Matvei’s eyes rake over me, slow and possessive. He reaches out, and I place my hand in his.
His calloused thumb strokes over my knuckles, rough and reverent.
"Do you accept this bond?" Rafail asks him.
"I do," Matvei growls. "I have always accepted it."
"And you?" Rafail turns to me, his gaze piercing through my bones. "Do you swear your blood to the Bratva? As our equal. As family."
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. "I do," I say, my voice steady. "I swear it."
There is no applause. No cheers. This is not a celebration of innocence.
This is a coronation.
Rafail nods.
Matvei pulls me against him, his hand splayed across my back like a brand as we take our vows. As he slides the thick gold band on my finger and I do the same for him.
His kiss claims me in front of everyone—possessive, bruising, hungry. He kisses me like we’ve already won the war, like he could devour me whole.
I let him.
Because I will burn with him. I choosethis.
As Matvei breaks the kiss, he leans close to my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
"You’re mine now," he growls, rough and low. "Not just in blood. Not just in name. In every fucking way that matters."
I smirk, tilting my head. "Earn it, big guy."
His eyes darken. "Oh, I will."
The Irish are coming.
But so are we.
THE END
