Chapter 3 – Noelle
“No, ogonek. You’re going to marry me instead.”
For a beat, I just stare at him. Then a laugh bursts out of me—high and shaky. It sounds like it belongs to someone else, not me.
“That’s…a joke, right?”
His expression doesn’t change.
The sound dies in my throat. My heart starts to hammer so hard it hurts. He’s serious. God help me, he’s serious.
“Do I look like a fucking clown to you?” His voice is low, deadly calm, but the words cut sharper than a knife pressed against skin.
I swallow hard, heat flooding my cheeks. My instincts scream at me to shut up, but my mouth betrays me.
“Why marriage? Why? I don’t see how that—how it has anything to do with what’s going on.”
I feel the air shift. Like I just reached out and tugged the lion’s mane.
While he was away, I had time to think—to really think. To come to terms with my death. Because in the Bratva, crimes like this don’t go unpunished. And all I had was my word, which none of them believed.
It wasn’t as though I mattered. My existence wasn’t precious to anyone. My death wouldn’t shake the world. So I prepared myself for it, steeled myself against the inevitable.
Which is why his offer rattles me so badly.
“Why?” I ask again. “Why should I marry you?”
He stares at me, almost affronted, like the question itself is offensive. Like no one has ever dared to ask him why.
I know I’m pushing my luck, but I can’t help it. I need answers.
His voice lashes out, harsh and unyielding. “If you marry into the Bratva, you are untouchable. No one can kill you. Not Anton. Not anyone. You will belong to the Rusnak name. You will be protected, monitored, owned. By me. And that is how you will prove your innocence.”
The way he says owned makes my skin crawl.
I open my mouth, close it, then force words out. My voice cracks around them.
“And if I don’t?”
Something shifts in his eyes, a flash of cold steel.
“Then you die.”
The certainty in his tone steals my breath. There’s no drama in it, no threat. Just a fact. A sentence already written.
My throat tightens. My palms sting where my nails dig in. I don’t want him to see me break, to see the fear I feel choking me, but it’s there, trembling at the edges.
“Is this”—my voice catches; I steady it—“is this how men apologize where you’re from? Where’s the ring?”
For the first time, something flickers in his expression. Annoyance. A crack in the ice. His jaw works once, slow and deliberate.
Then, softly, terrifyingly steady, he leans in.
“A ring isn’t a problem.”
“If I…if I say yes—does that mean I become yours to control?”
My voice is barely a whisper, but I know he hears every syllable.
For the first time since this conversation began, his lips curve. Not a warm smile, not something human—something darker, amused, like I’ve finally asked the only question that matters.
He takes a step toward me. Then another. Each one slow, unhurried, like a predator closing the space between him and prey that has nowhere left to run.
When he reaches me, he lowers his head, his breath ghosting across the shell of my ear.
“You already are, ogonek.”
The words slither down my spine, cold and hot at once. Goosebumps erupt across my skin, my breath catching before I can stop it.
Something in me wants to jerk away. Another part of me—something dangerous, traitorous—won’t let me move. He’s too close, too beautiful, too terrifying. That sculpted face, the quiet power in the way he carries himself, the command in his every word.
It’s obscene, how much I notice it now, how much my body reacts.
But I can’t forget what he is. What he’s doing. He isn’t offering me a choice. He’s handing me a death sentence dressed up as a vow.
One way or the other, he will own me.
And if that’s the truth, then I’d better make the right choice.
I grew up on survival. I know how to bend when the wind is strong, how to find light in the smallest crack, how to keep breathing even when the world tries to choke me. My instincts are honed to precision, sharpened by years of clawing my way through.
Every second I’m alive right now is mine only because I’ve learned to take it. Every breath I draw is a calculation.
So I do the only thing left to me.
I lift my chin, even as my heart slams against my ribs.
I will marry him. But on my own terms.
I force myself to ask, “Are you doing all of this just to protect me? Why ruin your own life by marrying me when I’m nothing—just an unimportant employee?”
His eyes narrow, unreadable, like he’s measuring how close I dare to dance to the fire. For a long, terrifying beat, he says nothing.
Then, smoothly, he tilts his head. “If you truly don’t care about your ex, ogonek, then sleeping in my bed, wearing my ring, should mean nothing to you.”
My stomach twists. My throat dries. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t let me look away.
“What’s in this for you?” I whisper, my voice trembling despite every effort to hold it steady.
That’s when he smiles—slow, sharp, terrifying. He steps closer, close enough for me to feel his breath ghost my skin.
“I don’t trust you,” he murmurs, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “But I would rather you bleed for me…than against me.”
Goosebumps race down my arms. He isn’t saving me. He’s binding me. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that whatever choice I make now will cost me my soul.
“I’ll marry you.”
The words leave my lips and hang in the air like smoke.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. No triumph. No regret. Just…blank. He pulls away, turns like he’s already done with me.
“We get married tonight.”
Panic scrapes up my throat. “No.” My voice cracks, but I force it to be firm. “This is probably going to be my only marriage in this lifetime, and I…I can’t get married just like that, with no one I love around me.”
He stops mid-step, shoulders taut, and slants me a cold glare over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“Yes.” I nod quickly, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my teeth. “If you’re going to take my freedom from me, at least do me the favor of making it magical.”
The silence stretches, sharp as a knife. His stare pins me in place, unblinking, deadly. I hold my breath and cross my fingers inside my clenched fist, praying he doesn’t see through me, praying he doesn’t kill me for daring to ask.
I’ve always dreamed of a fairytale wedding. And if this—this nightmare—is all I get, then God help me, I’m going to claw at the edges of it until I can make it look like the dream I once had.
Finally, he speaks, voice low and even, too calm to be safe.
“Do you have family you want to invite?”
Shame burns through me as I shake my head. “No. Just…my friend Violet. She’s Kaz’s wife. And Sasha Marino, my roommate here in Chicago. That’s all.” My throat tightens, but I push on. “And I want a dress. A proper officiant. In a church.”
The moment the words leave me, dread slams into my gut. I’m pushing too far, prodding the lion again. My chest tightens as I wait for the bite.
But he just stands there, silent, watching me like he’s deciding whether to grant me this scrap of humanity…or tear it away.
A low, humorless chuckle escapes him. “Don’t get it twisted, ogonek. I’m not here to give you the wedding of your dreams. This”—he gestures between us, his voice cold and precise—“is purely business.”
I lift my chin, refusing to let the fear show. “I’m asking for the bare minimum.”
His dark eyes flicker over me, sharp and calculating. “No family?”
“No,” I whisper. My throat feels tight. “Just…friends. Violet. Sasha. That’s all.”
He pauses, his gaze holding mine, and for a moment, the silence between us is heavier than any cage. Then, finally, he nods once, curt. “Fine. It will happen.”
The words land like a lifeline, though I know better than to let relief creep too far in. This is still Niko Volkov-Rusnak. The Pakhan. Dangerous, ruthless, and utterly unpredictable. But for now…for now, I’ve carved out the barest thread of control.
“And I’m not marrying you without a ring.”
His lips curl into a smirk as he walks all the way to the door and disappears outside.
Alone, my heart hammers in my chest. Wait. What just happened?
Did I really just agree to marry a Bratva boss?
Is this some twisted dream?
Just a few hours ago, I was telling myself I’d never speak to a Bratva soldier—let alone date one. And now…now I’m about to marry the Pakhan?
My mouth falls open. I’d think this is a nightmare if the handcuffs around my wrists weren’t still biting into my flesh. This is real. It’s fucking real.
I feel panic crawling up my throat, but I force myself to breathe, slow and steady. Niko agreed to let Violet attend the wedding, which means I’ll see her soon. I need her now more than ever.
When she told me she was marrying Kaz, I tried so hard not to judge her. How could she not run? How could she let him… love him? Even now, seeing them so in love, I still worry. I wish she’d taken off when she could.
And now…I’m in the same position. There’s no running. No escape. I can’t go anywhere. I’m in it. Fuck.
And then there’s Sasha. How the hell do I explain this to her? That her roommate of over a year is a med school dropout working in an underground Bratva clinic…and is now about to marry the Pakhan?
Oh no.
The door opens, and one of the guards steps inside. I stiffen, expecting violence, but he doesn’t touch me—he just unlocks the handcuffs. My hands are free, and I rub them, wincing slightly from the marks.
“Get up. Follow me.”
The guard’s tone is softer now, unlike how rough they were earlier.
My hands rub against each other as I rise, the stinging from the handcuffs still fresh. My heart hammers, but I force myself to keep steady.
I trail behind him, my eyes widening as we leave the interrogation room. The hall opens into something I’ve never seen before—rich, sprawling, and impossibly luxurious. The walls gleam with polished dark wood, accented by gold trim.
A thick crimson carpet muffles our steps, and crystal chandeliers hang low, dripping light across the marble floors.
We climb a winding staircase, the kind you only see in movies about billionaires or…
powerful men who demand respect. The railing is dark mahogany, carved with swirling designs, polished to a shine that reflects the low glow of the lamps.
I can’t help stealing glances at the estate around me—the scale of it is overwhelming.
Every corner whispers wealth, control, and danger.
The guard doesn’t speak. I don’t speak. I follow, my senses alert to everything.
At the top, we walk down another hall. Rich tapestries line the walls, and the air smells faintly of sandalwood. He stops in front of a door, pulls out a key, and unlocks it. He steps aside, silently motioning for me to enter.
As soon as I cross the threshold, I hear the click of the lock behind me.
My chest tightens.
The door is closed, sealed.
I’m alone.
This is the beginning of the end of my freedom.