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“I hate to break up the moment, but shouldn’t we have taken care of Rasili before you got married ?” Roman asked, flopping onto the couch next to Sasha.

Antonio Rasili was still locked up in one of our warehouses in California, and I had thoroughly enjoyed visiting him almost every night. So had Roman—and especially Sasha, who had taken days to regain his calm and composure. In fact, not until Sienna started feeling better.

We had never seen him like that before. Not when Grigori got shot, not when he and Roman nearly died in an ambush, not even when Roman was kidnapped almost two months ago.

The impulsive ones in the family had always been Roman and Grigori. Sasha and I were the calm ones, the strategists, the ones who planned and thought things through. Seeing him like that—blind with rage, unable to think rationally or foresee the consequences of his actions—had shocked us all. And I remembered what Selina had whispered to me that night when I came home after capturing Antonio. Lying in bed, her warm body pressed against mine, she had murmured, “He loves her. He loves her, and he doesn’t even know it.”

Thinking back to how Sasha had reacted, Selina had been right. Because I knew I would have reacted the exact same way if even a single drop of Selina’s blood had been spilled. And I had no doubt Grigori would’ve been the same if anyone dared hurt Elif.

“No,” I answered Roman’s question. “We can’t kill him until we know how he’s been tracking Selina and Rafael.”

That bastard was stubborn. No matter the torture, he refused to reveal how he did it. And even if we killed him, someone else could use the same method to harm my wife and son. I would never let them live under a constant threat.

Roman nodded slowly as I stepped toward the window, watching the preparations in the garden of our Sochi estate. Selina had insisted on a small, intimate wedding in a place that meant something to us.

“All the people I love are here, Niko. I don’t need anything more,” she had told me two weeks ago when I asked if she wanted to invite anyone else so we could issue them security badges.

We were nearing the end of summer, and the garden was in full bloom, lush and vibrant. Flowers, greenery, and the fountain Elif had installed stood at the center, around which the boys were running.

I pressed my lips together, remembering our conversation with the kids about our wedding weeks ago. “You’re really getting married ?!” Andrei had asked excitedly, bouncing on Selina’s and my bed, while Alexei snuggled against Selina with a huge smile that nearly brought tears to my eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Mikhail had nodded. “I knew it,” he’d said, lifting his chin proudly. Selina had laughed. But Rafael’s reaction had been anything but amusing. After staring at us for a long moment, he had burst into tears.

“No !” he had cried out, making Selina flinch at his outburst. “Marriage is bad! The monster wanted to marry Mama !”

He had kept sobbing, and I’d had to pull him into my arms to calm him while Selina gently explained what marriage really was and what it meant. I had spent an hour reassuring him that his mother would never face any monsters again. Only then had he finally smiled and gotten excited about the wedding.

He would heal too, just like his mother would heal from the past eight years.

The long years we’d share from now on would heal everything. Scars would remain, memories would linger, but our love would help us move past them.

“Aunt Sienna said Aunt Selina is ready,” Tarik announced as he entered, dressed in a black suit like his father and uncles.

When we had set the wedding date two days after his arrival, he had decided to stay until the big day before returning to school in Detroit—a school where all fifteen-year-old boys in the Bratva trained and honed their skills in various fields until they turned eighteen. Tarik was sixteen, in his second year of training. By the end of the four-year program, he would be ready to take on different missions to contribute to the organization’s growth—achoice we would guide him through. Unlike what had happened with Roman, who had ended up fighting in the Middle East.

I exhaled slowly as anticipation built inside me. Why ? I didn’t know. I was marrying the woman I loved. I knew she would say yes. I knew we would spend the rest of our lives together.

But I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling as the moment drew closer. “Okay, alright,” I muttered, shaking my arms to get rid of the slight tingling in my fingers.

My brothers burst into laughter, and Tarik grabbed his mother before she could smack them.

“It’s going to be fine,moy brat. Need any advice for tonight ?” Roman asked, laughing even harder when I shot him a death glare.

Bastards.

Selina

I slipped my trembling hand into the white lace glove with my sister’s help, while Sena ensured that my long veil was securely fastened into the bun at the nape of my neck.

I blew at the strands of hair framing my face, feeling like they were constantly falling into my eyes. And it felt like my corset was suffocating me. Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen a wedding dress. A simple white summer dress would’ve been enough, wouldn’t it ?

“For God’s sake, Selina !” my sister exclaimed, grabbing my bare hand, which I’d unknowingly been waving in the air. “Stop fidgeting, and for heaven’s sake, stop stressing so much—you’re as pale as a newborn’s butt.”

She slipped off my engagement ring, helped me put on my second glove, which reached up to my upper arm, and then slid my ring back onto my finger.

“He’s not going to leave you at the altar. The man is ready to go to war just to marry you, Selina,” she added, gently adjusting the curled strands against my cheeks. Her light green eyes studied me from head to toe, taking in my delicate heels, the slightly flared wedding gown with the slit running along my left leg, which was also covered in white lace stockings to match my gloves.

She swatted my hand with a sharp look when I tried to loosen my corset. I gave her a small smile as she finally stepped back after adjusting the delicate sleeves of my dress, which rested elegantly on my shoulders.