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I flinch, remembering Filip saying those words to Kasper over and over, desperate to make the beatings stop, praying that this time, thisonetime, Kasper would be satisfied.
He never was. Not with Filip, nor with me.
I’m not that boy anymore. But Freya’s words—her submission—pulled something out of me that I haven’t felt in years. It made me feel like that helpless, broken kid all over again, and I hated it.
I left after she said it, slipped away into the night without a word, not because I wanted to, but because Ineededto. I needed distance, space to breathe and to get my head on straight. But even now, hours later, the sound of her voice still lingers, a ghost in my mind. It pulls at something raw inside me, something that should’ve damn well stayed buried.
I’ll be good.
I clench my fists tightly.
She makes me feel like I’m losing control.
I’ve spent years building walls, fortifying myself against the world. She’s removing the bricks one by one. And I can’t afford that.
I force myself to turn away from the balcony and shake off the thoughts of Freya. Tonight isn’t about her. Tonight is about Kenzo and Annika’s wedding.
The church is filledwith Yakuza and Bratva soldiers. This should be—okay,is—a powder-keg ready to blow, but that’s the whole reason we’re here: to bury the bloodshed. To stop the spiraling chaos before the whole city turns into war zone.
The knives might be put away, but the tension in the air is palpable, as if everyone here knows that this peace is a fragile, easily shattered illusion.
I frown, rubbing my eyes. I still haven’t managed to sleep. Earlier, chaos erupted on both sides of this supposed truce when no one could find Hana, Annika, or Freya after the bachelorette party.
I, of course, knew precisely where they were.
But I couldn’t exactly say anything. I couldn’t reveal that I’d tracked Freya all the way to fucking Montreal by hacking into her various social accounts and IP-tracing her.
In a fucked-up way, today was slightly amusing, watching everyone scramble, trying to track down the bride and her friends. But twenty minutes ago, the three of them showed up looking bedraggled and hungover as shit in an Uber all the way from Canada.
I may have taken a particularly smug satisfaction in noticing the vicious purple marks all over Freya’s neck.
Mymarks.
I stand at the front, watching Annika make her way down the aisle toward Kenzo, escorted by that fuckhead Kir. Kenzo waits at the altar, stoic as ever, his expression unreadable to most.
I, however, can read my cousin like a book.
It’s been like that since I was eleven and escaped the hell I’d lived in with my grandfather. That’s when I came to live with my aunt Astrid and my three cousins, Kenzo, Takeshi, and Hana. Tak and Hana are quite a few years younger than Kenzo. So when I showed up, almost his age, we became thick as thieves.
To me, his feelings are clear: he hates that he’s being forced into this arranged marriage. At the same time, Kenzo’s been the male head of this family since he was a boy. “Family duty” is something he lives and breathes. So even if this isn’t what he’d have chosen for himself, he’s going to do it, because that’s just who he is.
When Annika stops in front of him, it’s just the two of them and the priest up there. No best man, no maid of honor.
My eyes slide to the side, across the aisle, and my jaw tightens.
Freya is standing beside Kir in the front row, wearing a sleek black dress that hugs her body in all the right places. Her dark hair catches the soft glow of the chandeliers, her expression unreadable.
I let my gazefeaston the marks on her neck that the gallon of concealer is trying valiantly to cover.
Dark, sultry flashbacks hit me like a fist to the gut. Last night. The feel of her body against mine. Her gasps. Her submission.
The way she broke so beautifully for me.
I try to focus on the ceremony, but my eyes keep drifting back to her. I shouldn’t be so fixated. She’smine, yes, but this feels…different. Personal. That’s dangerous.
The ceremony proceeds as expected. The vows are spoken, Kenzo and Annika exchange rings. But there’s a strange energyin the air, something I can’t quite pinpoint. My instincts are prickling, warning me that something’s about to go wrong. I scan the crowd, my hand inching toward the gun tucked into my jacket. I can feel the tension building every second.
Kenzo and Annika say I do. Then—shockingly, given that I genuinely thought the two of them couldn’tstandeach other—my cousin grabs his new bride, cups her face, and kisses her with an intensity that makes her melt against him.
