The side exit led to an alley that smelled like garbage and exhaust fumes. Brooklyn in all its glory, the real world after the cathedral's sacred space. Three vehicles waited with engines running—black SUVs arranged in a row, doors already open, security detail scanning for threats.
Kostya loaded me into the back of the middle vehicle with efficiency that bordered on rough. My knee screamed as he set me down but I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. Then Nikolai was sliding in beside me, and his hands immediately found my face.
"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out too fast, desperate and raw and nothing like the controlled Pakhan who'd been presenting evidence five minutes ago. "I'm so sorry, I should have protected you better, should have known you'd do something brave and stupid, should have seen this coming, should have—"
I kissed him.
Cut off his apologies with my mouth on his, tasting blood and gunpowder and the sandalwood scent that meant safety. That meant home. That meant Daddy kept his promises even when keeping them meant destroying everything he'd built.
The SUV peeled out. Tires screaming on cobblestones, the driver taking corners too fast, putting distance between us andthe cathedral as quickly as physics allowed. Through the rear window I watched the beautiful building recede—gold domes catching afternoon light, sacred space I'd watched Nikolai violate.
He'd broken the game to save me.
Destroyed his carefully cultivated reputation as the strategic Pakhan who followed rules. The man who calculated seventeen moves ahead, who never let emotion override tactics, who'd built his entire identity around being controlled and careful and measured.
All gone. Burned to ash in the cathedral because I mattered more than strategy.
"I've got you," Nikolai was murmuring against my hair, his arms locked around me like he'd never let go. Like I was the most precious thing in the world and he was terrified of losing me again. "You're safe. You're mine. I've got you."
His hands were shaking. I could feel the tremor where he held me, could feel how close he was to fracturing completely. This wasn't the Pakhan. This was just Nikolai. Just the man who'd held me while I was Little, who'd brought me to the Garden Room, who'd watched over me while I played with Mr. Hoppy and Rosie and believed I could be small without something terrible happening.
"Mikhail?" I managed, pulling back enough to see his face.
"Safe. Volkovs have him. We coordinated the extraction—two teams, simultaneous assault. He's being taken to their compound for medical care."
Relief crashed through me so intense it made my hands shake. Mikhail was safe. I was safe. We'd both survived despite impossible odds, despite Anton's plans, despite sacred protocols that should have protected him being shattered like the stained glass windows.
The SUV took another corner hard enough that I had to brace against Nikolai's chest. His heartbeat was racing under my palm—fast, irregular, the physical evidence of how terrified he'd been. How terrified he still was.
"You made an attach at the Council," I said quietly. "Violence on sacred ground. That's—"
"Worth it." He cut me off, his grey eyes fierce and almost violent in their intensity. "Every consequence. Every political fallout. Every enemy I made today by breaking protocols that have held for centuries. All of it is worth having you safe. When the Belyaevs attacked the Settling, they changed the rules. I just through them out."
The declaration should have been romantic. But it was also terrifying. Because the consequences would be real. The other Pakhans had witnessed him violate sacred ground. Had watched him turn a formal Council into a bloodbath. Had seen him choose me over every rule, every tradition, every carefully maintained code that kept the bratva world from devolving into complete chaos.
He'd burn for this. Maybe literally. Maybe politically. But either way, the cost would be devastating.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I made you choose. Sorry I walked into danger and forced you to—"
"No." His hands found my face, tilting my chin up until I was looking directly at him. "You don't apologize for being brave. For trying to save Mikhail. For sacrificing yourself because you thought it would protect the people you love. That's not something to apologize for, printsessa. That's something to be proud of."
Printsessa. The endearment hit different after everything that had happened. After being in Anton's compound, being called blood and family by a man who wanted to marry his half-sister. After having my genetics displayed like evidence. After learningthat Konstantin Belyaev was my father and every understanding I'd had about my identity was a lie.
But when Nikolai said it—printsessa, princess, his princess—it meant something clean. Something chosen. Not genetics but devotion. Not blood but love.
"I love you," I said, and meant it with every atom of my being. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
"I love you too." He kissed my forehead, gentle despite the violence we'd just escaped. "And I promise—I swear to you on everything I am—you will never have to be that brave again. Because I will never put you in a position where sacrificing yourself seems like the only option."
The promise was impossible. We both knew it. The bratva world was built on sacrifice, on terrible choices, on people being forced to choose between bad options and worse ones. But I appreciated the lie. Appreciated that he wanted to promise me safety even when safety wasn't something anyone could guarantee.
The SUV turned onto a street I recognized—heading toward the compound, toward walls and guards and the closest thing to sanctuary we had. Toward home, if home was a place instead of a person.
I pressed my face into Nikolai's neck, breathing in sandalwood and safety, letting exhaustion crash through me now that the adrenaline was fading. My bad knee was screaming. My heart was still hammering. The white dress I'd been forced to wear was dirty now, stained with whatever grime had been on the cathedral floor and the alley cobblestones.
But I was safe. Mikhail was safe. And Nikolai—my Nikolai, not the Pakhan but the man who'd held me while I was Little—had kept his promises even when keeping them cost him everything.
"We're going home," he murmured against my hair. "And then I'm drawing you a bath, and making you tea, and holding youuntil you believe that you're safe. Until you believe that I've got you. Until you believe that nothing will ever take you away from me again."
