Chapter 7 Alina
ALINA
The accusation hangs in the air between us like smoke from the burning church.
Dimitri's face goes completely still, his green eyes turning to ice.
For a heartbeat, I'm certain I've made a fatal mistake.
My pulse hammers in my throat as I watch his jaw clench, a muscle jumping beneath the dark stubble.
"You think I orchestrated the hit." His voice is dangerously quiet. "You think I murdered my own nephew."
I force myself to hold his gaze, even though every instinct screams at me to look away. To apologize. To take it back. "I don't know what to think. I don't know you. All I know is that you pulled me out of that church while people were dying, and now I'm locked in your house like a prisoner."
"For your protection."
"So you keep saying." I cross my arms over my chest, trying to stop the trembling that's threatening to take over my body. "But how do I know that's true? How do I know you're not the one I need protection from?"
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Then, without a word, he turns and walks to the door. My stomach drops. He's leaving. He's going to lock me in here, and I'll never know the truth, never understand what's really happening.
But he doesn't leave. Instead, he opens the door and speaks to someone in the hallway. I hear a man's voice respond in Russian, and then Dimitri closes the door again. He moves to the small desk in the corner and pulls out a laptop I hadn't noticed before.
"Come here," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I hesitate, then move closer. He opens the laptop and pulls up what looks like security footage. Multiple camera angles, all timestamped from earlier today. From the wedding.
"Watch," he commands, stepping aside so I can see the screen clearly.
I lean forward, my breath catching as I recognize the interior of the church. The footage shows the ceremony from several different angles. I can see myself standing at the altar. See Sergei beside me, and Dimitri standing as best man. The priest's mouth moves silently as he conducts the ceremony.
Dimitri reaches past me to adjust the playback, and I catch the scent of his cologne mixed with gunpowder and smoke. My body responds involuntarily, a shiver running down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.
"Here," he says, pointing at the screen. "Watch my face when the first shot rings out."
I force myself to focus on the footage. The camera angle shows Dimitri in profile, his attention on the priest. Then the window shatters.
I watch his head snap toward the sound, watch his eyes widen in genuine surprise.
His hand immediately goes to his jacket, reaching for a weapon, but he's already moving toward me.
Toward where I'm standing frozen at the altar.
"I didn't know," he says quietly. "I was as surprised as everyone else."
He switches to another camera angle, this one showing the balcony where some of the shooters were positioned.
I watch as men in dark clothing open fire, their movements coordinated and professional.
Then the footage switches again, showing Dimitri's men returning fire, trying to protect the guests.
I see them fall, one by one. Good men, dying to protect people they might not even know.
My throat tightens. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry they died."
"Anton had a wife and daughter in Moscow." Dimitri's voice is flat, emotionless, but I hear the grief underneath. "Yuri was getting married next month. Pavel was twenty-three years old."
He closes the laptop and turns to face me. In the dim light of the bedroom, his features are all sharp angles and shadows. But his eyes hold something I haven't seen before. Something that looks almost human.
"Sergei was my nephew," he continues, moving closer. "My brother died when Sergei was twelve. I raised him. Taught him everything I know. He was supposed to take over the family one day, after I was gone."
"I didn't know." The words feel inadequate.
"How could you?" He's standing close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You didn't want to marry him. I saw that at the altar, the way you held yourself like you were walking to your execution."
Heat floods my cheeks. "It wasn't personal. I just wanted to choose my own life."
"And now you're here, with me, and you still don't have a choice.
" His hand comes up, and I flinch instinctively.
But he doesn't strike me. Instead, his fingers brush my cheek with surprising gentleness.
"I don't expect you to trust me, Alina. Trust is earned, and I haven't earned yours yet.
But I need you to understand the stakes. "
"Sergei's dead."
"Sergei's dead," he agrees. "Which means the alliance is in jeopardy. The other Bratva families are watching, waiting to see what happens next. Some of them see this as an opportunity to move against me while I'm vulnerable. Others are waiting to see if your father was involved in the attack."
I think about my father's tearful performance on the news broadcast. "Was he?"
"I don't know yet." Dimitri's jaw tightens. "But I will find out. And when I do, there will be consequences."
The cold certainty in his voice sends a chill down my spine. This is the man everyone fears, the ruthless Pakhan who destroys his enemies without mercy. But he's also the man who pulled me from a burning church, who mourns his fallen soldiers, who raised his nephew like a son.
"You said I have two choices," I remind him. "Stay here as a prisoner, or marry you."
"Yes."
"What happens if I refuse both? What if I just leave?"
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his green eyes.
"Then you'll be dead within a week. Maybe less.
Your father has already painted you as my victim, which makes you valuable to anyone who wants to move against me.
The Kozlov family would love to get their hands on you.
So would half a dozen other rivals. They'd use you as leverage, or as bait, or they'd simply kill you to send me a message. "
"You're trying to scare me."
"I'm trying to make you understand reality.
" He moves closer again, and this time, I don't step back.
"The world outside these walls is more dangerous than you can imagine right now.
As my prisoner, you're protected but powerless.
As my wife, you're protected and powerful.
You'd have my name, my resources, my reputation. No one would dare touch you."
"Except you."
The corner of his mouth quirks up in something that might be a smile. "Except me."
My heart is racing now, and I'm acutely aware of how close he's standing, how his presence seems to fill the entire room. "And what would you want from me? As your wife?"
"The same thing any husband wants from his wife." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Loyalty. Partnership. Heirs to carry on the family name."
Heat floods through me at the implication. I think about what it would mean to be this man's wife, to share his bed, to bear his children. The thought should terrify me, but instead it sends a strange thrill through my body.
"I need time to think," I manage to say.
"You have until morning." He checks his watch. "That gives you about eight hours to decide your future."
Dimitri moves toward the door again, and this time I don't stop him. But when his hand touches the doorknob, he pauses. Then, to my complete shock, he turns and crosses the room in three long strides.
Before I can react, before I can even breathe, his hands are cupping my face and his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is nothing like I expected. It's not brutal or demanding. Instead, it's devastatingly thorough, his lips moving against mine with a skill that makes my knees weak. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, and when I gasp in surprise, he deepens the kiss, tasting me, claiming me.
My hands come up to push him away, but instead they fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. Heat explodes through my body, pooling low in my belly. I've been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this intensity, this raw hunger that makes everything else fade away.
His hands slide from my face to my hair, tangling in the red curls.
He angles my head, taking the kiss deeper, and I hear myself make a sound that's half moan, half whimper.
My body is responding in ways I don't understand, pressing against his, seeking more contact, more heat. More of whatever this is.
When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless and shaking. My lips feel swollen, my body is on fire, and I can't seem to form a coherent thought.
Dimitri's eyes are dark with desire, his breathing as ragged as mine. He runs his thumb across my lower lip, and I shiver.
"That's what you have to look forward to in our marriage, Alina," he says, his voice rough with promise. "Every night. Every morning. Whenever I want you. And believe me, I'll want you often."
Then he releases me and walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
I stand there in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my body still humming with sensation. I touch my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss.
Eight hours to decide my future.
God help me, but I already know what my answer will be.