Page 168 of Bound By Revenge

She looks from the ring to my face, her expression shifting from amazement to exasperation to something so tender it nearly undoes me. “Of course I’ll marry you! I love you. Marrying you is a no-brainer.”

Relief crashes through me as I slide the ring onto her finger before she can change her mind. She stares at it for a moment, then suddenly launches herself at me. We tumble to the floor, my laughter ringing out as she peppers kisses across my face and neck.

“Nikolai Stefanovich,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re the man of my dreams. The love of my life. The answer to every prayer I’ve ever whispered. You’re more than I ever dared to want—you’re everything I’ll ever need. Being loved by you is the greatest thing that’s ever happened tome. And marrying you? Nothing could make me happier. I love you, you know—always and forever.”

Her words make my throat tighten. “I’ll never get over hearing you say that,” I manage, my voice rough.

Her eyes sparkle, a playful glint shining through her tears. “Good, because I’ll never stop saying it.”

“Maybe someday, you’ll love me as much as I love you,” I tease, brushing my lips against her temple.

She scoffs, cradling my face between her hands. “I already do. Scratch that—you can’t possibly love me as much as I love you. I’m positive I love you more.

Her body shifts against mine, and every nerve in me sparks to life. The way she feels, the way she smells—it’s intoxicating. “In your dream, maybes,” I murmur, my voice dark with want.

Her gaze drops to my lips, and a sultry smile curves her mouth. “Speaking of dreams,” she whispers, leaning closer, her breath warm against my skin. “I think it’s time we seal the deal.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Still, I grin, unable to resist pushing her just a little further. “Only if you ask me nicely.”

Her smile deepens, her eyes turning darker. Her lips brush against mine, a whisper away. “Kiss me, Nik. Kiss me, and I’m yours.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

Chapter 60

Nik

At ten minutes to sunset,the pavilion on my small Mediterranean island is nearly full. Almost every seat on either side of the aisle is taken, with only a few stragglers lingering at the back, murmuring quietly. Weddings in the Seven Families always draw a crowd, but when the groom is thepakhanof thebratvaand the bride is the infamous thief who stole his most prized possession, the guest list is bound to hit the hundreds.

The orchestra plays softly in the background, their music weaving through the low hum of conversation. I take another deep breath—my millionth of the day—but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

And who the fuck could blame me? Everyone is here. Everyone except the one person I’m waiting for.

My bride.

Kat is late.

As I knew she would be.

Standing at the front of the pavilion with Lucien, my best man, I resist the urge to yank at my tie. What the hell was I thinking when I tied it this morning? It’s so tight, the Italians wouldn’t even need a garrote to strangle me.

Lucien gives me a sideways glance, clearly trying not to laugh. I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my pants. Suddenly, they feel so goddamned clammy.

“You've got the rings, right?” I ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, Nik. Yes, I have the rings. They haven't magically disappeared since the last time you asked—what was that, five minutes ago?” He pats his tux pocket for dramatic effect, his smirk almost enough to make me snap.

“Just making sure,” I mutter, ignoring the urge to strangle him.

I know I’m being ridiculous. I should be perfectly composed. No, I ought to feel better than that. I should feel fucking fantastic. And Iwill—once my soon-to-be wife graces me with her presence.

She’ll be here. Hopefully. And then I’ll soak in every detail of the ceremony and hang onto each syllable of her vows to me. She’ll be mine at long last. After tonight, there will be no me or her—only us.

Glancing at my watch, I mutter under my breath, “What the hell could possibly take her this long? She’s over an hour late. It’s not like she’s stuck in traffic. It’smyfucking island, for fuck’s sake.”

As usual, Lucien pounces upon the smallest signs of weakness. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he sighs, turning his head to grin at me. “Nikolai Stefanovich, thepakhanof thebratva, the most powerful man in the Seven Families, brought to his knees by a five-foot-four brunette with an attitude problem.”

---