Page 33 of Captured By the Bratva

The day has arrived, and the church is a flurry of activity. The ornate decorations, the vibrant flowers, the soft hum of conversation—all set the stage for what is supposed to be a grand celebration. I stand on the stage, dressed in a sharp, black suit, waiting for my bride.

My men are scattered among the guests, their presence both a security measure and a statement of power. They’re all in high spirits, chatting and laughing, ready to welcome Violet into our world. On the other side, the bride’s side, the atmosphere is starkly different. There’s a palpable sense of discontent, especially from one particular individual—fucking Caleb.

Caleb stands near the front, his expression carefully blank. According to Violet, no one on her side is happy about this marriage. They don’t know it’s fake, and Caleb has been the most vocal opponent. The way he looks at Violet, the longing in his eyes, makes my blood boil. It’s clear he wants her, and the thought infuriates me. Even if this is a fake marriage, Violet is my bride now.

Caleb’s presence, however, is a thorn in my side. His disapproving glares and clenched fists only add to my irritation. He doesn’t understand the world she’s entering, the dangers she faces. Only I can keep her safe.

The music shifts, signaling the start of the ceremony. I straighten up, my gaze fixed on the entrance. The double doors open, and Violet appears, escorted by her reluctant grandmother. Caleb refused to walk her down the aisle himself, a small mercy.

She looks stunning, her white dress flowing gracefully around her. Her eyes, however, betray her nervousness. She glances around the room, taking in the mixed reactions.

As she walks down the aisle, my eyes remain locked on her. She’s walking into this with bravery, despite the fear I know she feels. I admire that about her. When she finally reaches the stage, she takes her place beside me. I offer her a small, reassuring smile, and she nods, her resolve strengthening.

The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice steady. I can feel Caleb’s gaze burning into me, his disapproval almost tangible. I want to punch that look off his face, but I restrain myself. This is not the time for such displays.

“Do you, Kirill Sharov, take Violet Harrison to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks, his voice echoing through the room.

“I do,” I reply firmly, my gaze never leaving Violet’s.

“Do you, Violet Harrison, take Kirill Sharov to be your lawfully wedded husband?” he continues.

Violet hesitates for a moment, then glances at me. I give her a slight nod, urging her on. “I do,” she says softly, voice wavering.

As the officiant declares us husband and wife, the room fills with applause from my side, while Violet’s side remains mostly silent. I turn to face Violet, my arm around her waist, feeling the tension between us. The moment has arrived to seal this union with a kiss.

I lean in slowly, our eyes locked. Her lips are soft and inviting, and for a moment, I let the kiss remain innocent, a gentle brush of our mouths. The electricity between us is undeniable, and I can feel the heat rising.

What starts as a simple, symbolic gesture quickly intensifies. I press my lips more firmly against hers, deepening the kiss. I feel her hesitate for a heartbeat, then she responds, her lips parting slightly. I take the opportunity to explore further, our breaths mingling as the kiss becomes more passionate.

The room around us fades away. All I can think about is the way her body feels against mine, the way she tastes, the soft sound of her breath catching as the kiss deepens. I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, and she leans into me, her fingers clutching the front of my suit.

Despite the circumstances, there’s a raw, undeniable connection between us. I can feel her desire matching my own, and it fuels the intensity of the moment.

After what feels like an eternity, I pull back, both of us breathless. I search her eyes for any sign of regret, but all I see is a mixture of confusion and desire. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are slightly swollen from the kiss.

The applause grows louder, bringing us back to the reality of the situation. I turn to face the guests, my arm still around her waist. Caleb’s face is a mask of barely contained rage, but I push that aside. This moment is about Violet and me, fuck everybody else.

We make our way down the aisle, greeted by well-wishers and congratulations. My men slap me on the back, their smiles wide and genuine. They’re happy for me, happy for the alliance this marriage represents. Violet’s side offers polite, subdued congratulations, their discontent still evident.

Caleb approaches us, his jaw clenched. “Congratulations,” he says, his tone flat and forced.

“Thank you,” I reply, my grip on Violet tightening slightly. “I appreciate your support.”

His eyes flicker to Violet, then back to me. “I hope you understand what you’re getting into, Kirill,” he says, his voice low. “Violet deserves better than to be a pawn in your games.”

My anger flares, but I keep my expression neutral. “Violet is under my protection now. That’s all you need to know.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing more. He turns and walks away, leaving us standing there. Violet’s hand trembles slightly in mine, and I squeeze it gently, reassuring her.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re safe with me.”

She nods, though her eyes still betray her uncertainty.

The ceremony is over, but the reality of our situation is just beginning to sink in for her. The tension is thick as we make our way through the crowd of well-wishers and into the waiting car.

As the car pulls away from the church, the atmosphere inside is thick with unspoken words. Violet sits next to me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes flickering nervously between me and the window. The silence stretches out, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is a fake marriage, so we don’t have to share a bed or anything, right?”

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