Lily
It's been ten days since Zakhar arrived, bleeding on my doorstep, and changed everything.
I stare at the sign I taped to the bakery door the other when he first insisted I take the day off: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
The words feel final. Like an ending.
Or maybe a beginning.
The bakery that's been my life for two years, my aunt’s dream, my anchor and my albatross.
"Ready?" Zakhar's voice comes from behind me, warm and solid.
I turn to find him leaning against a black SUV that wasn't there ten minutes ago.
He looks completely healed now. No more bandages, just four adhesive dressings cover fully closed wounds.
He moves with that predatory grace fully restored.
He's wearing dark slacks and a shirt that does nothing to hide the muscle underneath, and I still can't quite believe this man is mine.
That I said yes to all of this.
"I don't know," I admit. "Am I ready?"
"You don't have to be. You just have to trust me."
Trust. That simple word that means everything.
I take one last look at the bakery, the place where I've spent countless early mornings, where I've poured every bit of energy I had into something that was slowly failing despite my best efforts.
Letting go should hurt more than this. Maybe it will later. But right now, all I feel is relief.
"Okay," I say, turning back to him. "I'm ready."
His smile is small but genuine. "Good. Let's go home."
Home. Not my apartment above the bakery. His place on the family estate. A world I know nothing about except that it's his, and now apparently mine too.
The driver, a silent man named Paul who Zakhar introduced briefly, loads my two suitcases into the back. Everything I need for now, Zakhar said. We can get the rest later.
I slide into the back seat, Zakhar settling beside me. His hand immediately finds mine, fingers lacing together. Grounding me.
"Nervous?" he asks as Paul pulls into traffic.
"Terrified."
Hi grins. "Good. That means you're smart."
"That's not comforting," I say, adjusting my seatbelt.
"It wasn't meant to be. But I'll be with you the whole time. And my family isn't as scary as you think."
"You literally told me that your uncle is the head of the Bratva and everyone fears him."
"Everyone except his wife. Jasmine keeps him in line."
"That's also not comforting."
He squeezes my hand. "Charlotte will love you. She's already decided you need 'proper family support,' whatever that means."
"Charlotte is your cousin’s wife?"
"Yes. She was a maid at the main house before Vitali claimed her. Now she's untouchable and terrifying in her own way."
"Claimed her," I repeat. "Do you all really do talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like women are possessions."
He tilts his head, thinking. "You are mine," he says simply. "That's not possession. That's fact."
Heat floods through me despite my nerves. The way he says it, so certain and absolute, makes me feel safe and wanted.
We drive for forty minutes, the city gradually giving way to suburbs, then to sprawling estates hidden behind high walls and security gates. The SUV turns onto a private road, and I catch my first glimpse of the Dubovich compound.
It's enormous.
A massive main house that looks more like a mansion, surrounded by several smaller buildings. Manicured grounds. Armed men stationed at intervals, trying to look casual and failing.
"This is where you live?" I ask, voice small.
"My house is there." He points to one of the smaller buildings, though "smaller" is relative. It's still bigger than any house I've ever been in. "Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, full kitchen, private. Our space."
Our space.
Paul pulls up to the main house first. "The Pakhan wants to meet you," Zakhar explains. "Brief introduction. Then we can settle in."
"I have to meet your uncle?” I ask, my voice going higher than I’d have liked. “Now?"
"He insists. But don't worry, Jasmine will be there. She softens him."
"That's still not—"
"Comforting. I know." He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "But you'll be fine. Just be yourself."
"What if myself isn't good enough?" I can feel the beads of sweat popping out of the pores on my forehead as I speak.
"It is. Trust me."
The car stops, Paul opens my door, and suddenly this is real. I'm here. About to meet the head of a Bratva family. About to step into a world I know nothing about.
Zakhar's hand finds my lower back, steady and warm. "Breathe, Lily."
I breathe.
We walk up the stairs to the main house. The door opens before we reach it, revealing a stunning woman with dark hair and knowing eyes. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, casual and approachable, but there's something elevated about her presence.
"You must be Lily," she says, voice warm. "I'm Jasmine Dubovicha. Welcome."
"Thank you," I manage, shaking her offered hand.
"Yury is waiting in his office. But first—" She turns to someone behind her. "Charlotte insisted on being here."
A smaller woman appears, blonde and smiling with genuine warmth. "Hi! I'm Charlotte. Vitali's wife. I've been dying to meet you." She strokes a hand over her rounded belly.
"Hi," I say weakly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
"Don't be nervous. Everyone's much less scary than they look." She shoots Zakhar a look. "Except this one. He's exactly as scary as he looks."
"Charlotte," Zakhar says, but there's affection in his tone.
"What? It's true." She loops her arm through mine like we're old friends. "Come on. Let's get the intimidating part over with, then we can have tea and I'll tell you everything you need to know about surviving this family."
Before I can protest, she's steering me deeper into the house. Zakhar follows, close enough that I can feel his presence even without touching.
The Pakhan's office is exactly what I'd imagine, dark wood, expensive furniture, an air of authority that's almost suffocating. And behind the massive desk sits a man who radiates power despite his calm demeanor.
Yury Dubovich. The Pakhan.
"Lily," he says, voice smooth. "Welcome to our home."
"Thank you for having me," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake.
His eyes assess me, sharp and calculating. I resist the urge to squirm.
"My nephew speaks highly of you," he continues. "Says you saved his life."
"I did what anyone would do. Besides, the injuries weren’t so severe."
"No. Most would have called the authorities. You brought him inside. Treated him. Protected him." He leans back in his chair. "That says something about your character."
"Or my judgment," I mutter before I can stop myself.
Jasmine laughs, a bright sound that cuts the tension. "I like her."
The Pakhan's mouth curves slightly. "As do I. Zakhar, you chose well."
"I didn't choose," Zakhar says from beside me. "I claimed."
The Pakhan waves a hand dismissively. "Semantics. The point is, she's family now. Which means she's protected. No one touches her. Make that clear to everyone."
"Already done," Zakhar replies.
"Good." The Pakhan's attention returns to me. "Do you understand what you're agreeing to, Lily? This life, this family, it's not simple."
“But worth it, Jasmine says as she comes to stand beside Yury. Their age difference is striking, yet it somehow it suits them.
"I'm starting to realize that. On both counts," I add, offering a weak smile to Jasmine.
"And you still want this?"
I look at Zakhar. At the certainty in his eyes, the promise that he'll keep me safe no matter what.
"Yes," I say. "I still want this."
"Then welcome to the family." He stands, extending his hand. "You have my protection. And my word that Zakhar will take care of you."
I shake his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. "Thank you."
"Go ahead and get accustomed to the estate. Charlotte's probably bursting to interrogate you."
He's not wrong. The moment we're back in the hallway, Charlotte is pulling me toward what she calls "the family room."
"Okay, rapid-fire questions," she says, settling us both on a comfortable couch. "How are you feeling? Are you okay? Has Zakhar been treating you well? Do you need anything?"
"I'm... overwhelmed. But okay. And yes, he's been... good to me." I wince a little, and blush, but Charlotte just grins and pats my hand.
"Good." She leans closer, lowering her voice. "I know this is all very… different. Trust me, I’m locked into a contract with mine. Vitali decided I was his, and suddenly I went from maid to wife and it was nerve wracking." She shrugs, like being contracted to a man is normal.
"How are you handling it?"
"Honestly? I didn't, at first. I panicked. Tried to fight it. But then I realized something."
"What?"
"These men, they're intense and possessive and sometimes infuriating. But they're also loyal. Protective. Once they claim you, they'll move heaven and earth to keep you safe and happy."
"That's a lot of pressure."
"It is. But it's also... freeing? Like, I don't have to carry everything alone anymore. Vitali handles things. He takes care of me. And I take care of him. It works." She drifts off, getting lost in her thoughts and I don’t ask what happens at the end, when the terms of the contract have been met.
Instead, I ask, "What if I can't handle this world?"
"You can,” Jasmine says. “You're already handling it. You said yes, didn't you?"
"I did."
"Then you're braver than you think." She squeezes my hand. "And you're not alone. You have me now. And Charlotte. And Emma, she's engaged to Avros, lives in the converted barn a little way down from yours. She's a former ballerina, absolutely lovely. She'll want to meet you too."
"There are so many people."
"There are. But they're family. Your family now. We take care of each other."
The door opens, and Zakhar appears. "Ready to see our place?"
I nod, standing. Charlotte hugs me, her bump firm and round between us, and whispers, "You're going to be fine. I promise."
Then Zakhar's hand is on my back again, guiding me out of the main house toward his, our, home.
It's beautiful. Two stories, modern but warm, with large windows and an open floor plan. The kitchen is huge, the living room comfortable, and upstairs...
"Our bedroom," Zakhar says, pushing open the door to a large room with a king-sized bed and an en-suite bathroom.
Our bedroom. Not his. Ours.
"What do you think?" he asks.
I turn to face him. "I think this is all too much. I think I barely know you. I think I should be heading back to the bakery any minute…"
"But?"
"But I'm here. And I know that when I'm with you, everything feels less impossible."
He crosses to me, pulling me against his chest. "It is less impossible. Because you're not doing it alone anymore."
I tilt my head back to look at him.
"Spend some time settling in. Get to know the family.
Figure out what you want to do with the bakery.
And we..." He trails off, hand sliding down to press against my lower belly.
"We start working on that heir. Time is tight since I wasn’t planning on following through with my uncles ridiculous request."
Heat floods through me. "Already?"
"Unless you want to wait?"
"I don't know. This is all so fast."
"We have time. No rush. Yury did extend the deadline for Avros and Emma, since they are having some fertility issues, so I’m sure he can do the same for us."
"Do you want to? Have children immediately, I mean.”
His eyes darken. "I want to put my baby in you more than I want my next breath. I want to see your body change and know I did that to you. I want to experience every side of you. The soft, the hard, the hormonal… I want to fuck you in every state too. I can’t even imagine how sexy you’ll be with my baby growing inside you. "
Standing here in our bedroom, in our house, in this life that's somehow become mine, I can picture it. Me, pregnant with his child. A family of my own. A future that isn’t stress and a business I never meant to take on.
This is everything I never let myself want because I was too busy surviving.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, adjusting himself in his pants. “Just thinking about you pregnant gets me ridiculously hard.
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. This man has been screwing me six ways a day since the other night when I couldn’t sleep. I want to say he is insatiable, but it’s not like that. It’s like a controlled kind of wanting. And I feel it too.
I raise onto my tip toes and plant a kiss on his lips as I cup his cock through his pants and squeeze.
“Mmm,” he moans. “Don’t tease me when I’m like this, Lily. Not unless you’re going to follow through.”
“When have I ever not followed through?” I ask, backing him up to the bed.