I want to see it,” I say.
I don’t wait.
I follow him.
The others fall in behind me without a word.
Misha leads us into a hallway just off the main hall.
There’s a small brown box sitting on a table.
Plain.
Unremarkable.
Except for the name written across the top.
Valeria.
My jaw tightens.
“Is that my name?”
I turn.
Valeria stands a few steps behind us, a frown already forming on her face.
Of course, she followed.
Of course, she didn’t stay where she was supposed to.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sharper than I intend. “Why aren’t you in the hall?”
She ignores the question completely and walks toward us.
“I saw Misha leave,” she says. “Something was wrong.”
Her eyes drop to the box.
Then back to me.
“You don’t get to hide things from me,” she adds, her voice firm. “Not anymore. Not now that we’re married.”
Behind me, Mike snickers.
I almost turn and hit him.
Instead, I ignore him.
Barely.
My focus shifts back to the box.
Slowly, deliberately, I reach for it.
The room goes quiet.
Too quiet.
Every instinct I have is already on edge.
I open it.
The smell hits first—faint, metallic.
Then I see it.
A severed thumb lies inside the box.
Clean cut. Rotting.
Still wearing a ring.
My jaw tightens as I register an elegant insignia engraved into the metal.
“That’s my family insignia.”
Valeria’s voice cuts through the silence. Her voice is steady and unshaken.
“The Petrov family,” she continues. “Whoever this was…is a member of my family.”
My grip on the edge of the box tightens.
Behind me, I can feel the shift in the room—my brothers going still, calculating, already thinking ten steps ahead.
This isn’t just a threat.
This is a message.
And it was delivered right to my door.
Before I can react, Valeria moves.
She snatches something from inside the box.
A folded piece of paper.
“Valeria—” I start, but she’s already opening it.
Her eyes scan the words quickly.
Then she reads it aloud.
“Valeria, you can hide behind the Rusnak name if you wish….”
Her voice doesn’t shake.
“But it will not save you.”
Silence presses in tighter.
“Anton is coming.”
Something cold settles in my chest.
“And when he finds you….”
Her fingers tighten slightly around the paper.
“You will die.”