"That’s not—"
"It's not negotiable, Lily. You need to feel safe. This helps."
"But I thought trad—"
"Traditions are important and Bratva marriages are for life? I know. And ours will be. But you don't quite believe that yet. Until you believe it, until you trust it completely, you get the prenup. Your safety net."
Tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks. "You're nothing like I expected."
"Don’t be fooled. I'm violent and dangerous and completely obsessed with you. But I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret saying yes."
She kisses me again, soft and sweet and full of promise.
Lily
It's been ten days since Zakhar arrived, bleeding on my doorstep, and changed everything.
I stare at the sign I taped to the bakery door the other when he first insisted I take the day off:CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
The words feel final. Like an ending.
Or maybe a beginning.
The bakery that's been my life for two years, my aunt’s dream, my anchor and my albatross.
"Ready?" Zakhar's voice comes from behind me, warm and solid.
I turn to find him leaning against a black SUV that wasn't there ten minutes ago. He looks completely healed now. No more bandages, just four adhesive dressings cover fully closed wounds. He moves with that predatory grace fully restored. He's wearing dark slacks and a shirt that does nothing to hide the muscle underneath, and I still can't quite believe this man is mine.
That I said yes to all of this.
"I don't know," I admit. "Am I ready?"
"You don't have to be. You just have to trust me."
Trust. That simple word that means everything.
I take one last look at the bakery, the place where I've spent countless early mornings, where I've poured every bit of energy I had into something that was slowly failing despite my best efforts.
Letting go should hurt more than this. Maybe it will later. But right now, all I feel is relief.
"Okay," I say, turning back to him. "I'm ready."
His smile is small but genuine. "Good. Let's go home."
Home. Not my apartment above the bakery. His place on the family estate. A world I know nothing about except that it's his, and now apparently mine too.
The driver, a silent man named Paul who Zakhar introduced briefly, loads my two suitcases into the back. Everything I need for now, Zakhar said. We can get the rest later.
I slide into the back seat, Zakhar settling beside me. His hand immediately finds mine, fingers lacing together. Grounding me.
"Nervous?" he asks as Paul pulls into traffic.
"Terrified."
Hi grins. "Good. That means you're smart."
"That's not comforting," I say, adjusting my seatbelt.
