I stare down at the ring in my palm, the metal cool against my skin. My breath comes shallow, but it steadies with each second I let the truth sink in.
The ring is a beautiful gold inlaid with delicate diamonds. It’s bigger than the other ring, the one he bought to keep up appearances, and absolutely stunning.
“I swore I’d never forgive you,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Swore I’d never give you anything real.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”
The words cut me deeper than I expect. I swallow, blinking hard. “Then what do you want?”
“You,” he says simply. “I want you to choose me. Even if it’s the last choice you ever make.”
The honesty in his tone strips the last of my defenses away. I close my fist around the ring, holding it tight enough that the edges bite into my palm.
For years, I’ve lived with hate as my compass. Hate for the Bratva, hate for him, hate for the way my father’s blood soaked into the cracks of my life until it drowned me. That hate gave me purpose. It kept me sharp when grief would have hollowed me out.
Now, as I look at Alexei on his knees in the dirt, I realize hate is not all I am anymore.
I’m tired of being sharpened into a weapon.
I want to be something more.
“Get up,” I say softly.
He rises slowly, the ring box still open, his shoulders tense like he expects rejection. When he stands before me, I press the ring back into his hand. His brows knit, confusion flickering across his face.
“Put it on me,” I tell him. My voice doesn’t tremble.
His lips part, his breath catching. For a moment, he doesn’t move, like he doesn’t trust what he heard. Then, slowly, reverently, he takes the ring from my palm and slips it onto my finger, right above the ring I already wear. The band fits snug, perfect, as if it was always meant for me.
The weight of it is more than gold. It’s fire, memory, sacrifice. It’s everything we’ve burned and bled for condensed into one circle of metal.
When his fingers linger over mine, I feel the smallest tremor in them, as if this man who’s held a gun steady through storms and executions now shakes because of me.
“I never thought you’d…” He trails off, his voice rough. He swallows hard, trying again. “You could have walked away. Even now.”
“I know,” I whisper.
His breath shudders out of him, and then his forehead drops against mine again. The same way it did when the fire consumed the past behind us. His hands frame my face, rough and gentle all at once, and he kisses me—less brutal this time, but no less consuming.
The world tilts with it. My chest aches, my heart races, but there’s no dread in it now. No resentment. Just the terrifying freedom of finally choosing for myself.
The kiss deepens, and the courtyard spins away until there’s nothing left but his mouth on mine, his breath mingling with mine, his hands cradling me like I’m both fragile and unbreakable at once.
When we finally pull apart, the sky above us has gone darker, the last threads of sunlight gone. The stars peer faintly through the veil of smoke still clinging to the horizon.
I look at the ring glinting on my hand, at his eyes searching mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. Then I whisper the words I never thought I’d speak.
“I’m yours by choice.”
His hand tightens around mine, and for the first time since my father’s death, I feel something in me settle. Not peace, not entirely, but the beginning of it.
The Bratva still stands. The fire still burns. The war isn’t over. As I stand in the courtyard at dusk, Alexei’s breath warm against my cheek and the ring heavy on my hand, I know this much: whatever comes, I won’t face it alone.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk back inside. The estate is quiet, the air thick with the shadows of what we’ve done and what’s still to come. I glance at him once, at the sharp lines of his profile, the weight he still carries in every step.
He feels me looking. He squeezes my hand.
“We’ll build it,” he says softly, his voice low but certain. “A new empire, better for both of us.”
