Page 8 of Sold Bratva Wife

The car turned suddenly, pulling into a side street I didn’t recognize. My heart rate spiked. “Dante, where are we going?”

“To sign some papers.”

“What papers?”

He finally looked at me directly, his green eyes nearly black in the dim light. “Marriage papers.”

I stared at him, sure I’d misheard. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Chapter 3 - Dante

The iron gates opened like jaws. My security team stood on both sides, weapons holstered over their backs.

I winced. I should have called ahead and reminded them to keep their strength at bay. Alisa was afraid enough already. I threw her a glance and, not to my surprise, she looked like she’d rather throw herself into shark-infested waters than spend another minute in my car.

“What the hell is this place?” she snapped at me, her head tilting upward to catch full sight of the gates.

“My house.”

She paled.

We tore up the winding drive, tires humming over asphalt as towering pines closed in on both sides—like nature itself was trying to keep out the rest of the world.

I knew this was insane.

Marriage papers.

I still couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. That wasn’t the plan when I’d outbid everyone in that room. When I’d seen her on that stage, all I’d wanted was to get her away from those vultures before she ended up with some coked-out arms dealer or revenge-obsessed cartel prince.

But the second I had her in my car, something shifted. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was seeing her after four years, still just as beautiful, making my chest ache with something I thought I’d buried. Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t let her walk away.

I told myself a lot of shit, but the truth was that she wasn’t safe after what happened tonight. And there was only one way to make sure no one else could claim her.

Make her a Lebedev.

My wife.

The gates had closed behind us a mile back, and between us lay just silence and a sky full of stars. The headlights beamed through the dark, and then it appeared.

My house.

“We’re here,” I announced, driving up to the porch.

The mansion rose three stories high and was a thing of beauty with all that glass and stone, and those sharp edges and quiet power. It sat at the edge of a private ridge, like it had been dropped there on purpose to keep watch over the world below. Warm lights spilled from the windows, casting a soft glow across the curved driveway and the beautiful grounds.

Beside me, Alisa’s breath caught. Her fingers dug into the leather seat.

“What the hell?” she whispered, pressing her face closer to the window. “This isn’t a house. This is a—a—”

This place didn’t hint at money—it screamed it. Bold and built to be seen. I understood why she was overwhelmed, but I needed her to be comfortable here.

“It’s just a place to sleep, Alisa,” I said.

“Right,” she said. “Just like the Taj Mahal is just a headstone.”

I smiled and killed the engine. For a moment, we sat in silence. The kind of silence that’s too full of words neither of us wanted to say first.