Page 13 of Bratva Baby

I hold her stare, neither of us moving. Then, the manager clears her throat politely. “Would you like to try another gown, Miss?”

Seraphina scoffs and tears her gaze away from me. “Sure. Why not? Let’s see how many ways we can torture me with yards of overpriced fabric.”

She marches off to the dressing area. I go back to the sofa, raking a hand through my hair. My attention drifts to the men who hover at the edge of the store. A few well-dressed patrons glance our way, some with curiosity, some with cautious awe. I make a pointed glare at a younger guy who dares to stare too long at Seraphina’s retreating figure. He blanches and scurries off.

Minutes later, she returns in a gown that’s more traditional and less form-fitting. Still, the effect is stunning. The neckline draws the eye to her collarbone, and the skirt flares around her legs with elegance. She looks like the embodiment of every bride in those lavish wedding magazines. It strikes me that under her anger and defiance, there’s a certain vulnerability. Her father’s world never allowed her a normal life, and now I’mroping her into mine. A pang of something almost like pity twists in my chest.

She catches me staring and arches a brow. “Don’t get any ideas. Just tell me which one to get.”

I shrug. “It’s your wedding. Wear whatever you want.”

She laughs without humor. “You say that like I have a choice. I’m just picking the least ridiculous option.” Then she murmurs something to the manager about adjusting the fit in the bodice. When the woman walks away, I take her place at Seraphina’s side.

“Why are you so determined to fight this at every turn?”

She whirls on me, and the gown swishes around her ankles. “Because I never asked for this. My father decided I’d be his bargaining chip. You’re no better, swooping in to claim me because it’s convenient for your Bratva politics. It’s insulting.”

I keep my voice calm. “I’m not swooping. I’m offering a way out of his house.”

She crosses her arms over the gown, shaking her head. “You act like you’re saving me. Did it ever occur to you that I’d rather save myself?”

My response is swallowed by a knock at the door from a sales associate. “Miss? We have another dress if you’d like to see it.”

She makes a pointed face at me, then disappears into the fitting room again. My phone buzzes once more—this time, it’s Maksim. He wants an update on how things are going with Seraphina. I type a quick message:We’ll be done soon. She’s picking a dress.Simple, direct. No mention of the verbal sparring match we’ve been locked in since we arrived.

Eventually, Seraphina reemerges, wearing her regular clothes and carrying a bag with the chosen gown. She tosses her hair back. “I’m done here.”

“Good.” I motion to one of the employees to ring up the purchase. While I pay, she stands off to the side, glaring at the poor mannequins.

When we exit onto the bustling street, I place a hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the SUV. She jerks away. “Don’t touch me.”

I grit my teeth but drop my hand. Fine. If she wants to play the ice queen, I’ll let her. But the need to mark my territory flares again when I notice a few bystanders gawking at her. They’re quick to avert their eyes once they see my expression.

We drive in silence, passing blocks of trendy shops and restaurants. I steer the conversation to the upcoming ceremony. “We need to meet the officiant tomorrow. Some paperwork to finalize the date.”

She folds her arms and stares at the traffic outside. “I’m not signing anything.”

I keep my attention on the road. “It’s just a formality. You’ll sign.”

She scoffs. “Arrogant as always.”

We fall quiet until I stop in front of her father’s estate. Guards linger near the entrance, eyeing the SUV.

“This is your final chance to walk away,” she warns. “If you don’t call off the wedding, you’re stuck with me. What a miserable life that would be.”

Amusement tugs at my mouth. “I don’t scare that easily. There are worse fates.”

“I’m serious. Don’t expect loyalty. Don’t expect love. Don’t expect me to play the obedient wife. You can force me to the altar, but you’ll never truly have me.”

Something about her rebellious declaration only fuels the possessive streak I’ve been trying to ignore all day. “You say that now, but once I have that ring on your finger, you’ll be mine. And you’ll learn what that means.”

She snorts. “Dream on.”

Seraphina shoves her door open, but before she can climb out, I grip her wrist. She tenses, startled. My voice drops. “When we exchange vows, Seraphina, you’ll be mine in every sense. That’s a promise.”

Her eyes widen before she jerks away and steps out of the SUV. She strides up the driveway, not bothering to look back.

I watch her until she disappears inside, with my blood pumping hot through my veins. There’s no going back now, not for me. Aleksei gave me the choice, and I’ve made it. She’ll be my wife, and she’ll know exactly what it means to belong to Grigor Barkov.

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