"Understood." Dmitri nodded, then continued. "Also, like you ordered, everyone who was pressuring the Bellucci family has backed off. Sofia's on board, too."
I smiled coldly. That greedy woman had agreed almost without hesitation.
Fine. Saved me the trouble.
The car stopped at the church's side entrance. The snow was heavier now, falling thick and covering the building in solemn white.
I didn't get out immediately. The window reflected my blurred image—hard features, expressionless, eyes holding three years of obsession and absolute determination.
Dmitri opened my door. Cold air rushed in.
"Everything's ready?" I straightened my cuffs.
"Yes, boss. Everyone inside is ours." Dmitri said quietly. "The priest knows what to do."
I stepped out, my shoes crunching through the snow.
I should've stopped caring whether she was willing, or whether she hated me.
I'd been searching for three years. Waiting for three years. This light that had wandered into my dark world—since it had lit my way once, it had to stay forever.
Whether through love or hate.
Chapter Three
Noelle
The drive from the church to Gladwyn Manor felt like a never-ending funeral. I sat in the back seat, with a full person's width between me and Kholod.
I didn't look at him, my gaze fixed on the window, watching the snow-covered scenery blur past as Philadelphia's lights were swallowed by thickening darkness and encroaching forest—as if I were being swallowed too.
"Cold?" Kholod broke the silence, his voice low and resonant in the sealed confines of the car.
I didn't answer.
He chuckled softly. "Playing deaf, huh?"
"I'm just not sure what to say to the man who kidnapped me."
His tone turned playful. "Noelle, we're legally married now. This is me bringing you home."
I finally turned to him, locking eyes with those sharp amber irises that pierced the dim light. "Your home is no different from a prison to me."
He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly, an oppressiveweight crashing over me. "You really despise the idea of marrying me that much?"
"You've ruined my life."
"I've given you the Morozov name, the position every woman in Philadelphia dreams of—and that's ruining you?"
I took a deep breath, forcing down the surging emotions. "To me, it's just another form of captivity."
Kholod reached out suddenly, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to face him. "Noelle, if I truly wanted to cage you, you wouldn't even have the chance to speak."
His fingers were cool, but his grip was firm enough to make my jaw throb. I tried to pull away; he only tightened it.
"Let go," I gritted out.
"Keep up the stubborn act," he leaned in closer, his breath—a mix of cigar and mint—brushing my face. "I want to see how long you can hold out."
