"If you want to threaten me, you should at least take the safety off the gun first."
His voice was lazy, almost amused, as he pressed the gun under her chin. The cold metal sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to flinch.
Alexei pinned her wrists above her head, his grip firm enough to remind her how much stronger he was.
The faint scent of her, citrus and something warmer, like wild roses, hung in the air, blending with the lingering bite of alcohol.
"Sloppy work, princess. Were you nervous?"
Her jaw clenched. "Not even a little."
He chuckled, breath warm against her cheek.
"No? Then maybe you were desperate." His gaze flicked to her lips. The smirk deepened. "Or maybe you just have good taste."
She jerked against his hold, frustration sparking in her eyes.
"In what world would I want you?"
He tilted his head, watching the hitch in her breath, the flare of her nostrils.
"A world where you kiss a man before pulling a gun on him to marry you, maybe?"
Her face burned. Her chin stayed high. "That was strategy."
He suppressed a laugh.
Stupid strategy. She had no idea how to handle a gun. What if he'd been someone crueller? Or in a worse mood?
She's playing with fire and doesn't even know it.
"Ah, so you planned to be under me like this?" He rolled his hips into hers, just enough to make her squirm. Her eyes widened, outrage flaring, sharpening his grin.
"Bold move."
Her knee shot up toward his ribs, but he shifted easily, dodging it.
This time, his laughter was low, dark, vibrating through his chest.
"Cute."
Her glare was sharp enough to draw blood. "Let me up."
He hummed softly, as if considering it, then leaned down, close enough that his lips brushed her ear. "You're not in a position to make demands, sweetheart."
"Go to hell."
"Tempting offer, but I'm curious to know what you want first."
Finally, she exhaled, the fight in her dimming for just a moment. "You'll find out when we're married."
Something shifted. He looked past the defiance and caught the glint of calculation in her eyes. His grip eased slightly.
She wasn't here for money. The Vaseliv family was old money, powerful enough without having to cosy up to him. So what did she want? Power? Information? Something else?
Then, he laughed again, sitting back, finally giving her space.
"A wedding gift, then?" he mocked.
She sat up quickly, scowling. "Something like that."
"I like surprises, but that's asking a lot, don't you think?"
"You already signed the contract."
He tilted his head slightly.
That confidence… it only made his smirk widen. She thought she had him in a corner. Thought herself clever. But he could smell the desperation beneath all that polish.
Cute.
"I did." He ran a thumb over the gun's grip before tossing it aside carelessly. "But that just means you're mine now."
The way her expression flickered didn't escape him.
She stood abruptly, turning for the door. "We'll talk after the wedding."
But before she could take another step, his fingers closed around her wrist.
"Not so fast."
She froze, her pulse leaping against his grip.
"You'll be staying here," he told her, tone smooth but final. "Where I can keep an eye on you."
Her eyes snapped to his, furious. "That wasn't part of the deal."
He arched a brow, unbothered. "We're getting married tomorrow. You won't have to wait long."
"Tomorrow?" Her voice was caught between disbelief and protest. "You can't just—"
"I can," he cut in calmly. "And now it's part of the deal."
She yanked at his grip. He didn't let go. She swung at him with her free hand, but he caught it effortlessly, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles softly.
"Try that again," he murmured, "and I'll have you handcuffed to the bed instead."
She hadn't expected that. It made her hesitate.
He let her go and turned toward the door.
"Guards."
Two men entered immediately, stiff-backed and silent.
"Take her to the blue suite. Lock it from the outside."
"You bastard!" she hissed, kicking and cursing as they stepped forward. "You absolute vulture! You think this is over? You think—"
"No cold feet," he waved her off. "I want my bride to stand tomorrow."
Her voice trailed off down the corridor as the door swung shut behind them.
He exhaled, stretching toward the decanter. The whisky hit the crystal with a soft clink.
Her scent lingered on his skin.
What a strange woman.
A mess. But not a useless one.
He sipped slowly, letting it burn down his throat.
She was either a fool or something far more interesting.
And now, thanks to that contract, she belonged to him.
The knock on the door was sharp and impatient.
Before Alexei could answer, a tall, dark-haired man strode in, still adjusting his jacket. His sharp eyes swept the room and landed on him.
"I must be hearing things," the man said, pouring himself a drink. "You're getting married?"
Alexei rolled his own glass between his fingers. "You heard right."
Mikhail, his second-in-command, scoffed.
"Thought you weren't the settling-down type. You finally lost your mind?"
He chuckled, sipping slowly.
"No. Just found an interesting new toy."
Mikhail's gaze narrowed.
"Is that so? Word is, she stole your gun. Did you really let that happen?"
Alexei's smile faded.
"Let?" He tightened his grip on the glass. "No. She surprised me."
That earned a low whistle. "That's a first. You're slipping."
"Maybe."
Mikhail studied him for a moment, then sighed. "So, what's the real reason?"
The room went quiet.
Then Alexei said it.
The name that tied everything together.
Mikhail stilled. His glass hovered midair.
"You're sure?"
Alexei nodded once.
Realisation dawned. Mikhail exhaled sharply.
"Fuck."
Alexei's smirk returned.
"She came looking for trouble. If she keeps looking, the rats will come to her."
Mikhail exhaled sharply, then finished the rest of his drink in one go. "So we let them come."
Alexei lifted his glass and tapped it against Mikhail's. "And then we exterminate them."
Mikhail gave him a long look. Then, slowly, a smirk of his own curled his lips.
"Congratulations on your wedding."
He tipped his glass in acknowledgement.
The game had officially begun.
~*~*~*~
The sun rose a few hours later, slowly lighting up the hotel room.
Nadya hadn't slept.
The lavish, locked suite felt like a velvet-lined trap. No windows. No phone. Just silence—and her own choices pressing down on her chest.
She could still feel the metal in her hand. The way it trembled.
He hadn't flinched.
Not when she kissed him. Not even when she pointed a gun at his face.
He just signed.
As if he'd been expecting it.
As if she hadn't surprised him at all.
His words still echoed:
"No cold feet. I want my bride to stand tomorrow."
She clenched her arms around herself, pacing barefoot through the silence.
Thoughts of Darya twisted through her gut like barbed wire.
And now, it was tomorrow.
A soft knock broke the silence. The door creaked open, revealing a woman, followed by two more stylists. Silent. Professional.
A younger maid entered last, her arms cradling the gown, made of ivory silk. Regal cut. White diamonds in a velvet box. Shoes with red soles.
Everything fit perfectly.
"They played you," a voice whispered as she brushed mascara over her lashes. "Played you like a fiddle, girl."
But it was too late now.
Once they finished, Nadya stared at her reflection in the mirror.
A stranger stared back.
Eyes rimmed in kohl. Lips painted a soft, sinful rose. Neck wrapped in white diamonds.
The gown hugged her waist like a noose.
She looked beautiful.
She wanted to scream.
Her hands curled into fists against the silk.
Why did Alexei agree? Why marry her so easily? Why hadn't he recognised her from that night? The night she lost everything.
The stylists had left, and the suite was silent again. Nadya stood there for minutes—maybe hours—but could not move.
You can still run, a voice in her head whispered.
But then Darya's face flickered behind her eyes, and the steel returned to her spine.
No. Not until the job got done.
She walked toward the door on trembling legs.
~*~*~*~
The limo ride to the church felt surreal.
Dark windows. Just silence and the thud of her pulse.
The doors opened, and morning light blinded her as they ushered her up the cold marble steps. No guests. No music.
Every step sounded louder than the last.
Nadya's heartbeat filled the silence, echoing in the hollowness of the stone church. No family. No friends.
Once again, reminding her that it was just her and the noose she'd tied herself into.
At the altar stood Alexei.
He turned as she approached, dressed in classic black on black.
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Ready, nevesta moya," he said, voice low and smooth.
Bride. His bride.