When she’d told me about wanting a big wedding, about the dress and the champagne tower and the obnoxiously expensive string quartet, I’d known she wasn’t lying. She’d been sharing something real, something vulnerable, a dream she’d carried since childhood that Sebastian hadn’t yet managed to destroy.
So I’d made it my personal mission to give her everything she’d ever wished for.
The planning had been insane. Two weeks to put together an engagement party that most people spent months organizing.But when you had Bratva resources and an unlimited budget, insane became possible. Vladimir had made calls. Andrei had handled logistics. Even Timur had contributed, though his idea of “helping” mostly involved making sure security was airtight.
And now, looking around at the result, I had to admit, we’d done it. We’d given Barbara her fairy tale.
The crowd was already gathering, a surreal mix of the two worlds we came from. Bratva men in tailored suits that couldn’t quite hide the dangerous way they moved, standing shoulder to shoulder with business moguls who gave hollow toasts and fake smiles. Oil and water forced to mix because Barbara Davis and Kirill Petrov had somehow decided to build a life together.
Vladimir stood stoic near the back of the room, his ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of attention that never relaxed. He’d flown in from Moscow specifically for this, making it clear through his presence that Barbara was now under Bratva protection. That anyone who touched her would answer to him.
The message was received. I’d watched several of Andrew’s business associates give Vladimir a wide berth, recognizing power when they saw it, even if they didn’t know the specifics.
Movement near the entrance caught my eye. Hailey and Illyana had cornered the string quartet, both of them making requests with the kind of intensity that made the musicians look vaguely terrified. Illyana was gesturing emphatically, probably demanding something completely inappropriate for an engagement party, while Hailey laughed and added her own suggestions.
Across the room, Timur clapped Damir on the back, both of them laughing at something I couldn’t hear. It was strange seeing Timur relaxed; he spent so much time in enforcer mode that moments of genuine amusement felt out of character. ButDamir had that effect on people, could pull smiles from stone if given enough time.
Drew and Cassandra stood against the bar, his arm around her waist, both of them smiling as they watched the controlled chaos. They looked content. Settled. Like they’d figured out the secret to making two impossible worlds coexist.
I hoped Barbara and I could do the same.
“She’s ready.”
Andrew Davis’s voice came from beside me. I turned to find him standing there in a tuxedo that probably cost more than my first car, his expression unreadable. We’d had exactly one conversation about the engagement, and it had been brief and businesslike. He’d asked if I could provide for his daughter. I’d said yes. He’d asked if I’d protect her. I’d said with my life. He’d nodded once, and that had been that.
Not exactly a warm father-son-in-law bonding moment, but I’d take it.
“Thank you,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was thanking him for. For raising Barbara? For not objecting to the engagement? For throwing this party, even though his daughter was marrying into the Bratva?
He just nodded again and moved away, disappearing into the crowd of his own guests.
Then the string quartet shifted their song, and the room fell into that expectant hush that meant something important was about to happen.
Barbara appeared at the top of the staircase.
My breath caught.
She wore an ivory silk gown that flowed like water, her chestnut hair styled in soft waves, and she kept her jewelry simple—just delicate diamond earrings that caught the chandelier light. She didn’t need anything more. She was already the most beautiful person in the room.
More than that, she was glowing. Not just from makeup or the flattering lighting, but from genuine happiness that transformed her entire face. This was the Barbara she could’ve been all along if Sebastian hadn’t spent years terrorizing her. This was who she was meant to be.
She descended the stairs slowly, her hand trailing along the banister, her eyes finding mine across the crowded room. When she smiled, something in my chest tightened painfully.
I met her at the bottom of the staircase, offering my hand. She took it, her fingers warm against mine, and I pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “You’re stunning.”
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she murmured back, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
The next hour passed in a blur of handshakes and congratulations. Business associates whose names I immediately forgot. Bratva members who clapped me on the shoulder and made jokes in Russian that Barbara pretended not to understand. Society women who air-kissed Barbara’s cheeks and made passive-aggressive comments disguised as compliments.
It was exhausting.
But through it all, Barbara’s hand stayed in mine. Anchor and lifeline and promise all at once.
The champagne flowed. The string quartet played their obnoxious covers of pop songs, Barbara had insisted, and they’d delivered, complete with a painfully earnest rendition of some Taylor Swift song that made Illyana mock-gag. Speeches were given, toasts were raised, and everyone pretended this was a normal engagement party instead of the joining of two worlds that should never mix.
Finally, we managed to escape to the balcony.
The night air was cool against my face, a relief after the heat of too many bodies in too small a space. Barbara leanedagainst the railing, her back to the party, looking out over the gardens that were lit with tiny white lights strung through the trees.
