Page 24 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Red-faced and visibly rattled, Dante storms out of the church, his men scrambling to follow.

I step out of the vestry after him, adjusting my cuffs. The few guests who notice Dante’s abrupt exit exchange confused glances, but I don’t give them a second thought. Roman and Viktor approach, flanking me on either side as I take my place at the altar.

Emery’s father beckons the priest over for a quiet word, and I watch as the man glances nervously at me, clearly understanding that events have taken an unexpected turn. The guests shift uneasily, their curiosity morphing into discomfort as they try to make sense of what’s happening.

As for me, I’m fucking stoked. This is exactly how I planned it.

Emery is expecting to walk down the aisle toward a man who sees her as little more than a trophy, an asset to be controlled.

Instead, she’ll marry me. And from today forward, she’ll finally learn what it means to be genuinely valued.

Roman glances at me, his expression calm but inquisitive. “Everything go well?” he murmurs.

I smile, feeling a dark satisfaction settle in my chest. “Perfectly. Now, all we have to do is wait.”

I stand tall, taking my place at the altar, and let the anticipation simmer beneath my surface.

I’ve played my hand. All that’s left is for Emery to walk through those doors and into the future I’ve chosen for us.

18

Emery

The limousine purrs to a halt beside the church, and my father opens the passenger door for me.

“You look beautiful,” he says as he helps me out. “Just perfect.”

Yeah, right.I wish I was excited rather than nauseated, but after the week I’ve had, it’s hardly surprising I’ve been munching anti-sickness meds like sweets.

Dante called three times this week. I wouldn’t say he was nice—that’s not his style—but he didn’t indicate anything was wrong.

He has me conditioned not to ask questions, and I knew I’d find out soon enough, but as the days wore on, I wondered whether I was going crazy.

The flowers and the platinum Amex were tangible things, but they were not what scared me. It was the presence, the creeping sensation of never being alone.

I know how it sounds. But it’s not Dante I saw everywhere, or even his cronies.

It wasLeon.

His chocolate eyes grabbed mine from car windows, inside coffee shops, you name it. In my periphery, I saw his confident stride, that expensive overcoat, but when I looked twice, they were gone. Even at work, I felt him there, like a ghost.

He stalks my thoughts, sure, but believing I’ve somehow manifested him into reality is definitely the kind of thing that will earn me a one-way ticket to a locked ward.

I didn’t tell anybody what was happening; they’d put it down to stress, and who’s to say they’d be wrong?

So now it’s my wedding day, and none of the tweaks I spent so much money on are making me feel better. Butter-soft roses and Dom Perignon champagne are wonderful but can’t compensate for the man.

The bridal march starts inside, played by a string quartet, and Dad offers me his arm.

“It will be alright,” he says abruptly. “Let’s get it over with.”

He leads me through the doors, and everyone stands, looking our way. I have no bridesmaids to support me. All I can do is get through it.

I stare at my bouquet, trying to steady my breathing. It’s not just nerves; it’s a deep, instinctual dread that pricks my skin like needles.

Every step brings me closer to the man who controls every part of my life—my family’s finances, my father’s reputation, and even my independence.

I agreed to this for my father, for our future, and now it’s too late.

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