Page 34

"He's not very subtle," I observe.

"He's not trying to be. Visible security deters more than hidden."

"So much for normal."

"This is our normal." He takes my hand. "Might as well get used to it."

We window shop, grab coffee from a local place, pretend the weight of our names doesn't follow us everywhere.

People recognize Doran—some with fear, some with respect.

"Does it bother you?" I ask as yet another person crosses the street to avoid us.

"Used to it." He squeezes my hand. "Does it bother you?"

"I don't know yet."

"Honest. I like that."

My phone rings.

Greer's name flashes on the screen.

"Darling," she says when I answer. "I hope I'm not interrupting the honeymoon."

"Just walking around the town."

"Perfect. I wanted to talk to you about Dalla."

"The internship?"

"If she's interested. But more than that." Her voice warms. "She's family now. I'd like to help her find her path, whatever that might be."

"I think she'd love that."

"Wonderful. We'll set something up when you're back." She pauses. "How's my son treating you?"

I glance at Doran, who's pretending not to eavesdrop. "Like a princess."

"Good. He better. I have photos from his emo phase if you need blackmail material."

"Mum," Doran groans.

"Is that him? Tell him to call me later. Olyvar's in town."

The temperature seems to drop. "He told me."

"Of course he did. Good. Partners share these things." Her voice sharpens. "Be careful, both of you. That boy is unpredictable."

"We will."

After she hangs up, Doran's mood has shifted.

The easy happiness is gone, replaced by him being on guard.

"We should head back," he says.

"Because of your brother?"

"Because I don't like not knowing why he's here." He signals Mikhail. "But first, one more stop."

He leads me to a jewelry store, the kind with security guards and no prices in the windows.

"Doran—"

"Wedding gift." He's already pulling me inside. "Tradition."

"You already gave me a wedding gift. The earrings?"

"That was before. This is after."

The staff knows him, of course.

We're whisked to a private room, champagne appearing like magic.

"What do you want?" he asks. "Necklace? Bracelet? Another ring?"

"I don't need?—"

"Not about need. About want." He accepts a tray of necklaces from the hovering salesperson. "Pick something. Anything."

"This feels excessive."

"Welcome to being a Volkolv."

I examine the offerings, each more elaborate than the last.

Then I spot it—a simple gold chain with a small pendant.

Not diamonds, just a delicate wolf in mid-run.

"That one."

"That's... modest."

"It's perfect." I touch the wolf. "Subtle but meaningful."

He smiles, real and warm. "Like you."

"I'm not subtle."

"No, but you're meaningful." He gestures to the salesperson. "We'll take it."

As we leave, the necklace around my neck, I realize this is my life now.

Jewelry stores and bodyguards, threats from brothers and planning houses with room for my sister.

"What are you thinking?" Doran asks as we get in the car.

"That I actually like the modern house. The one with the wing for Dalla."

His whole face lights up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I want to see it first. Make sure it feels right."

"Of course. I've got viewings scheduled for Tuesday."

"You were that confident I'd come back from the honeymoon?"

"I was hopeful." He pulls me close. "I'm trying not to assume anymore."

"Good. Keep trying."

Back at the hotel, we order room service and eat on the balcony again, watching the sunset.

It feels domestic, comfortable in a way I didn't expect.

"Can I ask you something?" I say as the sky turns orange.

"Anything."

"Why me? Really. Not the arrangement, not the alliance. Why did you wait five years?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"Because you were the first person I couldn't predict.

" He plays with my wedding ring, spinning it gently.

"Everyone else in my life followed patterns.

Did what I expected. But you... you told your father to fuck off in a room full of killers.

You broke that boy's wrist for grabbing you. You were chaos in a world of order."

"That's it? I was unpredictable?"

"You were free." His voice drops. "Even trapped by the arrangement, you insisted on being free. I'd never seen anything like it."

"And now I'm not free. I'm married to you."

"Are you not free?" He meets my eyes. "You negotiated your terms. You're keeping your apartment, finishing school. Your sister will live with us. You just made me buy you a wolf necklace instead of diamonds. How is that not free?"

"I... hadn't thought of it that way."

"Most cages are in our minds, Rev. The trick is recognizing which ones are real and which ones we build ourselves."

"That's very philosophical for a criminal."

"I read sometimes."

"Between the murdering and money laundering?"

"Exactly."

We laugh, and it feels good. Natural. Like maybe this arranged marriage might become something real.

As night falls, we move inside.

What starts as innocent cuddling quickly becomes more, and soon we're christening every surface of the suite.

Later, tangled in sheets and each other, I trace the scars on his chest.

"Will you tell me about Olyvar?" I ask. "Really tell me. Not just the summary."

He sighs, pulling me closer. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. If he's a threat, I need to understand him."

"Fair." He's quiet, gathering his thoughts. "Olyvar was born when I was three. Mum had complications, nearly died. Maybe that's why she always favored him—guilt over almost leaving him."

"Or just normal maternal instinct."

"Maybe. Either way, he could do no wrong in her eyes. Dad saw it differently. Saw weakness where Mum saw sensitivity." His hand strokes my hair absently. "I tried to protect him. Took beatings meant for him, covered for his mistakes. We were brothers. It's what you do."

"When did it change?"

"When I turned sixteen. Dad officially named me heir. Started the real training." His voice goes distant. "Olyvar was thirteen, old enough to understand what it meant. That he'd always be second."

"That must have hurt."

"It broke something in him. He started acting out—small things at first. Defiance, recklessness.

Then it escalated." He shifts, uncomfortable with the memories.

"By the time he was eighteen, he was actively undermining me.

Sabotaging deals, spreading rumors. Dad wanted to handle it, but I kept making excuses. "

"Because he's your brother."

"Because I thought I could fix it. Fix him." His laugh is bitter. "Arrogance. The poison was my wake-up call. He didn't want to be fixed. He wanted me dead."

"And now he's back."

"Now he's back." He kisses my forehead. "But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, you're here. Safe. Mine."

"Ours," I correct. "We're ours."

"I like that better."

We drift off eventually, wrapped around each other. But even in sleep, I dream of wolves and brothers and the price of power.

When I wake again, it's to Doran on the phone, speaking in rapid Russian.

His whole body is tense, coiled like he's ready to strike.

"What's wrong?" I ask when he hangs up.

"Olyvar made contact." He tosses the phone aside. "Left a gift at my parents' house."

"What kind of gift?"

"Wedding present, apparently." His jaw tightens. "A photo album."

"That doesn't sound threatening."

"It is when it's filled with pictures of you from the past five years. Pictures even I don't have." He runs his hands through his hair. "He's showing me he's been watching too. That he knows things."

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet. But Olyvar doesn't do anything without purpose." He pulls me against him. "I won't let him hurt you."

"I know." I kiss his jaw. "We won't let him hurt us."

"Us," he repeats, like he's still getting used to the concept. "I like that we're an us now."

"Even with homicidal brothers and cartel threats?"

"Especially then." He tilts my chin up. "You make all the crazy worth it."

"Smooth talker."

"Only with you."

We stay in bed a while longer, neither wanting to face whatever Olyvar's game is. But eventually, reality intrudes.

"We should probably go back," I say reluctantly. "Face whatever this is."

"Tomorrow," he bargains. "Give me one more day of just us."

"One more day," I agree. "Then we deal with your brother."

"Our problem," he corrects. "We deal with our problem."

"You're learning."

"I have a good teacher."

The rest of the day passes in a blur of room service, bad movies, and spectacular sex.

We don't talk about Olyvar or houses or the future.

We just exist in our bubble, pretending the outside world can't touch us.

But as night falls again, I can see the wheels turning in Doran's mind.

Planning, strategizing, preparing for whatever comes next.

"Hey," I say, pulling his attention back to me. "Whatever he wants, we'll handle it."

"You sound sure."

"I am." I trace the wedding band on his finger. "We survived Bembe. We survived our own stupidity. We'll survive your brother."

"Our stupidity?"

"You with your decision making without me. Me with being pissed at you for so long." I kiss him. "We're past that now."

"Are we?"

"We better be, or this marriage is going to be exhausting."

He laughs, pulling me on top of him. "It's going to be exhausting anyway. But good exhausting."

"Is there such a thing?"

"With you? Yes."

In two days, we'll go back to Jacksonville.

We'll look at houses and face whatever my brother wants.

We'll start building our life together, complicated as it may be.

But tonight, we're still in our honeymoon bubble. Still learning each other, still figuring out how to be an "us."