"He'll never let you go. You know this?"
I look at Pyotr. His pale eyes are serious. Not joking. Not testing. He’s stating a fact.
"Good. I'd kill him if he tried."
He laughs. The sound is so unexpected that I almost jump. "Da. I believe you would."
I look past him at the church. The doors are open. I can see inside—rows of people, candles, gold everywhere. So much gold.
"There are a lot of people here."
"After the Volkov situation, many came back. Showing loyalty. Showing they choose correct side." He adjusts his tie, uncomfortable. "Also, refusing Pakhan's wedding invitation after he burned hundred ships is bad idea."
The music changes to a Russian piece I don't recognize. Slow. Formal. That's my cue, apparently.
My heart hammers in my chest.
Pyotr offers his arm. I take it. The bouquet—white roses because Ivan insisted—shakes slightly in my other hand.
We start walking.
The aisle is long. Longer than it looked from the outside. Every eye turns toward me as we enter. Old men in tailored suits, their wives covered in diamonds and judgment. The younger ones—soldiers, enforcers—watch like they're evaluating a weapon, not a bride.
I can feel it. The weight ofwho the hell is shepressing against my skin.
I keep my chin up, but I don't look at them.
I can't. If I meet a single stare, I'll start imaginingwhat they're thinking—how I don't belong here, how I'll never fit in this world. That's how the spiral starts.
So I look at Ivan instead.
He's at the altar. Black suit, crisp lines, but his hair has that bit of chaos I love. He's standing perfectly still, hands clasped, jaw set like he's holding the universe together by sheer will.
And then there are his eyes.
Locked on me.
Completely.
Everyone else might as well vanish.
There's a look in them I didn't expect. Fear. Like he's not sure this is real until I reach him. Like he's afraid I'll dissolve mid-aisle, and he'll wake up back in the wreckage.
Those blue eyes don't blink. Don't even flinch. They track me, step by step, pulling me in.
For a second, the noise in my head goes quiet. It's only him and that look.
Step after step, past the whispers, past the scrutiny, past the people wondering what spell I cast on their Pakhan.
Let them wonder.
Because right now, none of them matter. Not their money, not their rules, not their world.
Just Ivan.
Just this.
Just us.
