16. Vladimir
Vladimir
Ihaven’t seen Luna since she showed up on my doorstep a week ago.
Apparently, planning a wedding requires a ridiculous amount of effort. I wouldn’t know—I gave her exactly seven days to handle it.
Generous, really.
I don’t apologize for it.
I don’t care about the endless details—the flowers, the seating charts, the overpriced food no one will remember after the first bite.
All I care about is making Luna mine.
And today, the entire world will know it.
The church is grand, just as I intended—traditional, timeless, built to last centuries, just like the empire I rule. Russian Orthodox architecture, high vaulted ceilings, ancient wooden pews, and walls have witnessed lifetimes of vows and betrayals.
The scent of incense lingers, thick and reverent, mingling with the floral arrangements—white roses and irises—a deliberate choice.
Purity and passion.
Light and fire.
Luna in every way.
The pews are packed. Over three hundred guests, each carrying power, influence, and danger.
To my left is the Bratva—my men, commanders, and brothers. Their suits are pristine, their expressions unreadable, their presence as heavy as the vows I’m about to take.
Among them sit politicians, judges, and business moguls—the same men who publicly condemn me but shake my hand privately.
To my right, an equally dangerous force.
The Eclipse Assassination Order.
Over fifty of them, dressed in black, lethal and controlled, their movements sharp even in a setting like this. Even at a wedding, they operate like a well-oiled machine, scanning the room, calculating, and watching for threats.
They don’t trust this.
They don’t trust me.
It doesn’t matter.
Because at the center of it all, standing at the altar, hands clasped in front of me, is me.
I scan the room once before settling into place. I don’t fidget. I don’t pace. I don’t let my anticipation show.
But inside, something restless simmers beneath my skin.
Beside me, Konstantin shifts, his voice low, cutting through the crowd’s murmur.
“So, Vova,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Are you sure about this?”
I don’t bother looking at him. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”
Konstantin exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw. “I mean, you’ve done some reckless shit in your time, but this? You’re not just marrying her. You’re tying her to the Bratva—for life. That comes with consequences. It’s more than just a name change. She’s an assassin for fucks sake.”
My jaw tightens.
Like, I haven’t thought about that more times than I can count.
“She can handle herself,” I say evenly. “You, of all people, should know that.”
Konstantin scoffs. “Handling herself is one thing. But being the wife of the Pakhan? That’s another. She’s not even Russian! It’s not just her enemies she has to worry about anymore—it’s yours.”
From behind us, Dimitri chuckles. “And we both know that list is longer than a priest’s confessional roster.”
I shoot him a sharp look. “I run my empire exactly how I want, Dimitri. Don’t mistake that for weakness.”
Dimitri holds up his hands, grinning. “Who said anything about weakness? I’m just saying it’s a hell of a thing to give a woman like Luna your last name. You’re really not worried she’ll put a knife in your ribs while you sleep?”
Konstantin smirks. “We have seen you carrying around the one she already lodged in your shoulder.”
I roll my shoulders, unbothered. “She’ll have my name. My protection. My empire at her feet if she wants it.”
Konstantin watches me closely, his smirk fading. “And what will you have?”
I finally meet his gaze, my voice coming out steady. Cold. Final.
“Everything.”
Then, the first note of a violin pierces the air.
My brow lifts slightly. I wasn’t expecting this.
But the melody—haunting, deep, unforgettable—is her.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips.
I glance back just as Luna’s niece steps onto the aisle.
She moves carefully, her tiny hands scattering white petals along the runner. The deep green of her dress sways with every step, striking against the pale marble of the church—a little angel in a den of wolves.
And as I watch her, a thought strikes me.
Will my children look like her? Like Luna?
It’s not something I’ve entertained before.
My life has always been about control, about ensuring the Bratva’s dominance. Children? They were never part of the plan.
But now, the thought lingers, soft and persistent.
Does Luna even want kids?
I’ll be amazed if she even lets me touch her again.
I push the thought aside as the processional continues.
Amani and Raven follow, their floor-length lavender dresses flowing as they move, their gazes sharp despite the occasion—two predators disguised as bridesmaids.
Then comes Angel, Luna’s sister, walking with calm grace. Her deep green dress perfectly matches her daughter’s.
And then… Luna.
Everything else ceases to exist.
She steps into the church like a storm cloaked in silk and fire, like a reckoning, like a sin dressed in the skin I was born to worship.
The moment her eyes meet mine—dark, burning, unrelenting—I feel it. The shift. The unraveling. The promise of destruction dressed up in vows and veils.
Her presence doesn’t just steal the air from the room. It steals the room itself.
She’s fury. She’s elegant. She’s vengeance in heels.
And I want her in every way that a man like me shouldn’t want anything, but I’m taking her anyway.
My grip tightens at my sides as she walks down the aisle, each step echoing like a countdown.
My greatest obsession.
And soon…
My wife.