Page 99 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I don’t move yet; I look back at the woman in the mirror one last time.

She doesn’t look like a prisoner. Or a victim. Or a lost girl. She looks like someone who knows what she’s walking into.

A throne built from violence. A crown made of ash and devotion. A man whose love feels like a blade against her throat—and still, she leans into it.

I take one last breath, square my shoulders, and turn from the mirror.

Time to walk down the aisle and become Kolya Sharov’s wife.

The soft click of the door pulls my gaze away from the mirror.

It’s too early. I haven’t even stepped into the hallway yet, haven’t taken those first quiet steps toward the altar.

“Hello?”

Heavy, certain footsteps cross the threshold. No hesitation. No apology. Kolya.

He never cared for rules.

He fills the room with his broad shoulders. His dark suit is perfectly tailored, cutting sharp lines over muscle and menace, but it’s his eyes that catch me first. They always do. They burn, hungry and unwavering, locked on me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.

A crooked smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony,” I say, voice light, teasing.

He doesn’t answer, at least not with words.

He crosses the space between us in two long strides and stops directly in front of me. His hands find my waist with a reverence I didn’t expect—like he’s reminding himself I’m real, not a mirage he’s conjured from the chaos we’ve lived through.

“Elise.” My name leaves his mouth low and rough. His thumbs press gently into my hips. “You’re radiant. Tell me, I’ll see you down the aisle?”

I know what he’ saying. It’s not about the dress. Or the ceremony. Or the guests waiting outside, some of them carrying guns beneath their suits, others smiling over champagne.

He needs to hear it.

That I want this. That Iwant him.No regrets. No hesitation. No last-minute doubts.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m not running,” I say softly. “Not from you. Not from this.”

Kolya exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. Maybe longer. Maybe since the moment he knew he loved me.

His mouth crashes into mine without warning, devouring the words I’ve just spoken, sealing them between our lips. His grip on my waist tightens as I fall into him without resistance. The kiss is wild, consuming, more than I expected—but exactly what I need.

It tastes like fire. Like promise. Like the unspoken vow we’ve already lived through more times than I can count.

My fingers find the lapels of his suit, tugging him closer, and he groans against my mouth like I’ve hit a nerve. His hand slides up my spine, anchoring me to him. I press against his chest, needing more, needingallof him.

Outside, the music begins.

His forehead rests against mine as we part, breath mingling in the small space between us. “You’re mine,” he says quietly. “Love you.”

“I’ve always been yours,” I whisper back.

He brushes a knuckle across my cheek. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

His smile isn’t sweet—it never is. It’s dark. Dangerous. Satisfied. “Then let’s get this over with before I change my mind and drag you back to my bed instead.”

“You already ruined the tradition,” I say, half laughing, breathless and flushed. “Might as well ruin the reception too.”

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