49. Emma
EMMA
I can’t believe I’m getting married today. To three men.
The thought hits me again as I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, and laughter bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it. The sound echoes off the high ceilings of this old building, startling Krystal, who’s adjusting the train of my dress.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her hazel eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
I press my hand against my mouth, trying to contain the giggles that keep escaping. “I was just remembering when I told them I was pregnant and that we’d be getting married within a month.”
Krystal’s lips curve into a smile. “And?”
“I’ve never seen them so quiet. So surprised.” I shake my head, the memory still vivid. “Rurik just stared at me with his mouth open. Eduard went completely still, like he’d forgotten how to move. And Artur, he actually dropped his glass. Shattered it all over the floor.”
“They recovered quickly enough,” Krystal points out, smoothing the ivory silk of my dress.
“They did.” My hand moves automatically to my stomach, pressing against the small bump that’s just starting to show beneath the empire waist of my gown. “What amazes me most is that none of them care who the father is. Not even a little bit.”
Krystal straightens, her expression thoughtful. “That doesn’t surprise me. They’ve been planning this since they were teenagers, right? Sharing a wife to unite their families?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect them to be so calm about sharing children too.” I turn slightly, watching the way the dress moves with me. “They said they always knew any kids would belong to all three of them. That it was part of the plan from the beginning.”
The dress is perfect. Simple and elegant, with long sleeves and a neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be sexy without being inappropriate. The fabric flows over my growing belly, hiding the pregnancy from casual observation while still making me feel beautiful.
I refused to be married in the same building where the bride auctions had been held. The thought of standing in that space, where women had been sold like property, made my stomach turn. Eduard understood immediately and started searching for alternatives.
He found this place three days later.
The building is old, maybe a century or more, with Gothic architecture that makes it look like something out of a fairy tale.
High arched ceilings, stained glass windows, and stone walls that have witnessed generations of ceremonies.
It’s majestic and slightly intimidating, perfect for bringing back the traditional ceremonies that united families instead of exploiting women.
“You look beautiful,” Krystal says softly, stepping back to admire her work.
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” She moves to stand beside me, her bridesmaid dress complementing my ivory gown. “You saved my life, Emma. This is the least I can do.”
Before I can respond, a knock sounds at the door. One of the staff members pokes her head in. “It’s time.”
My pulse quickens, nerves and excitement flooding through me in equal measure. This is it. This is actually happening.
Krystal squeezes my hand. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The ceremony space takes my breath away.
The main hall has been transformed with hundreds of candles, their flames casting warm light across the stone walls.
White flowers are everywhere, their scent filling the air.
And at the far end, standing beneath an arch of roses, are Rurik, Eduard, and Artur.
They’re all wearing dark suits that make them look even more imposing than usual.
Rurik’s pale blue eyes find mine immediately, his expression intense.
Eduard’s gray gaze is warm, his lips curving into a small smile.
Artur’s dark eyes dance with barely contained excitement, that crooked grin firmly in place.
My three men.
The thought sends heat through me despite the formality of the moment. They’re mine, I’m theirs, and in a few minutes, it’ll be official.
The Bratva members fill the seats on either side of the aisle. Captains from all three families, their wives and children, and trusted associates who’ve proven their loyalty over the years. They stand as I enter, their expressions ranging from curious to approving.
I walk down the aisle alone, my head held high. No one to give me away because I’m not property being transferred. I’m choosing this. Choosing them.
When I reach the arch, all three men step forward. Rurik takes my right hand, Eduard my left, and Artur positions himself behind me, his hand resting on my lower back.
The officiant is an older man, a priest who’s performed these ceremonies for Bratva families for decades. He begins speaking in Russian, his voice carrying through the hall with practiced authority. I don’t understand all the words, but I catch enough. Unity. Strength. Family.
Then he switches to English, addressing me directly. “Emma Moore, do you enter this union willingly? Do you pledge yourself to these three men, to stand beside them as wife and partner?”
“I do.” My voice is steady, clear.
“And do you, Rurik Novikov, Eduard Balabanov, and Artur Lenkov, pledge to honor and protect this woman? To share her equally and treat her with the respect she deserves?”
“We do,” they say in unison, their voices blending together.
The priest continues with the traditional vows, binding us together in words that have been spoken for generations. When he finishes, he produces three rings. Simple platinum bands that match.
Rurik slides the first ring onto my finger, his pale eyes locked on mine. “You’re ours now. Forever.”
Eduard adds the second ring beside it. “We’ll protect you. Always.”
Artur places the third ring, completing the set. “And we’ll love you until our last breath.”
My throat tightens with emotion, but I manage to smile as I slip matching bands onto each of their fingers in turn.
“I now pronounce you bound,” the priest says. “You may kiss your bride.”
Rurik claims my mouth first, his kiss possessive and deep. When he pulls back, Eduard takes his place, his lips gentle but no less claiming. Then Artur spins me around, dipping me dramatically as he kisses me hard enough to make my toes curl.
The Bratva erupts. Cheering, whistling, and applause fill the hall. I laugh against Artur’s mouth, joy bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest. This is insane. This is perfect.
The reception is a blur of congratulations, toasts, and dancing. I’m passed between my three husbands, each of them taking turns spinning me across the floor while the Bratva watches with approval. By the time we finally leave, my feet ache from the heels, and my face hurts from smiling.
The drive back to the estate is quiet, all four of us exhausted but content. Rurik’s hand rests on my thigh, Eduard’s fingers thread through mine, and Artur’s arm is draped across my shoulders.
“That was perfect,” I murmur.
Inside the estate, we head straight for the bedroom. The moment the door closes behind us, the atmosphere shifts. The formal ceremony is over. Now it’s just us.
I turn to face them, my pulse quickening as I take in the way they’re looking at me. Like they want to devour me whole.
“My turn,” I say, my voice low.
I move to Rurik first, my hands sliding up his chest to loosen his tie.
He watches me with those intense pale eyes, letting me undress him slowly.
I push his jacket off his shoulders, then work the buttons of his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. My fingers trace the scars there, the evidence of a violent life, before I lean in and press my lips to his skin.
“Sit,” I murmur against his chest.
He obeys, settling onto the edge of the bed. I kneel between his thighs, my hands working his belt and zipper. When I free his cock, thick and hard, I wrap my fingers around him and stroke slowly.
“Fuck,” Rurik groans, his hand tangling in my hair.
I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head before I slide down his length. He’s big, stretching my lips, but I relax my throat and take him deeper. His hips jerk slightly, and I feel his fingers tighten in my hair.
I work him with my mouth and hand, finding the rhythm that makes his breathing quicken. When I feel him getting close, I pull back, pressing a kiss to the tip before moving to Eduard.
He’s already stripped down to his pants, his gray eyes dark with hunger. I push him back onto the bed beside Rurik and free his cock, equally hard and ready. Eduard’s hand cups my face as I take him into my mouth, his thumb brushing across my cheek.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs.
I hum around him, the vibration making him groan. I alternate between them, keeping both on the edge but not letting either finish. Artur watches from across the room, his dark eyes heated as he strokes himself through his pants.
“Come here,” I say to him, my voice rough.
He crosses to me immediately, and I make quick work of his clothes. When all three of them are naked and hard, I stand and let them undress me. The wedding dress pools at my feet, followed by my bra and panties.
Rurik pulls me onto his lap, positioning me so I’m straddling him. His cock presses against my entrance, and I sink down slowly, taking him inside. The stretch is perfect, filling me completely.
Eduard moves behind me, his hands sliding up my sides to cup my breasts. His fingers find my nipples, rolling them gently as Rurik starts to move beneath me. Artur kneels beside us, his mouth finding mine in a deep kiss.
The pleasure builds quickly, all three of them touching me, claiming me. When Rurik’s thumb finds my clit, I shatter, my body clenching around him as I cry out. He follows moments later, his release hot inside me.
Eduard takes his place immediately, entering me from behind as I brace myself on my hands and knees. Artur positions himself in front of me, guiding his cock to my mouth.
I take him eagerly, my body rocking between them as they find their rhythm. Eduard’s hand slides around to rub my clit, and I come again, the orgasm rolling through me in waves.
By the time all three of them have had me, I’m boneless and satisfied, sprawled across the bed between them. Eduard’s arm is draped across my waist, Rurik’s hand rests on my hip, and Artur’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder.
“I love you,” I whisper into the darkness.
“We love you too,” they say, almost in unison.
I lie there, listening to their breathing even out as they drift toward sleep, and feel something close to perfect contentment. I’m married. I’m pregnant. I’m surrounded by men who love me and a life I never expected to want.
But as the happiness settles over me like a warm blanket, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a question I can’t quite silence.
Is my luck going to change? I’m so happy right now that I’m afraid something’s going to happen to ruin it.