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“You’re marrying Dmitry Nikolaev, the newly-crowned don of the Nikolaev Bratva,”
Everything has changed now. Father is gone. That means Gavriil has been promoted to my underboss. Bastien is chief brigadier, the head enforcer. And I am now the don of the Nikolaev Bratva.
Weirdly, I feel a quick lash of jealousy at the thought. In my head, I’ve already marked her as mine.
Gavriil is a stone-cold killer, just like the rest of us. The smile is merely his disguise.
“I might not be the husband you hoped for, but I’m the one you have. And as long as that’s true, no other man lays a finger on you,” he growls. “Never.”
“You’re mine,” he growls as the last waves wash through me. “And you’ll do what I say.”
“I’m going to say that I didn’t plan this. But I will do everything in my power to make your life a good one. I meant what I said earlier tonight, Shannon: as long as I’m alive, no other man will ever touch you. I will keep you safe. I will keep you happy. I swear it.”
“It was their idea. Their choice. They didn’t want anything to do with a daughter who would be a Bratva wife.”
Father joins us at the trunk of the tree. “Good work, Dmitry,” he says to me, powerful tan hairy hand on my shoulder. “You are a man of deliberate action, and it shows. You offer help when needed and for that, I commend you.”
