Chapter 40 Roman
ROMAN
Istand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, adjusting the platinum cufflinks that catch the morning light.
The custom-tailored black suit fits perfectly, every line precise, every detail exactly as I specified.
My reflection stares back at me with an expression I barely recognize.
There's anticipation there, something almost like nervousness, emotions I haven't allowed myself to feel in decades.
By tonight, Eva will be my wife.
The thought sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through my chest so powerful it nearly steals my breath.
She'll wear my ring. Carry my name. Sleep in my arms in the master bedroom where she belongs, not in that guest room she's been hiding in.
No more distance. No more careful separation.
She'll be mine in every way that matters, bound to me permanently by law and tradition and the child growing in her belly.
My cock stirs with interest despite the early hour, and I adjust myself discreetly.
I've been half-hard for days thinking about tonight, about finally having her in my bed where I can touch her whenever I want, wake her with my mouth between her thighs, fall asleep with her body pressed against mine.
The anticipation is slowly driving me insane.
I think about the burgundy dress she wore on our date, how it clung to her fuller breasts and the slight curve of her stomach.
I imagine peeling away her wedding dress tonight, discovering what she's wearing underneath, making her gasp my name in Russian while I remind her exactly who she belongs to.
My hand drifts to my belt before I catch myself.
Focus, you bastard. You have a wedding to get through first.
The door opens without knocking, and Lev enters with his usual silent efficiency.
He's wearing a dark suit similar to mine, his expression all business as he reviews the security arrangements on his phone.
But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens as he scrolls through reports.
"The grounds have been swept three times," he says without preamble. "Guards positioned at every entrance, surveillance monitoring all approaches. Guests are being screened as they arrive. Everything is set."
I nod, trusting his thoroughness. Lev has kept me alive for two decades through meticulous planning and ruthless execution. If he says we're secure, we're as secure as we can be.
But I see the concern he's trying to hide.
A wedding makes us vulnerable in ways we usually avoid.
So many people gathered in one place, attention divided, defenses potentially compromised.
It's the perfect opportunity for an enemy to strike, and we both know Abram Yakovlev is looking for exactly that kind of opening.
"Any word from Moscow?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral.
Lev's expression darkens. "The delegates arrived last night.
They're staying at the Grand Hotel downtown.
" He trails off, and we both understand what he's not saying.
The council's representatives are here, in the city, watching and judging.
One wrong move, one sign of weakness, and they'll strip me of everything I've built.
"Keep monitoring them," I order. "I want to know if they so much as sneeze in our direction."
Lev nods and leaves, his footsteps silent on the marble floors.
I return to the mirror, straightening my tie with hands that are steadier than they should be.
The man staring back at me is the Pakhan, cold and controlled, revealing nothing.
But beneath the expensive suit and careful composure, I'm fucking terrified.
Not of the wedding itself. Not of binding myself to Eva permanently. I want that with a hunger that borders on obsession. What terrifies me is the possibility of failing her, of my enemies using her and our child as weapons, of my world destroying the only good things I have left.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Come in."
Katya slips through the door, and my breath catches. She's ethereal in her bridesmaid dress, a soft blue that makes her eyes even more striking. Her dark hair is swept up elegantly, and there are tears already threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"Solnyshko," I say, the endearment rough with emotion. "You look beautiful."
"So do you, bratishka." She moves to me, her hands reaching up to straighten my tie even though it's already perfect.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts the knot, and I see her throat work as she swallows.
"I can't believe you're getting married.
My dangerous, impossible brother is actually getting married. "
"Neither can I," I admit, covering her hands with mine.
Katya's blue eyes search my face with uncomfortable intensity. "Do you love her?"
The question catches me off guard. Do I love Eva?
I'm wildly attracted to her, that much is undeniable.
My body responds to her presence with embarrassing eagerness, my cock hardening every time she enters a room.
I think about her constantly, obsess over her safety, feel something primitive and possessive surge through my chest whenever another man looks at her.
But love? Love is supposed to be simple, uncomplicated. What I feel for Eva is neither of those things.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "But I want her. I need her. And I'll protect her with everything I have."
Katya's expression softens with understanding. "Mama would have loved her, you know. Eva's stubborn strength, the way she doesn't back down even when she's terrified. Mama always said the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire."
The mention of our mother makes my chest tight.
I think about the woman who raised us in brutal poverty, who worked herself to death trying to keep us fed, who sang folk songs while she cooked to pretend everything was fine.
She died when I was fourteen, and I've spent every day since trying to honor her memory by surviving, by building something from nothing.
"Papa would be proud too," Katya continues, her voice thick with tears. "Of the empire you've built. Of the man you've become despite everything."
"I'm a monster, sestrichka. Papa would be horrified by what I've done, the blood on my hands."
"You're a survivor." Katya's hands cup my face with surprising firmness. "You did what you had to do to keep us alive, to give me a life free from the violence that shaped you. Don't diminish that sacrifice, Roman. Don't pretend it doesn't matter."
A tear escapes down her cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb. "Don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup, and Eva will blame me."
Katya laughs through her tears, the sound bright and genuine. "She probably will. Your fiancée is terrifying when she's angry. I like her very much."
"So do I," I admit, and the truth of it settles in my chest with unexpected weight.
I like Eva. Not just her body, not just the way she feels beneath me.
I like her stubborn pride, her fierce protectiveness of her family, the steel in her spine that refuses to break no matter how much pressure I apply.
I like the way she looks at me sometimes, like she sees past the monster to something worth saving.
Fuck. I'm in deep.
Katya kisses my cheek and leaves to check on Eva, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the growing realization that this wedding is more than just legitimizing my heir. It's binding myself to a woman I'm falling for despite every logical reason I shouldn't.
The November weather has cooperated unexpectedly.
When I step outside to survey the garden where the ceremony will take place, the air is crisp but not unbearably cold, the sky clear and bright.
Eva has transformed the space into something elegant and beautiful, with white roses everywhere and traditional Russian decorations woven throughout.
There's a simplicity to it that honors our shared heritage, and pride swells in my chest despite knowing she's marrying me out of necessity rather than love.
The chairs are arranged in neat rows facing an arch covered in white roses and evergreen branches. A string quartet is setting up near the house, their instruments gleaming in the sunlight. Everything is perfect, controlled, exactly as it should be.
But I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong.
I scan the grounds with practiced vigilance, noting the positions of my security team, the sight lines they're monitoring, the discrete bulges beneath their suit jackets where weapons rest. Lev has done his job well. We're as protected as we can be.
Guests begin arriving, and I retreat inside to wait for my cue.
I watch through the windows as people file in and take their seats.
David Brennan arrives with his usual punctuality, settling into the second row.
Megan appears with Alexei, both of them looking slightly uncomfortable in their formal attire. Tyler Chen is notably absent.
The string quartet begins playing, signaling it's time. I make my way outside, my footsteps measured and controlled despite the anticipation thrumming through my veins. Tonight. Tonight, Eva will be in my bed, and I'll finally be able to touch her without restraint, to claim her completely.
I take my position beside the officiant, a man I've paid handsomely to perform a ceremony that blends American and Russian traditions.
My hands are steady at my sides, my expression carefully neutral.
The Pakhan, controlled and powerful, revealing nothing of the emotions churning beneath the surface.
The music shifts, and I know Eva is about to appear. My pulse quickens despite my best efforts to remain calm. In moments, I'll see her in her wedding dress, walking toward me to become my wife.
But first, I scan the assembled guests one final time, a habit ingrained by decades of survival.
My blood runs cold.
Seated prominently in the third row are three men in expensive suits, their faces familiar from intelligence photos Lev showed me just days ago. Members of the Moscow delegation. The council's representatives sent to evaluate my worthiness as Pakhan.
They're here. At my wedding. Uninvited. Watching with calculating eyes that miss nothing.
Witnesses to either my legitimacy or my weakness.