Chapter 19 Mariya
MARIYA
Istare at my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize the woman looking back at me.
The dress is simple but elegant. White silk that falls to just below my knees, with a modest neckline and cap sleeves. Nothing fancy, nothing that screams "wedding". But it's still a wedding dress, and in less than an hour, I'm going to be wearing it while I marry Andrey Melnikov.
I can't believe I'm actually going through with this.
My hands shake as I smooth down the fabric, and I have to grip the edge of the dresser to steady myself.
This isn't how I imagined my wedding day.
I always thought I'd marry for love, that I'd be excited and nervous in a good way.
That I'd be surrounded by friends and family, celebrating the start of a new life with someone I chose.
Instead, I'm alone in this room, about to marry a man who kidnapped me. A man who thinks my father is a thief and a murderer. A man who's only marrying me because I'm useful to him.
But after finding that list of safehouses buried in my mother's garden, I know I don't have a choice.
Whatever my father was involved in, whatever secrets he was keeping, he dragged me into it.
Every Bratva member from here to Russia will be after me now.
They'll want that list, want whatever information my father hid, and they won't care what they have to do to get it.
I need protection. And right now, Andrey is the only choice I have.
A knock at the door makes me jump. I turn as it opens, and Andrey steps inside.
He's wearing a dark suit that fits him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean waist. His black hair is styled, and those blue eyes find mine immediately.
For a moment, he just looks at me, and I see something flicker across his face. Appreciation? Desire?
"You look incredible," he says quietly.
I don't respond. I can't respond. My throat is too tight.
He crosses the room and stops in front of me, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is gentle, almost tender, and it makes my chest ache.
"Are you ready?" he asks.
"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "But I don't have a choice, do I?"
His jaw tightens. "You always have a choice, Mariya."
"Do I?" I meet his gaze, letting him see the anger and fear I've been trying to hide. "Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm trapped, and this is the only way out."
He's silent for a long moment, his hand still cupping my face. Then he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly. But trust doesn't come easily to me anymore.
He takes my hand and leads me out of the room.
We walk through the hallways of his estate, and I try to memorize every detail as we descend the grand staircase.
The beast is waiting at the bottom. He's wearing a suit too, looking uncomfortable in the formal clothing.
When he sees me, something that might be approval flashes in his dark eyes.
"Ready?" he asks Andrey.
Andrey nods once, his hand tightening around mine.
We walk into Andrey's office. The room is large, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a massive desk. But what catches my attention is the man standing by the window. He's older, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple black suit and holding a leather-bound book.
"This is Father Dmitri," Andrey says. "He'll be performing the ceremony."
The priest turns and smiles at me, his expression kind. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear."
I manage a nod, not trusting my voice.
The ceremony is short and simple. There are no guests, no flowers, no music. Just me, Andrey, the beast as a witness, and the priest. Father Dmitri reads from his book, his voice steady and calm, speaking in Russian about love and commitment and the sacred bond of marriage.
I barely hear the words. My mind is spinning, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it. This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
"Do you, Andrey Melnikov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Father Dmitri asks.
"I do," Andrey says, his voice firm and clear.
The priest turns to me, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. "Do you, Mariya Pushkin, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can't do this. I can't say those words. They'll make it real, make it permanent, and I'm not ready for that.
Andrey's hand squeezes mine, and I look up at him. His blue eyes are steady, patient, waiting for me to make this choice. And in that moment, I realize he's right. This is a choice. Maybe not the one I want, but it's still mine to make.
"I do," I whisper.
Father Dmitri smiles. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Andrey turns to face me, his hands coming up to cup my face.
He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to.
But I don't. I let him kiss me, his lips soft and warm against mine.
It's not a passionate kiss, not like the ones we've shared before.
It's gentle, almost reverent, and it makes tears burn behind my eyes.
When he pulls back, I see something in his expression that I haven't seen before. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Like he's just claimed something that belongs to him.
I'm his wife now. For better or worse.
The priest congratulates us, and the beast shakes Andrey's hand. Then they're gone, leaving us alone in the office. Andrey's hand is still holding mine, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go upstairs."
My stomach drops. "Why?"
"Because that's what married couples do on their wedding night."
I pull my hand free, backing away from him. "No. This marriage is in name only. A solution for both our problems. You get access to whatever information my father left behind, and I get protection. That's it."
His expression darkens. "That's not how this works, Mariya."
"Yes, it is." I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look more confident than I feel. "I agreed to marry you. I didn't agree to anything else."
He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back. We do this dance until my back hits the bookshelf, and he's standing right in front of me, his body caging me in.
"We have to consummate the marriage," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "That's still the law. Without consummation, it's not legal."
"That's ridiculous."
"Maybe. But it's true." His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "And I'm not taking any chances. If this marriage isn't legal, you're not protected."
I want to argue, want to push him away and tell him to go to hell. But I can see the determination in his eyes. He's not going to back down on this.
"Fine," I say, the word bitter on my tongue. "Let's get this over with."
He leads me upstairs, his hand on the small of my back. When we reach his bedroom, he opens the door, and I stop in my tracks.
The room is transformed. Candles are everywhere, casting a warm, flickering light across the space. There's a bottle of vodka on the nightstand, two glasses beside it. Soft music plays from hidden speakers, something classical and romantic. Rose petals are scattered across the bed.
It's beautiful. Romantic. Everything a wedding night should be.
And it makes me furious.
"What the hell is this?" I spin to face him, my hands clenched into fists. "Did you think candles and vodka would make this okay? That you could seduce me into forgetting that I'm only here because you kidnapped me?"
His jaw tightens. "Matvey arranged it. I thought it would make you more comfortable."
We stare at each other, both of us breathing hard, the tension between us thick enough to cut. Then Andrey moves, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hands grip my waist, and he lifts me, carrying me to the bed.
"Put me down!" I struggle against his hold, but he's too strong.
He sets me on the bed, his body covering mine, pinning me in place. "We're doing this, Mariya."
His hand slides up my thigh, pushing the silk dress higher, and I feel my body respond despite my anger. Heat pools low in my belly, and my breath catches when his fingers brush against the lace of my panties.
"See?" he murmurs. "You want this as much as I do."
I want to deny it, push him away and prove him wrong. But I can't. Because he's right. My body does want this, even if my mind is screaming at me to stop.
His mouth finds mine, and this time, the kiss is anything but gentle. It's demanding, possessive, claiming me in a way that makes my head spin. His tongue slides against mine, and I hear myself moan, the sound muffled against his lips.
He pulls back long enough to strip off his jacket and tie, then his hands are on me again, sliding the dress up and over my head. I'm left in just my bra and panties, and his eyes darken as he looks at me.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes.
He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside, and his mouth closes over one nipple. I arch off the bed, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer even as part of me wants to push him away.
His hand slides between my thighs, and he groans when he feels how wet I am. "So ready for me."
He strips off the rest of his clothes, and I can't help but stare. His body is perfect, all hard muscle and smooth skin. The tattoos on his bicep and back seem to move in the candlelight, and I see the scar on his shoulder blade, a reminder of the violence that's part of his world.
He settles between my thighs, and I feel the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust, and I gasp at the stretch. He's big, filling me completely, and for a moment, I can't breathe.
"Relax," he murmurs against my neck. "Let me in."
I force myself to relax, and he slides deeper until he's buried to the hilt. We both groan, and then he's moving, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to his shoulders.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he thrusts deeper, harder. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest.
"Mine," he says against my ear. "You're mine now, Mariya."
I want to argue, want to tell him I'll never be his, despite my desire for him. And despite my inner voice calling me a liar. But then his hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me, so intense I see stars, and I hear myself crying out his name.
He follows seconds later, his body going rigid as he comes inside me. He collapses on top of me, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled together. Then he rolls off me, pulling me against his side. I should move away and put distance between us, but I'm too exhausted, too overwhelmed by everything that's happened.
I close my eyes, and despite everything, I feel myself drifting off to sleep.
The next morning, I'm jolted awake by someone banging on the bedroom door. I sit up, disoriented, and see Andrey already on his feet, pulling on his pants.
The door flies open, and two people burst into the room. A man in his sixties with gray hair and a younger woman with long black hair.
Bogdan and Sophia Belyaev.