Page 143 of Inked in Devotion

The minister declared we were the first blood covenant to be signed in over a hundred fifty years.

But his words, the uniqueness of this ritual, and the celebration of the people around us receded because the covenant symbolized so much more.

Kolya and I faced each other, emotion reaching my eyes as the true meaning overwhelmed me.

“We’re free,” I sobbed.

“Yes, Chloshka,” he murmured. “And you are mine.”

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Kolya

Chloe is my wife.

Fucking finally.

Brunch preparations triggered a flurry of activity at the Alpine mansion. It appeared no one had slept more than a few hours, or slept peacefully. Excitement from the events of the past nine hours buzzed in the air.

After Margo Winthrop announced that the Vozhokari had accepted our union, Kirill lifted the lockdown. The Zahkarov women wanted to drive into Manhattan to celebrate, but fuck that. Those of us who went into battle needed to calm down from the adrenaline rush, and most of us just wanted to crash.

Besides—Kirill, Rurik, and Maksim were in contact with the other crime families to manage the fallout from the violence that crossed New Jersey and spilled into New York. Quite a jurisdiction nightmare and balancing act, but thankfully, and since I was the groom, I was told to relax. Good. Because politicking wasn’t my style anyway. Although Rurik muttered it might be an excellent practice for when I became brigadier.

There was infrastructure damage to the streets and the bridge. Margo said she could order the Vozhokari and the entity who hired the mercenaries to chip in, but Kirill said no. We wanted to be fully divested from them and didn’t want to risk owing anyone favors.

My wife was dozing fitfully against me. My battle-worn wife. I gnashed my teeth at what she had endured in order to be with me. Sebastian was in his carrier, sleeping contentedly. After the ceremony, Chloe and I couldn’t wait to get home to be with our son—Sebastian Petrov.

My heart couldn’t soar higher. Elation. This was what the word meant.

The motorcyclist Kirill had run over was Xiarra Wilson. As Ilya found out this evening, Xiarra was Marena’s cousin. They originated from the Areenova clan, had undergone facial reconstruction, and assumed new identities. And with assassin networks? New identities were as second nature as changing hairstyles. Only Marena and Xiarra had worked together, and after Chloe and I executed the blood covenant, the Vozhokari had firmly shut its door against the Areenova clan.

After she disappeared from the shelter, Marena slowly infiltrated the public spaces of the Marriage Ink building, commandeering the identity and trucks of one of their flower suppliers. Margo was pissed about the breach and losing employees. Ilya also connected Xiarra Wilson’s network to the attack on Chloe’s apartment.

If the Vozhokari had been secretive, the Areenova clan had been downright impossible to track.

Dimitri and Ilya believed there were a few of them left and had plastic surgery so they could scatter and do their own thing.

There was still the nurse who had worked at The Astorian and tipped off Marena. None of our sources could locate her.

Movement at the opening of the living room caught my attention. Aralina appeared with Theo.

Judging from his disheveled appearance of messy hair, unshaven face, and bloodshot eyes, Chloe’s brother wasn’t spared from a restless night. He wore impeccably tailored threads as usual, but the loosened knot of his tie hinted that he’d been yanking at it for a while.

When his eyes zeroed in on Chloe, his shudder of relief was palpable from across the room.

Chloe sat up. “Theo…”

She rose unsteadily to her feet. Theo wrapped his arms around her in an extended hug.

Aralina and I stared at them.

“You’re okay,” he breathed.

“Sorry to beat you to a wedding,” Chloe said with a tired laugh.

Theo emitted a rough chuckle. “You two are always full of surprises.”