39. Luna
Luna
If someone had told me months ago that I’d end up married to Vladimir Petrov—fucking him into oblivion every night, battling his clingy post-honeymoon attachment issues, and living with a man who refuses to leave the damn house—I’d have laughed them straight into an institution.
And yet… here I am.
Since I came back, Vladimir has barely let me breathe.
At first, it was flattering. Cute, even.
He worked from home, holed up in his home office like some brooding beast, only emerging for food, sex, and to confirm I hadn’t Houdini’d myself into another continent.
If I so much as went to the next room, his gaze tracked me like I was a priceless artifact he couldn't afford to lose again.
The first three days? Bliss. The man was a demon between the sheets—relentless, hungry, obsessed.
If I wasn’t on my back, I was on my knees.
If I wasn’t on my knees, I was bent over whatever surface he could get me on.
My body still hasn’t fully recovered. I’m pretty sure I need a chiropractor and possibly a new spine.
But by day six? I was losing it.
This man is the Pakhan of the Bratva. A feared and respected leader. A ruthless strategist. And yet here he is, glued to my side like a possessive golden retriever with rage issues. I swear, if he doesn’t go kill someone soon, I will.
So when I got the chance to sneak out of the house for a girls’ shopping day with Raven and Amani, I didn’t just take it—I sprinted toward it like my life depended on it.
Freedom tastes like luxury boutiques and champagne.
“Okay, we need to pick a theme,” Raven says, flipping through a rack of dresses like she’s deciding who lives and who dies.
Amani hums thoughtfully. “Sexy but expensive.”
I smirk. “So… us.”
Raven flashes a grin. “Exactly.”
We’re holed up in our favorite VIP boutique downtown. Margaux, the stylist-slash-saint who’s been dressing us for years, is flitting around the room pulling outfits from the newest designer lines. There’s silk and lace everywhere. It’s heaven.
“What color are we feeling?” Margaux asks, examining Raven’s complexion like she’s about to paint her.
“Gold?” Amani offers.
“Too bridal,” Raven says, waving it off.
I pull a blood-red silk gown from the rack, holding it up with a wicked grin. “Red and black?”
Raven’s eyes gleam. “I fucking love it.”
Amani claps. “Done. Blood and darkness. It’s giving femme fatale.”
Over the next hour, we try on everything—dresses, heels, earrings sharp enough to stab someone with. We critique like it’s our job.
Amani ends up in a fire-red off-the-shoulder dress that hugs her like sin itself. Raven chooses a black corset-style gown with sheer panels that make her look like a villainess on the runway.
And me?
I step out of the dressing room in a crimson silk slip dress with a dangerously low neckline and slits high enough to make a grown man cry. The straps cross at the back, leaving most of my skin exposed. The moment I look in the mirror, I know.
Vladimir is going to combust.
Amani whistles low. “Bitch, you’re a weapon.”
Raven nods approvingly. “Vlad’s not going to survive this party.”
“I hope he doesn’t,” I say casually. “Serves him right for shadowing me like a bodyguard with abandonment issues.”
We laugh, but the energy shifts almost immediately.
I sigh, placing my glass on the table. “Now that we’re away from the boys, let’s talk.”
Raven’s smile drops. Her voice turns cool. “The Order’s location was leaked.”
And not just the base—names, ranks, operations. Everything.
Over 300 active members. A hundred more are on standby. All exposed.
Amani stiffens. “That’s not just bad. That’s war.”
“Whoever did it knew exactly where to hit,” Raven mutters.
My jaw clenches. “It was an inside job. Has to be. Isabella agrees. That’s why she authorized a mission for the Elite squads. But not until after Raven’s birthday.”
“Eric Goldstein?” Raven asks.
I nod. “He’s on the move again. Angel’s old team is tracking him.”
We all go silent for a beat, the weight of it pressing down on our shoulders like fog.
Raven finally asks, “Does Vlad know you’re going?”
“No. Not yet.”
Amani whistles. “Girl… you’ve been back less than a week.”
“I know,” I groan. “But if I tell him now, he’ll either lock me in a closet or decide to come along and burn the whole continent down.”
“Which… would be kind of hot,” Raven muses.
“True,” Amani adds. “But also extremely inconvenient. Let’s not get the Bratva flagged by Interpol again.”
“I’m going to distract him,” I say, grabbing my champagne. “Lure him into complacency.”
“Sex him into silence,” Amani grins. “You’re a genius.”
Raven raises her glass. “To survival. And seduction.”
The three of us didn’t go home right away.
Instead, we ended up at a bar—not just any bar, but the kind of moody, dimly-lit lounge that played soft jazz in the background and served overpriced cocktails in crystal glasses.
The kind of place where secrets slipped easier from lips that tasted like gin and danger.
I swirl the last bit of champagne in my glass, watching the golden liquid catch the light like it holds all the answers to my problems.
Because I have a secret. A big one. One I haven’t even said out loud yet.
My pulse drums steadily in my ears as I sit between Raven and Amani in a plush leather booth tucked into the corner.
I need to tell them. I have to tell them.
Taking a deep breath, I set the glass down with a soft clink and clear my throat. “Okay… I need to tell you guys something. More like—I have a secret.”
Both of them freeze immediately, heads snapping toward me.
Raven narrows her eyes. “What kind of secret?”
Amani leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Spill. Right now.”
I fidget with the hem of my dress, trying to buy myself a few more seconds. “It’s nothing big.”
Amani rolls her eyes. “Luna. You don’t do ‘small secrets.’”
Raven snorts. “Yeah, remember the last time you said that? You’d implanted trackers in all of us without saying a word.”
“For safety reasons,” I mutter defensively.
“Uh huh,” Amani drawls. “Try again.”
I suck in a breath, hold it, then exhale quickly. “Vladimir told me he loved me before I left for Portugal.”
Dead silence.
In less than five seconds, I watch their expressions swing wildly—from shock to betrayal to giddy delight.
Raven is the first to recover.
“HE WHAT?!”
Amani grabs my wrist like she’s ready to shake me. “AND YOU’RE JUST TELLING US THIS NOW?!”
“I—”
Raven gasps. “Wait. Oh my god. Did you say it back?”
I don’t answer.
Amani’s jaw drops. “You didn’t. Oh, hell no.”
Raven leans away like I just admitted to kicking puppies. “Luna, your emotionally constipated Bratva husband actually said the L-word—and you said nothing back?!”
I throw my hands up. “It caught me off guard!”
Amani rubs her temples. “Luna. Sweetie. Babe. We love you. But what the actual fuck?”
“I know,” I groan, sinking into the leather cushions. “And the worst part? He hasn’t brought it up since I got back. Not once.”
Raven eyes me. “So… you think he’s mad?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “But every time we’ve had sex since then—it’s been different.”
Amani leans in. “Different how?”
I shoot her a deadpan look. “I can’t walk properly.”
Raven cackles. “He’s fucking the love into you.”
Amani smirks. “I don’t see a problem with it.”
I groan and cover my face. “I don’t know what to do. I feel it. I know I love him, but it’s been so long now. What if I missed the moment?”
Amani gives me a look. “Babe. You just say it back.”
Raven nods. “Preferably while riding him.”
“You two are the worst,” I mutter, but my lips twitch.
Amani rests her chin on her hand. “But you love us.”
“I do,” I admit.
“Okay,” Raven says, setting her drink down. “Now show us the ring.”
I blink. “What?”
Amani perks up. “Oh my god, yes. The ring. You didn’t even tell us about it yet.”
I hesitate, then pull the delicate velvet box from my purse and flip it open.
Both of them gasp.
Raven’s mouth is already open. “That’s a ‘bend me over the desk and call me your wife’ ring.”
Amani clutches her chest. “I’ve seen museum pieces that wish they had that level of sparkle.”
I grin despite myself. “He gave it to me during aftercare. Said it won’t interfere with my knives.”
“God, he knows you so well,” Amani sighs.
Raven leans back, eyes dancing. “He’s already yours, Luna. Just give the man his ‘I love you.’”
And in that moment, I know they’re right.
I just have to figure out how to say it—how to hand my heart over completely.
Because somehow, this Bratva monster clawed his way into my soul.
And I don’t think I want him to leave.