Page 25 of Stolen By The Bratva King

In a few minutes, I’ll be Mrs. Firenze. It may as well be a gallows at the end of the aisle.

“I’m sorry,” my father says, giving my hand a reassuring pat. “Just know I had no choice.”

What is he talking about?

I haven’t dared to look at Dante yet because I didn’t want him to see the regret in my eyes. When I finally glance up, I almost faint in shock.

Standing at the altar is the man who dominated my thoughts and crept into my fevered dreams all week.

Leon.

That’s it—it’s grippy sock vacation time. Please provide one padded cell for Dr. Emery Bright, with bed and breakfast included.

My father’s grip on my arm tightens. “Stay calm, Emery,” he says. “I know this is unexpected, but?—”

“What the Hell is going on?” I whisper.

He ignores me and stares straight ahead, so I turn my attention back to Leon, who is beginning to look a damn sight more real.

His black suit is immaculately tailored, making him look like a shadow against the lightness of the church. His eyes are fixed on me, intense and unyielding, and although his expression doesn’t change as I approach, his gaze holds me captive.

At his side stand two men, imposing in their own way, and between them, an anxious-looking priest.

How is this happening? I figured Leon was rich, but is he affluent enough to commandeer a wedding, with the bride’s consent an afterthought? And why is my dad an accomplice?

I look at my father, hoping for some explanation, but his face is unreadable. He gives me a slight nod as we reach the altar, his lips set in a resigned line.

“It’s for the best, Emery,” he says. “Trust me.”

Trusthim?What?

Before I can process what’s happening, he lets go of my hand and steps back, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and face-to-face with the last person I expected to see.

Leon’s hand reaches for mine, his grip solid as he pulls me closer.

“You’re a vision,” he says.

“What’s your game?” I try to twist free of his grasp, but he holds me easily. “You can’t steal me like this. I won’t let you.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a brief, claiming gesture. He leans close, his breath warm on my ear.

“This is happening whether you like it or not,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now.”

Fury and confusion flood through me. “Why? How?”

“Your fuckwit fiancé tangled with the wrong man.” He smiles. “So I did a little monkey business and wrecked his investments. Your dear old dad is next if you don’t cooperate.”

I stare at him, blinking stupidly as I try and process what he’s saying.

“So that’s it? You threatened my father and demanded my hand in return for not bleeding his finances dry?”

“I can bleed more than that if I’m so inclined,val’kiriya.” His light tone belies the threat in his words. “So don’t push your luck, or your father might regret it.”

Resignation floods my body, and I go weak in his grip, too astonished to fight.

“So youarestealing me?”

“Saving you,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering, dark and implacable. “Again.”

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