Page 88 of Prey of the Bratva

Epilogue - Misha

Six months later

The ocean breeze carried salt and warmth as it moved through the white florals, softening the edges of everything it touched. The aisle stretched ahead of me in pale petals and light, the sound of quiet conversation fading into something distant and unimportant. For once, the world was not sharp with danger. It was steady and certain. Just like I had always wanted it to be.

I stood at the beginning of it, my hand tucked into Iosif’s arm, and allowed myself a single breath. It had been six months. Six months since blood and gunfire and steel doors and cold concrete. Six months since Russia, where he had come rushing to rescue me, and we had chosen each other for good.

Six months since I stopped surviving and started living.

Iosif’s grip tightened just slightly, making me feel a little more grounded.

“You’re late,” he murmured under his breath.

I huffed softly. “I am exactly on time.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I was preparing myself emotionally, or else I would be a sobbing mess out there.”

“You were arguing with Zhenya about your earrings. I believe that was ample emotional preparation for one of the biggest moments of your life?” he laughed, a flicker in his gaze.

“That was critical,” I said, completely serious.

He exhaled, but I felt the faint shift in his posture, something softer beneath the control. Pride. Relief. Something he would never name out loud. When I looked up, his gaze was already on me.

“You’re sure about this, Misha?” he asked quietly.

I knew he was not doubtful. Especially not after the way he had witnessed Kliment’s obsession with me. But it was still his job to ask.

I didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my life, Iosif.”

Something in his expression settled at that. As if the doubts were put to rest. As if everything was now final at last.

“Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

The music shifted, low and elegant, and the world narrowed to the length of the aisle. And him. Kliment stood at the altar like he belonged there. Not because of power or presence or fear, even though all of those things existed in him, but because he was choosing to stand there. For me. He was choosing to stand there and wait for me, and look extremely handsome while he was at it.

His gaze found mine immediately, and everything else disappeared.

There was still something dangerous about him. There always would be. It lived in the way he held himself, in the stillness beneath his movements, in the sharpness of his attention. But it was no longer cold. Not where I was concerned, at least. Not anymore. His eyes moved over me slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail like he needed to memorize it. The dress. The veil. The fact that I was walking towards him instead of away. His jaw tightened just slightly and I smiled.

The walk felt both too long and not long enough.

Faces blurred at the edges, but I still caught glimpses of both our families surrounding us. Ilana was wiping her eyes without even attempting to hide it, and Avgust stood beside her with a hand at her back, quieter than usual. I knew he was happy for me; he had come and told me that last night. In the past six months, he had even come to trust Kliment.

Elisse was smiling in that knowing way of hers, and Fyodor stood beside her, steady and calm. Zhenya was practically vibrating with uncontained excitement. Timofey and Lukyan stood just beside her, their faces filled with smiles they only reserved for me. Nico and Jarek stood on Kliment’s side, both composed in their own ways. Nico was observant and measured, while Jarek simply appeared happy. I had gotten to know everyone so well in the Romanov household that none of them felt like Kliment’s family alone.

They all felt like my family.

Viktor stood on one side as well, his expression neutral but eyes sharp, like he was still assessing exits out of habit. And then there was him. Waiting. When we reached the altar, Iosif didn’t let go immediately, but he looked at Kliment, long and steady. I knew there was history there. Tension. War. Blood. But now something new was layered over it. Understanding.

“You break her,” Iosif said quietly, voice calm but edged with something absolute, “and I won’t care how many continents I have to cross to find you.”

Kliment didn’t flinch.

“I won’t,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a promise spoken for effect. It was a fact. Iosif held his gaze for another second, then finally released my handand placed it into Kliment’s. And just like that, everything shifted. Kliment’s fingers closed around mine, firm and warm, grounding in a completely different way. I stepped closer, and he didn’t let go.