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I pause outside the heavy mahogany doors of my brothers' study, my hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. The summons post dinner was unexpected, and a faint unease stirs in my gut. Something bad must have happened, for them to send for me at this hour. Taking a deep breath, I school my features into careful neutrality before pushing the door open. There’s no point panicking and adding fuel to the fire, given the situation is already tense.

"Denis," Abram greets me, his usually jovial face uncharacteristically somber. Vladimir nods silently from behind the massive desk, his piercing gaze fixed on me.

"Brothers," I reply, settling into the leather armchair across from them. "To what do I owe this… impromptu family meeting?"

The weight of their stares presses down on me as I wait for a response. Abram and Vladimir exchange a meaningful look before Abram stands and walks to the bar. I watch as he pours out three whiskeys, and brings the glasses over on a tray.

“How about a drink first?” he says, handing me a glass. Vladimir leans forward, glass outstretched, and we meet him halfway before taking a sip.

"We have news, Brother," he begins, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room. "News that will shape the future of our family and our business."

I arch an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Go on."

Abram takes a breath. "We've arranged a marriage for you. To Natalia."

For a part of a second, I rack my brain, trying to think of who it is he speaks. And then, it comes to me. Natalia Orlov—the youngest sister of the clan. My mind races, processing the implications.

"I see," I manage, fighting to keep my voice even in the midst of this sudden news. “Sofia’s sister?”

Vladimir nods at the mention of his wife’s name.

“And the strategic importance of this union?"

Abram speaks up, his tone clipped. "The Orlovs control the eastern shipping routes and they were the ones to first propose this union. This marriage will cement our alliance, expanding our reach and solidifying our power base."

I nod slowly, turning the idea over in my mind. An arranged marriage is hardly unusual in our world—in fact, Vladimir found his wife through a similar arrangement, though later we learned he always had his eye on Sofia.

Still, the thought of binding myself to a stranger sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"Tell me about her," I say, leaning back in my chair. "What do we know of this Natalia Orlov?"

Abram's lips quirk in a small smile. "Not much, I'm afraid. She's kept out of the family business, from what we understand. Twenty-three years old, educated in New York. She insisted on living alone for a while. Beyond that…" He shrugs.

I process this information, imagining the girl—no, woman—who is to be my wife. I try to recall her from family gatherings: demure, well-bred, and never one for going out of her comfort zone, from what I recall. We’ve hardly ever exchanged more than simple hellos.

"When?" I ask simply.

Abram and Vladimir exchange surprised glances.

“What?” I ask, out of curiosity.

“Well, this went down easier than we expected,” Abram remarks.

I shrug. “There’s no point putting up a fight. We do what we must for the family and besides, there’s not one good reason not to marry her. If not now, I would have to wed someone else now, wouldn’t I? Rather it be Sofia’s sister than a complete stranger.”

“Look at you, all grown up,” Abram smiles at me with pride.

"The wedding will take place in two weeks," Vladimir replies. "The arrangements are already underway and Sofia and Lara are taking charge. Vanya is helping too."

I smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Of course, Vanya is helping my sister and sister-in-law. The only sister of the head family, she’s kind of the closest thing to a matriarch. While Ivan leads us all in the Bratva, she takes charge when it comes to family affairs.

"Very well," I say, rising from my chair. "If that's all, my brothers, I have preparations to make."

As I turn to leave, Abram calls out, "Denis." I pause, glancing back. His expression has softened, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Are you… truly alright with this?"

I consider the question for a long moment. Am I alright with marrying a stranger? With binding myself to someone I've never met, for the sake of family and business?

I nod again, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. Curiosity about this mysterious bride-to-be. Resignation to my duty. And underneath it all, a flickering spark of… something else. Anticipation, perhaps? I’ll never admit it, but with three of my siblings now settled down, the loneliness has crept in.

"It's our way," I reply finally, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Who am I to break tradition?"

With that, I stride from the room.

***

I retreat to my study, seeking solitude to process this unexpected turn of events. The leather of my armchair creaks as I sink into it, running a hand through my dark hair. Natalia Orlov. The name echoes in my mind, unfamiliar yet soon to be intimately tied to my own.

"What am I getting myself into?" I mutter, staring out the window at the New York skyline.

The door creaks open, interrupting my brooding. I turn to see Sofia, Vladimir's wife, saunter in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Brother," she teases, perching on the edge of my desk. "I hear congratulations are in order."

I arch an eyebrow at her. "News travels fast."

She laughs, a tinkling sound that lightens the atmosphere. "Oh, Denis. You have no idea what you're in for with this one."

My interest piques. "Should I be worried?”

"I wouldn’t say so," Sofia says, her smile widening. "Let's just say she's not your typical Orlov bride. That girl's got fire in her veins."

I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. "What do you mean?"

Sofia's eyes dance with amusement. "Oh, you'll see. Just don't expect some meek little mouse. Natalia's got a rebellious streak a mile wide. I once caught her dancing on tables at a club when she was supposed to be home in bed."

The image is so at odds with what I'd imagined that I can't help but chuckle. "Sounds like she'll keep me on my toes."

"That she will," Sofia agrees, patting my arm. "Just be prepared for mischief. And maybe invest in a good security system when you get your own place, which by the way, your sister is already decorating for you both.”

As she sashays out of the room, I find myself smiling. Perhaps this arranged marriage won't be as predictable as I'd thought. The spark of curiosity in my chest grows, and I realize I'm actually looking forward to meeting this intriguing young woman who's about to become my wife.

***

I stand before the full-length mirror, adjusting my tie for what feels like the hundredth time. The black silk slides smoothly between my fingers as I perfect the Windsor knot.

"You look fine, Brother," Vladimir says, appearing behind me in the reflection. "Stop fussing."

I turn to face him, running a hand through my black hair. "It's not every day a man gets married, Vlad. I want to make a good impression."

He chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. "On your bride or the Orlovs?"

"Both," I admit, smoothing down my jacket. The tailored suit fits perfectly, emphasizing my tall, muscular frame. "But more than that, I want to make us Zolotovs proud. This union is important for our family."

Vladimir's expression softens. "Denis, relax. You're not going into battle."

I nod, though my nerves say otherwise.

As I take my place at the altar, I scan the gathered crowd. Vanya and my sister Lara are finally taking their seats after giving off last-minute instructions to the choir. On the left, the Orlovs sit right up front. The youngest, Artyom, gives me a thumbs-up while Dima watches me like a hawk. On the right, my cousins Ivan and Boris sit up front with their wives, Audrey and Robin. Their younger brothers and partners are scattered all around. Everywhere I look, I see a familiar face, most beaming up at me with pride.

My brothers Abram, Vladimir and Mark stand behind me, a silent pillar of support.

I shift my weight, trying to quell the unexpected nervousness in my stomach. This is just business, I remind myself. A strategic move for the family. Yet, Sofia's words from the other day echo in my mind, hinting at a bride far from ordinary.

"What do you think she'll be like?" I murmur to Abram, who stands closest to me.

He shrugs. "I’ve heard she’s the kindest of the lot."

I nod, but a part of me hopes for… more. The minutes tick by, each second stretching into eternity as I wait for my bride to appear.

"Stop fidgeting," Mark hisses, and I realize I've been toying with my cufflinks.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders.

The first notes of the wedding march swell through the air, and my head snaps up toward the entrance. My breath catches in my throat as Natalia appears on her brother Nikolai’s arm, and suddenly, the world narrows to just her.

She's… radiant. Breathtaking. Nothing like I imagined.

Her dark blonde hair cascades in soft waves, adorned with delicate flowers. The white dress hugs her curvy figure, accentuating every lush line. But it's her face that captivates me—heart-shaped, with full lips and wide, chocolate-brown eyes that seem to hold a universe of emotions. She looks in my direction, and when my gaze meets her, I see her lips part in a small gasp, and she looks down, averting her gaze.

I can't look away. "Holy hell," I whisper, barely aware I've spoken aloud.

"Turning into putty, are we?" Abram mutters under his breath, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I ignore him, transfixed as Natalia begins her slow procession down the aisle. Her head is bowed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She doesn’t look up even once.

Her walk is slower than the pace of the music. Something's… off. Her fingers are white-knuckled around Nikolai’s arm. Is she trembling? A protective instinct I didn't know I possessed surges within me.

"She looks terrified," I murmur to myself, forgetting I’m surrounded by my groomsmen.

"Of course she is," Vladimir chuckles softly. "She's marrying you, a complete stranger, after all."

But this isn't mere nerves. As Natalia draws closer, I can see the way her chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths. Her eyes dart around, never quite meeting mine. This is a woman on the verge of panic.

My mind races. Is she truly so reluctant? The thought shouldn't bother me, but it does. I find myself wanting to reach out, to reassure her somehow. But we're strangers, bound by duty.

At last, she reaches the altar. Immediately, I extend my hand, taking her soft, small hand in mine. Nikolai closes my palm around hers, and gives us a gentle pat, before offering me a small nod and making way to his seat. Behind Natalia, Sofia and her best friends wipe away soft tears.

I can't tear my eyes away from Natalia as she stands beside me, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The scent of jasmine wafts from her, intoxicating and sweet.

"We are gathered here today…" the officiant begins, but his words fade into the background as I study my bride's profile.

I lean in slightly, keeping my voice low. "Are you alright?"

Natalia's head snaps up, those wide brown eyes finally meeting mine. There's a flash of… something. Shock? Defiance? It's gone before I can place it.

"I'm fine," she says firmly, now looking up straight at the priest. “Living the dream, wouldn’t you say?” she adds under her breath.

Her unexpected sass catches me off guard, and I find myself fighting back a smile. There's more to this woman than meets the eye, and I'm suddenly desperate to know everything about her.

Beside Natalia, Sofia gives me a subtle wink. I can practically hear her voice: "I told you she'd be interesting."

"The joining of the Zolotov and Orlov families," the officiant intones, "marks a new era of prosperity and cooperation."

I feel Natalia stand stiffer beside me. Glancing down, I notice her fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles white against the delicate lace of her gown. Without thinking, I reach out, gently covering her hand with mine. She startles at the contact, those expressive brown eyes darting up to meet my gaze. For a moment, I see a flicker of… something. Not quite trust, but perhaps a willingness to consider it. Then her walls slam back into place, and she averts her gaze.

Yet, she doesn't pull away. An unfamiliar warmth spreads through my chest.

As the ceremony progresses, my mind wanders. Natalia Orlov is nothing like I expected—she’s a mystery. She’s reluctant, yet willing and that makes her a puzzle to be solved.

For now, I struggle to understand what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.

I find myself imagining our future—peeling back those layers of defense, earning her trust, perhaps even her affection.

Whatever fears or doubts plague my new bride, I vow silently to uncover them. As we exchange rings, I meet Natalia's gaze once more. This time, I let her see a glimpse of the intensity burning within me.

"I, Denis, take you, Natalia…" My voice carries clearly through the church. It's both a promise and a declaration.