Page 37 of Bound in Possession

"Camilla, stop frowning or the makeup artist is going to have a breakdown," a voice teases, breaking me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I look up to see my sisters and Nastya fluttering around the room. Fortunately, Nastya is getting along beautifully with them. The room is alive with the rustle of silk, the scent of expensive hairspray, and the bright, echoing sound of their shared laughter.

They are swapping embarrassing stories, passing around glasses of mimosa, and genuinely happy as they help me prepare for the biggest day of my life. Seeing them bond brings a rare, genuine smile to my face, distracting me from my internal chaos.

"Alright, it's time for the main event," my eldest sister announces, carefully lifting the massive, breathtaking ivory wedding gown from its custom hanger.

Just before they can lower the heavy layers of silk and lace over my head, a sharp, distinct knock echoes on the bedroom door.

The laughter in the room instantly dies down. Daniela sets her champagne glass down and opens the door, revealing the towering figure standing in the corridor.

It’s Maksim.

He’s already fully dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that makes his broad shoulders look impossibly wide, his dark hair styled perfectly. His eyes instantly lock onto me, ignoring everything else in the room.

"Can you give us a minute?" Maksim asks, his voice deep and smooth, carrying an authority that leaves no room for argument. "I need to speak with my bride."

My sisters glance at me, then at him, nodding silently as they set the dress down on the chaise lounge. Nastya gives my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze as she passes, and within moments, the entire party files out, shutting the double doors behind them.

Once we are completely alone, the heavy silence of the bedroom returns, thick with the familiar, electric current that always hums between us. I stand there in my silk robe, my chin lifted defensively as he walks toward me, his heavy, measured steps eating up the distance. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a velvet box, snapping it open.

Inside is a breathtaking, heavy diamond necklace. The stones are flawless, catching the morning light, but its structure is thick, ornate, and unmistakably heavy.

My breath hitches. I know exactly what that is. In the dark, unforgiving hierarchy of the New York underworld, a piece like this isn't just jewelry. It’s a public statement. It is a highly recognizable symbol of absolute protection—a silent, glittering warning to every family in the city that the woman wearing it belongs to the Pakhan, and touching her means triggering a war.

Maksim steps behind me. His large, warm hands brush the hair off my neck, sending a treacherous shiver down my spine, and carefully fastens the cold metal around my throat.

The moment the clasp clicks, the weight of it feels like a collar.

"No," I whisper, my compliance snapping as I reach up, my fingers desperately clawing at the diamonds to tear it off. "Take it off, Maksim. I am not going to walk down that aisle wearing your brand like a piece of property."

Before I can unhook it, his large hand shoots forward, his fingers locking firmly around my wrist to halt my movements. He pulls my hand down, holding it against his chest as he steps into my personal space, forcing me to look up into his dark, unyielding gaze.

"You can hate it all you want, Camilla," he growls softly, his voice low and dangerous against my skin. "But you will wear it. It’s a public shield. Every monster in this city is going to be watching us today, including Viktor's rats. This necklace tells them exactly what happens if they look at you wrong."

He leans down closer, his jaw clenching as his grip on my wrist tightens just enough to anchor me. "And believe me, princess... wearing my symbol of protection is a hell of a lot better than relying on your father’s empty claims. He can’t keep you safe. I can."

The mention of my father stings, but before I can fire back a bitter retort, Maksim handles me. He wraps his free hand around the back of my neck, tilting my head back, and captures my mouth in a rough, bruising kiss.

It’s a possessive, breathtaking assault that tastes of dominance and raw promise. He deepens it ruthlessly, taking his fill of me, reminding my body exactly who I belonged to on the desk yesterday, and who will be taking me tonight. It leaves me utterly breathless, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are burning with a dark, satisfied fire. He lets go of my wrist, smoothing down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket without breaking eye contact.

"Don't keep me waiting, princess," he murmurs, a lethal, confident smile touching his lips. "I will be at the altar."

Turning on his heel, he strides out of the room, leaving me trembling in the center of the floor, my fingers tracing the heavy, cold diamonds resting against my throat.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MAKSIM

The grand, vaulted ceilings of the cathedral echo with the low, anticipatory murmur of the hundreds of guests packing the pews. The air smells heavily of incense, expensive floral arrangements, and the underlying scent of tension. Every major player from the five boroughs is under this roof—Capos, high-ranking Bratva operatives, and the tentative allies keeping the peace. My men are stationed at every exit, their eyes scanning the crowd, their hands resting near their waistbands. High alert doesn't begin to cover it.

I stand at the altar, my hands clasped loosely in front of me, looking like a perfectly composed groom. But beneath the pristine lines of my black tuxedo, my muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring at the slightest anomaly.

Then, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral swing open.

The crowd falls into a sudden, breathless silence as the first notes of the bridal march swell from the pipe organ, vibrating through the stone floor beneath my boots.