When I finally tear away, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together, mouths swollen, blood and smoke smeared between us.
There’s no innocence left. No lines between us. Only fire, only fury, only the dangerous truth we’ve stopped running from: we’re bound now, by vengeance and by desire, and neither of us knows how to let go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Vivienne
My back is pressed hard against the stone, the fire still blazing behind us, smoke curling up like some dark omen written across the sky. My lips are swollen, blood mingling with the taste of his kiss, my breath ragged in the cold night air. Alexei’s forehead stays against mine, his chest rising and falling heavy, as if the kiss itself stole the last of his restraint.
I should shove him away. I should remind myself what he is, what we are, the danger wrapped into every touch. Yet my hands stay tangled in his hair, my nails biting into the back of his neck. His heat is the only thing I feel against the freezing air, his weight the only thing anchoring me.
The sound of boots crunching snow cuts through the night. I flinch, trying to step back, but Alexei doesn’t move. His body shields me, gray eyes snapping toward the sound. Dimitri emerges from the tree line, shoulders tense, a rifle slung across his back. His expression flickers—just for a second—as he sees us.
“You didn’t leave much for the snow to cover,” he says, voice flat, gaze sliding to the blaze consuming the dacha. The orange glow carves his face into hard lines. “The fire will be seen for miles. They’ll know something’s finished here.”
Alexei finally eases back, but his hand stays wrapped around mine like iron. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches until Dimitri’s eyes cut to me. There’s no disdain there, no accusation. Only an acknowledgment that I stand here beside Alexei, bloodied lips and all, and I’m not just a hostage anymore.
“Igor’s men?” Alexei asks at last, his voice rough from smoke and fury.
“Scattered,” Dimitri replies. “The few that stayed loyal won’t risk regrouping now. Some ran east. Some went to ground. It’s finished enough.” His gaze lingers on me again, sharp and assessing. “Though not everyone will see it that way. They’ll whisper about her. About this.”
Alexei’s jaw tightens, the weight of his hand crushing mine. I feel the pulse in his wrist, strong and steady, a silent warning to anyone who might question.
“Let them whisper,” he says.
The words send a shiver down my spine, half fear, half something else entirely.
Dimitri’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close. “Then it’s decided. The old rot burns, and you stand in the ashes.” His eyes flick back to me, steady, unyielding. “Both of you.”
For a moment, none of us speak. The fire roars louder behind us, the dacha collapsing in on itself with a scream of steel and wood. The sound is final, absolute.
I squeeze Alexei’s hand before I can think better of it, and he doesn’t let go.
Bound in blood, in smoke, in fire, there’s no undoing it now.
***
Dimitri leaves without fanfare, and I’m alone with Alexei again.
At first, I think he’ll kiss me again, but he doesn’t. Alexei lowers himself to one knee, the move deliberate, almost reverent, and pulls a small box from his coat.
My heart stutters.
He doesn’t open it right away. He holds it in both hands, heavy for its size, like he knows what it carries isn’t just metal and stone but history, chains, ghosts. When he finally flicks it open, the ring gleams in the last slant of sunlight, simple but undeniable.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says quietly. His voice is stripped bare, none of the iron or threat he carries when he stands before his men. Just him. “But I’m asking.”
My chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe. The cold air stings, and my pulse roars so loudly I can barely hear him. For so long, every choice I thought I had was ripped away by my father’s death, by Alexei dragging me into his world, by the Bratva Council’s demands, by survival itself.
I’ve lived like a pawn, shifting across a board I never asked to play on.
Yet here he is, kneeling in the dirt, no pressure in his voice, no cage waiting behind his words. Just a question.
My throat aches, but I force myself to breathe through it. My eyes flick from his face to the ring, and for the first time in years, I realize I’m not cornered. There’s no one else here. No Igor, no elders, no enemies breathing down our necks.
I step forward. Slowly, like the air might break if I move too quickly. My pulse hammers, but not with fear. Something different—something almost like peace—threads through the storm inside me.
His eyes never leave mine as I reach for the box. My fingers brush against his, and I take the ring from his hand myself. Not because I have to, or because the Bratva demands it, but because I want to.
The realization nearly drops me to my knees.
