Page 27 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

But then—she looks up.

And her gaze crashes into mine like a blow.

I swear I stop breathing.

She’s walking straight toward me, toward the altar, toward a life neither of us asked for, but I chose. Her lips are pressed tight, chin tilted high like she’s forcing herself to be brave, but I can see the fear swimming in her eyes.

She’s shaking. Just slightly. But she’s walking anyway.

Beside her, Zoe and Violet rise from their seats. The only guests who matter. I let Violet in for Jennie’s sake—because I’ve watched them enough to know she’d want her there. The rest of the chapel is filled with people who wouldn’t flinch at blood.

Lukin stands to my left, silent, unreadable. Arseny is behind him. Kaz, my best friend, leans against a column, smirking faintly like he’s watching his favorite soap opera unfold. Zalar stands near the back, hands clasped, waiting for my next command.

But none of them exist.

Not in this moment.

All I see is Jennie.

My bride.

The woman I’ve waited a year to touch.

Her body is wrapped in midnight. Her lips are red. Her eyes are wet, but her chin doesn’t drop. I’ve broken warlords faster than she’s breaking now.

And still—she walks.

Still—she comes to me.

My fingers curl at my sides as she nears the altar. I ache to touch her. To claim her. To drag my knuckles along her cheek and brand her mouth with my name.

She stops a few feet from me.

I want to say something. I don’t. I just stare.

Because in all my life, in all the blood, in all the war—I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her.

And now…she’s mine.

Whether she understands it or not.

Whether she likes it or not.

She’s mine. Fuck. It feels good to hear that in my head.

She stands beside me now.

Close enough that I can hear her breath hitch.

Close enough that I could reach for her hand, lace my fingers with hers like a real groom would.

But I don’t.

I don’t smile. I don’t soothe. I don’t play pretend.

I’m not that kind of man.

The officiant begins the ceremony—an older Bratva elder whose voice scrapes like gravel against stone. He speaks in Russian. Jennie doesn’t understand the words, but I do. I make sure the vows are exact, legal by our code, binding in a way no government paper could ever be.