Page 17 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

He tipped my chin up gently until I was looking at him. “I’m not men like me, apparently, not anymore. Whatever you were expecting from tonight, I’m not sorry it turned into this instead.”

“Even the part where we’re getting married for reasons that have nothing to do with any of this?”

“Hm.” The smirk was on his face again, even though his eyes looked like he was thinking.

Somewhere in the quiet, holding onto a man whose entire world was built on danger and blood and things I’d spent my whole life trying to avoid, I realized something terrifying.

Part of me no longer wanted to run from him at all.

Chapter Eight

Dmitri

The wedding happened three days later, arranged with the controlled secrecy that governed most Golovin family business. There was no press, no public announcement, no list of celebrity guests angling for a photo next to the family’s name. We’d built our wealth on discretion long before anyone in this family learned to spend it, and a wedding, even one this significant, wasn’t going to change that habit now.

Roman had the venue locked down within a day. It was one of the private rooftop spaces attached to our properties on the Strip, high enough above the noise that the city below looked more like a painting than a place people actually lived. The plans were watertight, as always. Security ringed the building without announcing itself, plain-clothed men positioned at every access point, cameras quietly rerouted through our own systems instead of the building’s standard feed. Staff prepared the space with restraint rather than spectacle, understated in a way that suited neither the casino downstairs nor the reputation attached to our name.

I’d stood witness to enough strategic marriages inside this family to know precisely what they usually looked like. Careful, controlled affairs, negotiated like a business executive would a business merger. I’d expected this one to feel the same, considering the strategic reason that had gotten us here.

It didn’t.

The realization hit me just before the ceremony as I stood near the private altar with the Strip’s lights just beginning to flicker on, and it felt strange. My entire life had been built around motion. Risk, unpredictability, the pleasure of never letting anything sit still long enough to demand something permanent from me. Commitment belonged to my brothers. Mikhail had built an empire on it. Viktor had married for calculation and somehow found something real buried underneath. So did Alexei. I’d always assumed that capacity for commitment wasn’t for me, that I was built for chaos in a way that made anything lasting incompatible with me.

Standing there waiting for her, none of that felt true anymore. Standing still for something permanent didn’t raise panic; it seated me in an unfamiliar certainty.

Alexei had found me an hour before the ceremony, while I was still adjusting my cuffs in the small private room Roman had set up as a staging area. He had closed the door behind him quietly, and something in his expression told me this wasn’t a visit meant to offer congratulations.

“We haven’t found who accessed her credentials yet.”

“I know.”

“I want you going into this with clear eyes, not romantic ones. Whoever framed her, if that’s what happened, is still out there. Marrying her doesn’t make that person disappear. It just raises the stakes on what they’re willing to risk to finish what they started.”

“You think I haven’t considered that?”

“I think you’re considering everything except the possibility that this doesn’t end the way you want it to. I’m not telling you not to do this. I understand exactly what you’re protecting and why. I’m asking you to keep your guard up regardless. A wedding ring doesn’t stop a bullet.”

“I’m aware of that.”

He held my gaze a moment longer, then he slapped my back and said, “Then I’ll say the rest of it properly. Congratulations, Dmitri. I mean that, whatever complicated math got us here.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and Isla says she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. She’d planned her travel before this, and the client insists she’s there for the event. She says she’ll make it up to her, not you.”

I nodded, chuckling at how my sister-in-law’s expressive speech was finding its way into my brother’s mouth.

He left as quietly as he’d arrived, and I stood there considering the truth that I had been avoiding all morning in favor of everything else this day required of me.

Roman had noticed before I said a word, sliding up beside me with a drink he hadn’t offered me, clearly intending to keep it for himself. “You’re quiet, boss.”

“I’m always quiet before something starts.”

“You’re never quiet.” He had studied me sideways, something almost humorous creeping into his expression. “You look nervous, Dmitri. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that on you. Not before a raid, not before a negotiation that could’ve gotten you killed. Never.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Sure.”