Page 15 of BRATVA'S Killer Bride
He crosses the room in a few long strides, stopping in front of me. “You always have a choice, Sienna. If you don’t want this, it’s okay.”
The way he says my name makes my pulse jump. He lifts a strand of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. His fingers linger, tracing the edge of my jaw, and I forget how to breathe.
“You saved me,” I whisper.
He shakes his head slowly. “No. You saved yourself. I just showed up afterwards.”
But I know that isn’t true. If he hadn’t come through that door, I’d be dead, in body or in spirit. I never made a plan for what to do after killing Andrey because part of me believed I’d be killed, too.
“I don’t know what this is,” I admit, my voice trembling. “Us. It feels too fast. Too intense.”
He leans in, his breath warm against my temple. “It doesn’t matter what it feels like. It’s real.”
I look up at him then, really look, at the faint scar above his lip, the tiredness he carries in his shoulders, the softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something inside me gives way.
My hands find his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. “I want this,” I whisper. “I wantyou.”
For a moment he doesn’t move, and then he exhales, low and rough, like he’s been holding that breath for a lifetime. He tilts my chin up and kisses me, slow at first, reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of everything we’ve become. The warmthof his mouth spreads through me, dissolving the last of the fear I’ve carried for so long.
His hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I feel the shiver that runs through him when I melt against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, unspoken promises passing between us. Every thought, every scar, every reason we ran fades away until there’s only the rhythm of his heartbeat and the certainty that I’ve finally found where I belong.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Welcome home,moya koroleva.”
I close my eyes and smile, the words wrapping around me like a blanket.
“I’d love for you to be my wife, Sienna,” he says, taking my hands in his. “My strong, beautiful killer bride. Say yes,”
“I’m not sure, Daniil. My last wedding didn’t turn out so great for the groom,” I deadpan and he laughs lightly.
“I’m not like that groom. I plan to worship my wife every day for the rest of my life.”
I kiss him in the middle of this big empty room. A room that’s going to be so full of love that it will forever feel like home.
“In that case,” I say, “yes.”
Epilogue
One year later
Sienna
The garden hums with summer.
Laughter carries through the trees, the sound of children running across the grass. Sunlight spills over the white tablecloths, glinting off crystal glasses and polished silver. It’s almost too perfect, too peaceful to belong to the same world that made us.
Daniil stands by the terrace steps, sleeves rolled up, a glass of champagne in one hand. He’s laughing with my cousin Nikolai about something, the lines around his eyes soft in the light. For a moment I just watch him, this man who once walked into my hell and never flinched, who now looks at me like I’m the only thing left worth surviving for.
I smooth my palms down the skirt of my cream dress, pretending to adjust it. No one knows yet. They think this is just a lunch, a gathering to celebrate the end of summer, to thank the people who’ve stood by us. They don’t know that in an hour, when the Judge arrives, we’ll stand under the oak tree at the edge of the garden and make it official.
Our wedding.
Our secret.
Our peace.
“Stop staring,” Daniil murmurs, appearing at my side before I even hear him move. He presses a kiss to my temple, the faint scent of him wrapping around me.
“I wasn’t,” I lie.
