Page 62 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

I also realized something else: I don’t regret a single second of how I’ve been living my life. At least for the past few months, I’ve been living a life that fits me instead of sitting in an office all day and pretending to be someone else.

I don’t regret falling in love with Boris. And I don’t regret using some of my last words to tell him that. Meeting and getting to know the Milovs and joining their family, at least in spirit, if not in name, has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

I’m thinking all this when the door bursts open, and people run in. My cynical, oxygen-deprived brain thinks it’s more of Allard’s men, here to cheer him on as he squeezes the life from me, but I recognize those Doc Martens.

Someone knocks Allard off me and I get a breath of sweet, sweet air. I gasp and gasp, my cheek pressed against the ground until someone reaches down and grabs my chair, righting me.

“Anya?”

“Should I be insulted?” Viktor shouts, working quickly to free me. My vision is swimming as I look at him. Distantly, I register the fact that Boris and Anton are busy fighting people near the doorway.

“I thought—” I rasp, but it doesn’t come out clear. I thought I saw Anya’s white Doc Martens. When I turned around and saw her standing there, I thought I must be dreaming. There’s no way her brothers allowed her to come.

She’s standing over the top of James, pointing a gun at him. It looks like Boris got him over the back of the head again, where Olive hit him originally. He’s groaning and grasping at the wound, little whimpers coming from him.

For someone who seemed to derive so much pleasure from causing pain for others, he sure doesn’t seem able to take it himself.

I step closer to Anya, gesturing for her to hand me the gun. Across the room, I see Boris drop the last guy. They all come to a stop, staring at me as I point the gun at James.

“What do you think?” I rasp, eyes flicking up to Boris, who’s looking at me like I’m back from the dead. I feel the bruises around my neck and realize that may very well have been the case if they were even a minute later.

“I’m in love with you,” Boris says all in one breath, which makes me smile.

“I meant about Allard,” I say, swallowing to try and ease the pain in my throat. My entire body feels like it’s floating, hearing him say it, finally. “But I love you, too.”

“If you don’t kill him,” Boris says, “I will.”

I nod once, then pull the trigger, splattering his brains all over the wall behind him. If my throat didn’t hurt so fucking bad, I’d say something clever to his body about just doing the job and skipping all the monologues.

“Daddy?” someone says from the doorway, and I try to move in front of Olive’s line of sight, but it’s too late. She breaks down into total hysterics, falling to her knees in front of her father, screaming and soaking her hands and knees in his blood.

“Oh, fuck,” Anton says, scratching his head with his gun, “that’s gonna leave a lot of trauma behind.”

Epilogue - Boris

“Thank you, everyone, for coming out to the grand opening of Lyubov. Tonight’s grand opening is all about the love we share with one another—whether that be our families, friends, or the partners with which we choose to spend our lives.”

I hand the scissors to Fiona and watch as she cuts the ribbon. It flutters to the floor, and the people around us cheer loudly. Fiona and I head inside the club, letting the bouncers deal with the crowd and sorting through who’s admitted and who isn’t.

While Noch is dark and blue, Lyubov is themed in deep red, velvets, and rich cherry wood. Fiona commissioned local artists—apparently taking inspiration from Kervyn, who is apparently one of her good friends now. I wasn’t there for the conversation, but I guess he’s been very impressed with her since she joined the family.

He also told her that he’s impressed with our most recent shipment of weapons. The second meeting with Nevio went much smoother, and Kervyn said I’ve set a high bar for others in the Bratva to reach.

Which makes me even more nervous today. I pull at my collar.

“Hey,” Fiona says, coming to my side and looping her hand around my elbow. “Breathe, babe. You know they’re going to understand.”

I turn to say something to her but spot a very special guest coming in through the front door.

Olive Allard has really come into herself in the past year. That silly, party-obsessed girl has been replaced with a tall, headstrong woman who commands a room. Fiona notices my line of sight and jolts a little.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, releasing my arm and hurrying over to Olive.

Olive is the leader of the Corsica now, having surprised everyone when she stepped into her father’s shoes instead of letting the Corsica fall back into obscurity like everyone thought she would.

During her time as the leader of the group, she’s recovered as many of the human trafficking victims as possible and attempted to support the families affected by it. It’s admirable, but she shows a lot of hesitation when working with Bratva. However, Fiona is hoping to change that.

I follow Fiona with my eyes as she greets Olive and the two embrace. Their friendship didn’t come out the same on the other side of the ordeal but evolved into something different.

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