The mention of our mother makes my chest tight. I think about the woman who raised us in brutal poverty, who worked herself to death trying to keep us fed, who sang folk songs while she cooked to pretend everything was fine. She died when I was fourteen, and I've spent every day since trying to honor her memory by surviving, by building something from nothing.
"Papa would be proud too," Katya continues, her voice thick with tears. "Of the empire you've built. Of the man you've become despite everything."
"I'm a monster,sestrichka. Papa would be horrified by what I've done, the blood on my hands."
"You're a survivor." Katya's hands cup my face with surprising firmness. "You did what you had to do to keep us alive, to give me a life free from the violence that shaped you. Don't diminish that sacrifice, Roman. Don't pretend it doesn't matter."
A tear escapes down her cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb. "Don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup, and Eva will blame me."
Katya laughs through her tears, the sound bright and genuine. "She probably will. Your fiancée is terrifying when she's angry. I like her very much."
"So do I," I admit, and the truth of it settles in my chest with unexpected weight. I like Eva. Not just her body, not just the way she feels beneath me. I like her stubborn pride, her fierce protectiveness of her family, the steel in her spine that refuses to break no matter how much pressure I apply. I like the way she looks at me sometimes, like she sees past the monster to something worth saving.
Fuck. I'm in deep.
Katya kisses my cheek and leaves to check on Eva, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the growing realization that this wedding is more than just legitimizing my heir. It's binding myself to a woman I'm falling for despite every logical reason I shouldn't.
The November weather has cooperated unexpectedly. When I step outside to survey the garden where the ceremony will take place, the air is crisp but not unbearably cold, the sky clear and bright. Eva has transformed the space into something elegant and beautiful, with white roses everywhere and traditionalRussian decorations woven throughout. There's a simplicity to it that honors our shared heritage, and pride swells in my chest despite knowing she's marrying me out of necessity rather than love.
The chairs are arranged in neat rows facing an arch covered in white roses and evergreen branches. A string quartet is setting up near the house, their instruments gleaming in the sunlight. Everything is perfect, controlled, exactly as it should be.
But I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong.
I scan the grounds with practiced vigilance, noting the positions of my security team, the sight lines they're monitoring, the discrete bulges beneath their suit jackets where weapons rest. Lev has done his job well. We're as protected as we can be.
Guests begin arriving, and I retreat inside to wait for my cue. I watch through the windows as people file in and take their seats. David Brennan arrives with his usual punctuality, settling into the second row. Megan appears with Alexei, both of them looking slightly uncomfortable in their formal attire. Tyler Chen is notably absent.
The string quartet begins playing, signaling it's time. I make my way outside, my footsteps measured and controlled despite the anticipation thrumming through my veins. Tonight. Tonight, Eva will be in my bed, and I'll finally be able to touch her without restraint, to claim her completely.
I take my position beside the officiant, a man I've paid handsomely to perform a ceremony that blends American and Russian traditions. My hands are steady at my sides, my expression carefully neutral. The Pakhan, controlled andpowerful, revealing nothing of the emotions churning beneath the surface.
The music shifts, and I know Eva is about to appear. My pulse quickens despite my best efforts to remain calm. In moments, I'll see her in her wedding dress, walking toward me to become my wife.
But first, I scan the assembled guests one final time, a habit ingrained by decades of survival.
My blood runs cold.
Seated prominently in the third row are three men in expensive suits, their faces familiar from intelligence photos Lev showed me just days ago. Members of the Moscow delegation. The council's representatives sent to evaluate my worthiness as Pakhan.
They're here. At my wedding. Uninvited. Watching with calculating eyes that miss nothing.
Witnesses to either my legitimacy or my weakness.
41
EVA
Istand before the full-length mirror in my guest room, and the woman staring back at me is a stranger. The traditional Russian wedding dress transforms me into someone I barely recognize—all white silk and intricate lacework, modest and elegant in a way that honors the heritage Roman and I share. The bodice hugs my fuller breasts, the pregnancy making them strain slightly against the delicate fabric. My blonde hair is swept up in an elaborate updo that took Megan an hour to perfect, and my makeup is flawless despite the tears threatening to ruin it.
Tomorrow, I'll wake up as Mrs. Sokolov. The thought makes my stomach clench with emotions I can't untangle—anticipation, terror, desire, resignation. All of it swirling together until I can't breathe properly.
"Hold still," Megan murmurs behind me, her fingers working the last buttons up my spine. There are dozens of them, tiny pearl buttons that fasten through delicate loops. Her hands tremble slightly as she works, and I know she's fighting tears. "Eva, you look absolutely stunning. Like something out of a fairy tale."
"A Russian fairy tale," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "The kind where the princess marries the monster."
Megan's hands still on my back. "Is that what you think? That Roman's a monster?"
I meet her eyes in the mirror's reflection. My best friend, my anchor, the person who's seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. "I think he's complicated. Dangerous. Not always good." I press my hand to my stomach beneath the dress's flowing skirt. "But he protects what's his. And now that includes me and this baby."
