I glance past her—the wreckage, the blood, the smoke still curling into the night. Proof of what happens when someone forgets what she means to me.
"Or I swear to God I'll burn every ship from here to Moscow."
Her breath catches. Mascara streaked, blood dried on her throat. Barefoot, broken, beautiful.Mine.
She stares at me for a long time. Long enough for doubt to crawl up my spine. Then?—
"Even when I'm a mess?" she whispers. "When I run? When I forget how to stay?"
"Especially then."
I mean it. Every word.
"You run because you still believe there’s a future worth chasing. That's what makes youyou."
Her laugh is wet and shaky. "And if they tell you I'm not enough?"
"Then they don't live long enough to finish the sentence."
That gets a smile out of her.
"Then yes."
She sinks down in front of me, knees hitting wood. Tears cut lines through the ash on her cheeks.
"Yes," she says again. "Because I'm done pretending like you didn't ruin me for everyone else."
I slide the ring onto her finger, and it fits like it always belonged there.
I stand, pulling her up with me and kiss her hard. The world burning around us doesn't matter. The sirens don't matter. Nothing exists except this moment. This woman. This yes.
When I pull back, I turn to check our surroundings.
The yacht's dead quiet.
Everyone's gone—crew, guards, the girls they were selling. All vanished into lifeboats or rescue craft, smart enough to run before the fire spread this far.
It’s only us now, alone with Dmitri's body below deck and a harbor burning like judgment around us.
Lila's eyes sweep the empty deck, wary. "Ivan… shouldn't we?—"
"We're fine."
I pull her in until her cheek rests against my chest. She's trembling, but she doesn't pull away.
"You're engaged to a Bratva Pakhan now," I murmur against her hair. "That makes you untouchable."
Pakhan.
The word used to feel like a chain. Duty, legacy, my father's cold shadow breathing down my neck.
Now it tastes like power. Real power. The kind that burns ships when she's taken. That rewrites rules when she's threatened. The kind that lets me choose her over everything and still call it strength.
I tilt her chin up and kiss her slowly this time. Not desperate—just claiming what's already mine.
Her fingers find the edge of my jacket, hesitant. There's blood on her hands. She looks up at me like she's still deciding if this is love or madness.
My hands slide to her waist and start to move higher. The firelight catches on her ring—my mother's diamond—and for a second, that's all I see.
