19. Luna
Luna
I’ve lived with Amani and Raven for the past three years in our little house on the ranch. I didn’t think I’d ever have to move again. I built a life there—a safe, predictable, semi-chaotic but lovable life.
Surrounded by women who get me. Who doesn’t ask for more than what I can give? Who knows, I carry knives in the shower and have absolutely zero shame about it.
But now? I’m supposed to live with a man again.
A man.
A full-grown, brooding, probably-needs-therapy, Bratva warlord of a man.
I have no idea how to live with a man anymore.
What if he leaves the toilet seat up and I fall in at 3 AM when I’m half-asleep and just trying to pee in peace? Do I stab him for that? Is that… legally defensible?
What if—dear God—he doesn’t wash the crack of his ass?
Because let’s be honest, most men don’t! They just let the shower water “run down” their legs like it’s some magical cleanliness spell from Hogwarts.
What if he snores? Amani snores. Raven snores. I already had to soundproof the rooms back home because it was like living in a damn bear cave.
Okay, yes—the soundproofing was also to avoid hearing Amani go full opera singer during her hookups. But still.
What if he uses my expensive skincare on his elbow? What if he eats my snacks without asking? What if he folds towels wrong? What if he folds me wrong?!
Wait…
What was I thinking about again?
Oh, right.
I. AM. FREAKING. OUT.
Oh my God.
I am spiraling.
This is a spiral. I’m in the spiral.
And I must’ve been talking out loud—or maybe just screaming internally at such a high frequency that it activated their best friend radar—because suddenly, Amani and Raven materialized like summoned demons in matching heels.
They appear right in front of the table, eyebrows raised, champagne in hand, and the expressions of two women who have had enough of my shit.
Double shit.
We’re still in the middle of the wedding reception. Everyone is dancing and vibing, and I am this close to having a full-blown panic attack in a $5,000 gown with a murder playlist queued up on my phone.
My heart is racing, and my palms are sweaty. The ballroom suddenly feels like a shrinking box with fairy lights and people who all want to talk about how “in love” we look.
Just give in, Luna.
Just give in and what?
Be his?
Be Vladimir’s?
And what if I like it?
Abort.
ABORT.
I glance at Vladimir as his words repeat over and over in my head.
He’s leaning back in his chair, looking utterly relaxed as he talks with Konstantin and Dimitri. Meanwhile, I’m having a full-fledged existential crisis.
I mutter something incoherent and excuse myself, barely registering Amani and Raven’s confused stares as I grab them both by the wrist and make a beeline for the closest exit.
The second we step into the cool night air, I release them and start pacing.
Fuck.
I’m married.
Again.
The gold band, taunting me on my left hand.
Amani breaks the silence first. “Alright, I’ll bite. What the fuck are we doing out here when your entire wedding reception is going on inside?”
Her hand is on her hip, her tone dripping with attitude.
Raven crosses her arms, unimpressed. “Yeah, Luna. Care to explain why you dragged us out like you’re plotting an escape from prison?”
I stop pacing and throw my hands up. “What if he has a foot fetish!?”
They just stare at me like I’ve lost my mind, so I keep going—because clearly, I have lost my mind.
“What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not cut out to be a wife again—his wife? Have I not suffered enough in this lifetime?”
Amani rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve survived worse than Vladimir freaking Petrov. He’s just a man, Luna.”
“Just a man?” I snap, spinning to face her. “He’s a Pakhan! A man who probably thinks I’ll just slot perfectly into his life like some accessory. ‘Oh, look at me, my name is Vladimir Petrov, I have a pet assassin!’”
Raven tilts her head, studying me like she’s dissecting my soul. “Are you worried about him... or you?”
That question slams into me.
My mouth opens. Then closes.
I try to speak, but I can’t. My thoughts are spinning. My heart pounds louder than my own voice.
“I… I don’t know,” I murmur, reaching up to rake my hand over my updo. My fingers tremble. “Maybe both?”
Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. The air feels too thick. My chest tightens, constricting like a vice. My vision blurs slightly, and my knees threaten to give out.
“What if I screw this up? What if he regrets this? What if I turn into everything I swore I wouldn’t be again? What if I lose myself? What if?—”
A sob punches through me.
“I can’t do this again,” I whisper. “I can’t go through another man breaking me down just to own the pieces.”
My breath comes in shallow, frantic gasps. Panic claws at my throat. My hands start shaking.
Amani is beside me in an instant, her arms coming around my shoulders. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay. We’ve got you.”
Raven steps in, voice calm and grounding. “Luna, look at me. Take a breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like we practiced. Come on, you’ve got this.”
I try. I really do. But my lungs feel like they’ve forgotten how to work. Tears burn in my eyes.
“He won’t hurt you,” Amani says softly, squeezing me tighter. “And if he even tries, we’ll kill him. Slowly. With glitter bombs and fire ants.”
That earns a broken laugh from me, one that hitches in my throat.
Raven gently places a hand over mine. “You are not the same woman who would let anyone else control her. You’re Luna-fucking-Imala. And if this man thinks he can mess with you, he’s in for a rude awakening.”
My breath starts to even out, little by little.
“You two are ridiculous,” I manage, wiping my eyes.
Amani grins. “Ridiculously amazing.”
Raven smirks. “Now come on, badass bride. Let’s go remind the world who they’re dealing with.”
Just as I start to relax, a deep voice clears its throat behind me.
I freeze.
Turning slowly, I find myself face-to-face with Ivan Petrov.
Vladimir’s father.
The former Pakhan.
A man whose reputation alone is enough to make grown men tremble.
But when I look at him, I don’t see ruthlessness.
I see something else.
Something unexpected.
“Walk with me, dear,” Ivan says, offering his arm like an old-school gentleman.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second before looping my hand through his offered arm. Amani and Raven exchange looks, but neither stop me.
We walk through the garden, the distant hum of the reception fading behind us. The cool night air brushes against my skin, but the tension in my chest keeps me warm.
Ivan speaks first.
“I wanted to thank you for killing Anton.”
I blink.
Wait. What?
“I—what?”
He glances at me, his sharp blue eyes assessing, but there’s no hostility—just approval.
“Anton Pushkin. Bratva politics is … complicated, and keeping him around was not my idea. You did the world a favor.”
I study him, searching for any sign of sarcasm, any deceit. But there’s none.
“I don’t regret it,” I say, my voice steady.
His mouth quirks into something almost like a smirk. “Good. You shouldn’t.”
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze.
Then, his tone softens, like he’s remembering something distant.
“My wife would have loved you.”
I stiffen.
“She had a fire about her. A will that no man could break.” He glances at me, something knowing in his gaze. “Much like you.”
I swallow hard. My throat is suddenly tight.
Then he says something that shakes me to my core.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you in the past.”
I stop walking.
My chest tightens.
I stare at him in shock, my heartbeat hammering so hard I can barely think.
“How—”
“I was there,” he says simply. “The night Isabella brought you to the ranch in California.”
My stomach drops.
What?
Faint memories flood back—the blurred figures, Isabella’s urgent whispers, the overwhelming pain... but I never remembered Ivan being there.
He knew.
He knew from the beginning.
He exhales, observing me. “Fate has a funny way of bringing someone exactly what they didn’t know was missing.”
I can’t speak.
My throat is locked, my mind racing.
And then—he smiles.
A real smile.
“I can’t wait to have grandchildren.”
My brain malfunctions.
EXCUSE ME?
He claps me on the shoulder like he didn’t just casually drop that bomb on me.
“No rush,” he says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “But when the time comes, just know that they’ll have an empire waiting for them.”
I gawk.
No words.
None.
Vladimir’s father just casually told me he’s expecting grandkids like we’re discussing the weather.
Before I can form a coherent response, he winks and walks away, leaving me standing in the garden, utterly speechless.
Amani and Raven rush over, immediately sensing my distress.
“What happened?” Amani demands, scanning me like I just survived an assassination attempt.
I just stare after Ivan Petrov, my mouth slightly open.
Raven raises a brow. “Luna?”
I finally manage to speak. “I think I just got emotionally steamrolled by my new father-in-law.”
Before I can explain myself with a comforting attempt at humor, I feel it.
Him.
Vladimir.
His presence presses against me like the first crackle of lightning in a summer storm—calm, controlled, but brimming with something volatile just beneath the surface.
I don’t have to turn around. I know it’s him.
He steps into the cool night air, eyes sweeping the space like he’s already calculated a thousand ways to eliminate a threat that doesn’t exist. Except maybe the one inside my own chest.
His gaze locks on me.
“Can I have some alone time with my wife?”
His voice is velvet over a blade. Smooth, polite—but there’s a command hidden underneath it. One that doesn’t ask. One that expects.
Amani and Raven exchange a glance.
“Sure,” Amani says, smirking as she grabs Raven’s arm and pulls her away. “Try not to stab him before cake, okay?”
Raven gives me a look—not judgmental, just... watching. Like she’s already cataloging every expression on my face.
Then it’s just us.
I cross my arms, trying to breathe normally. Trying to keep my heart from slamming through my ribs.
Vladimir steps closer. There’s something in his eyes I can’t quite read, something dark and unreadable.
Then he reaches out, brushing his fingers along my arm.
His touch is light. Barely there. But it grounds me and unravels me all at once.
“It’s not safe to go anywhere without me,” he says softly.
I blink, my sarcasm kicking in like a lifeline. “Oh, really? Because I’m just a helpless little bride, right?”
He doesn’t flinch. He just watches me with that same frustrating intensity.
“I know you can handle yourself,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you.”
I pull away slightly, just enough to breathe. “Let me remind you, Vladimir—I’m a trained assassin. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Not a babysitter,” he says. “A husband.”
I snort. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
His smirk deepens, but there’s something serious beneath it now.“You’re mine, Luna. And I don’t take chances with what’s mine.”
That word again.
Mine.
It curls around my spine, burning into every nerve ending.
I laugh, but it’s thin. Hollow. “You keep saying that like I’m not two seconds away from stealing your car and disappearing into the Alps.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he hears what I’m really saying.
He steps closer again. Not forcing. Just... there.
“I will find you,” he says, voice lower now. “I will always find you.”
Gods, the way he says it.
Not like a promise.
Like a vow.
Then reality slaps me back to awareness.
I step back, clearing my throat. “So... am I moving to New York?”
Vladimir’s expression turns serious.
“Yes.”
My heart stutters. “Do you expect me to share a room with you?” I ask, only half-joking.
“There’s no other option,” he replies without missing a beat.
I stare at him. Then sigh.
“I’m not changing my last name,” I say. “But I’ll compromise by hyphenating it.”
There’s a pause. Then, with a nod, he says, “Deal.”
We stand there in silence, the weight of what we’re agreeing to finally settling in.
I hesitate. “So, New York... What does life look like for me there? What am I supposed to do once we get there?”
He takes a moment.“You’ll do what you’ve always done—be yourself. But now, you’ll do it beside me. You’re not just my wife, Luna. You’re my partner. And I need you by my side.”
When I don’t say anything back, he continues.
“Any more questions?” he asks, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.
I exhale. “Yeah, but I think I’ll save them for later.”
His smirk curves. “I’ll be waiting.”
His hand moves to the small of my back, grounding, not possessive.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says simply. “But I won’t force you into anything you’re not ready for. I’m not like that.”
And somehow, terrifyingly... I believe him.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.