Katya's laugh is bitter, almost sad. "Is she? Or is she with Lev because she can't have Roman?"
The implication crashes over me with sickening clarity. Irina wants Roman. Has always wanted him. And now I'm in her way, taking what she believes should be hers. Could that be true?
"Eva." Katya's voice drops even lower, becomes almost frightened. "I saw how she looked at you tonight. That's not simple dislike. That's hatred. The kind of hatred that makes people do terrible things."
40
ROMAN
Istand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, adjusting the platinum cufflinks that catch the morning light. The custom-tailored black suit fits perfectly, every line precise, every detail exactly as I specified. My reflection stares back at me with an expression I barely recognize. There's anticipation there, something almost like nervousness, emotions I haven't allowed myself to feel in decades.
By tonight, Eva will be my wife.
The thought sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through my chest so powerful it nearly steals my breath. She'll wear my ring. Carry my name. Sleep in my arms in the master bedroom where she belongs, not in that guest room she's been hiding in. No more distance. No more careful separation. She'll be mine in every way that matters, bound to me permanently by law and tradition and the child growing in her belly.
My cock stirs with interest despite the early hour, and I adjust myself discreetly. I've been half-hard for days thinking about tonight, about finally having her in my bed where I can touch herwhenever I want, wake her with my mouth between her thighs, fall asleep with her body pressed against mine. The anticipation is slowly driving me insane.
I think about the burgundy dress she wore on our date, how it clung to her fuller breasts and the slight curve of her stomach. I imagine peeling away her wedding dress tonight, discovering what she's wearing underneath, making her gasp my name in Russian while I remind her exactly who she belongs to. My hand drifts to my belt before I catch myself.
Focus, you bastard. You have a wedding to get through first.
The door opens without knocking, and Lev enters with his usual silent efficiency. He's wearing a dark suit similar to mine, his expression all business as he reviews the security arrangements on his phone. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens as he scrolls through reports.
"The grounds have been swept three times," he says without preamble. "Guards positioned at every entrance, surveillance monitoring all approaches. Guests are being screened as they arrive. Everything is set."
I nod, trusting his thoroughness. Lev has kept me alive for two decades through meticulous planning and ruthless execution. If he says we're secure, we're as secure as we can be.
But I see the concern he's trying to hide. A wedding makes us vulnerable in ways we usually avoid. So many people gathered in one place, attention divided, defenses potentially compromised. It's the perfect opportunity for an enemy to strike, and we both know Abram Yakovlev is looking for exactly that kind of opening.
"Any word from Moscow?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral.
Lev's expression darkens. "The delegates arrived last night. They're staying at the Grand Hotel downtown." He trails off, and we both understand what he's not saying. The council's representatives are here, in the city, watching and judging. One wrong move, one sign of weakness, and they'll strip me of everything I've built.
"Keep monitoring them," I order. "I want to know if they so much as sneeze in our direction."
Lev nods and leaves, his footsteps silent on the marble floors. I return to the mirror, straightening my tie with hands that are steadier than they should be. The man staring back at me is the Pakhan, cold and controlled, revealing nothing. But beneath the expensive suit and careful composure, I'm fucking terrified.
Not of the wedding itself. Not of binding myself to Eva permanently. I want that with a hunger that borders on obsession. What terrifies me is the possibility of failing her, of my enemies using her and our child as weapons, of my world destroying the only good things I have left.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Come in."
Katya slips through the door, and my breath catches. She's ethereal in her bridesmaid dress, a soft blue that makes her eyes even more striking. Her dark hair is swept up elegantly, and there are tears already threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"Solnyshko," I say, the endearment rough with emotion. "You look beautiful."
"So do you,bratishka." She moves to me, her hands reaching up to straighten my tie even though it's already perfect. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts the knot, and I see her throatwork as she swallows. "I can't believe you're getting married. My dangerous, impossible brother is actually getting married."
"Neither can I," I admit, covering her hands with mine.
Katya's blue eyes search my face with uncomfortable intensity. "Do you love her?"
The question catches me off guard. Do I love Eva? I'm wildly attracted to her, that much is undeniable. My body responds to her presence with embarrassing eagerness, my cock hardening every time she enters a room. I think about her constantly, obsess over her safety, feel something primitive and possessive surge through my chest whenever another man looks at her.
But love? Love is supposed to be simple, uncomplicated. What I feel for Eva is neither of those things.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "But I want her. I need her. And I'll protect her with everything I have."
Katya's expression softens with understanding. "Mama would have loved her, you know. Eva's stubborn strength, the way she doesn't back down even when she's terrified. Mama always said the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fire."
