Page 27 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
“Sweetheart, I know the threat is enough.”
A tremor flashes through her, subtle, but there. She swallows it down, stands taller.
“Shall we continue?” the priest calls, dry and rehearsed, as if he’s just now remembered he has a role.
I don’t look away from her. “You will be mine,” I say. “You will bear my name, and every man in this room will know that touching you means war.”
Her chest rises sharply.
“You are not walking away from this,” I continue. “You are not disappearing. You are not forgotten. You’re mine now.”
She says nothing. Her silence stretches, but it’s louder than any vow.
The priest clears his throat. “And the bride?”
Esme’s voice is soft. “Fine.”
The word lands flat. Bitter. A blade she has to swallow.
The chapel is silent after my words. Then, the priest speaks. “We are gathered here under witness and law to bind two individuals in union, sanctioned by the code and recognized by this house.”
His voice echoes off the high ceiling, precise and dull. He turns a page. No one moves.
“This union is not forged in passion,” he continues. “It is forged in necessity. In duty. In control.”
There is no murmur of protest.
He turns toward me. “Kion Sharov. Do you accept this woman under your protection, by your name, and with your oath?”
I nod once. “I do.”
His gaze flicks to her. “Esme Claire Monroe. Do you accept this vow, and the life it brings?”
She does not answer right away. Her lips part slightly. Then close. Her fingers shift in mine.
“I do,” she says. The words are quiet. Flat. Not submissive—resigned.
The priest nods. “Then speak your oaths.”
I speak first. “I vow to protect what is mine,” I say. “To silence those who would harm it. To command loyalty, and punish betrayal.” My voice is steady, though there’s a giddiness I don’t try to hide.
The room remains still. “I take this woman into my name, my house, and my authority. She will carry my mark, and live under my shield.”
I release her hand. She hesitates again, then lifts her chin and speaks.
Her voice is softer than before, but clear.
“I vow to endure. I vow to be silent, where silence protects. I vow to belong, as survival requires.”
Her gaze flickers to mine, just once.
The priest closes the book with a soft snap.
“By the code, and the blood that built it, you are now husband and wife. Bound by law. Witnessed by this house.”
There is no applause, which is disappointing, but I suppose it’s expected.
Only a few low murmurs, the shuffle of men adjusting their coats. The elders exchange looks. Some disapprove openly. Others remain still, calculating. No one smiles.
