Page 113 of His Stolen Bride

“I’m sure,” I say, rocking against him, my voice full of trust and need. “Fill me up, Mikhail. I want to watch us when you do.”

His control wavers, a low growl in his throat as he thrusts deeper, slow but harder now, his hands guiding me along his cock as he chases his release. “Gonna come so deep in you, baby,” he rasps, his lips against my ear, breath hot on my skin. “Gonna make you mine in every way right here. Watch it happen. Take it all.”

“Yes, please,” I moan, feeling my own climax building again, spurred by his words and the raw intimacy of our reflection. We move together, perfectly in sync, and when he finally comes, it’s with a rough groan of my name, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with warmth as I watch his face in the mirror, the way his jaw clenches, the raw pleasure in his eyes. I tip over the edge with him, a softer, sweeter orgasm washing through me, my moan mixing with his growl.

We stay like that, tangled on his lap, breathing hard, my body pressed back against his chest as we come down, staring at our reflection. “I love you, Alina,” he murmurs, kissing my temple, his voice soft but sure, and my heart stutters at the words.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding his gaze in the mirror. He picks me up slowly and carries me to the bed, where we fuck once more. After, we lie tangled together in the quiet, my head on his chest, his hand moving slowly along my back like he’s grounding us both. Somewhere in the house, a door closes softly.

Somewhere outside, the city keeps pretending it’s civilized.

Mikhail’s voice is low. “Tomorrow changes things.”

“I know,” I say.

“You’ll be seen,” he adds.

“I know.”

“There’ll be questions,” he says.

“I know.”

His hand stills on my back. “Are you afraid?”

I think about Vladimir’s eyes. His smile. The way he talked about my parents like they were numbers. Then I think about Oisin’s body pressed to mine this morning. Sofia’s stubborn loyalty. Mikhail’s mother standing like a wall in a hallway.

Then I think about Mikhail offering me an exit without a threat attached.

“No,” I say, and it surprises me that it’s true. “Not like before.”

Mikhail’s breath leaves him slowly. “Good.”

I sit up slightly and look at him. He looks back, calm again, the leader settling back into his skin, but there’s something new under it now. Something quieter. A future.

My chest tightens, not with panic, but finality. My old life is gone. The woman who could pretend she was just unlucky, just trapped in someone else’s mess, doesn’t exist anymore.

I’m not a debt, and I’m not a girl with a father’s shadow glued to her heels. I’m here.

And there’s no going back.

32

MIKHAIL

Vladimir’s death doesn’t make the city quieter, but it does make things real.

In the first forty-eight hours, phones ring in patterns. Men who never call each other suddenly can’t stop talking. Couriers run routes they haven’t used in years. Banks, ports, and nightclubs tighten. Everybody checks who still answers and who doesn’t.

A vacuum isn’t empty for long. It fills with the first man bold enough to claim it.

I don’t claim anything with speeches. I claim it with receipts. Enzo lays the first folder on my desk before sunrise. “We’ve got four crews trying to move into his Vienna lanes. Two are local. Two aren’t.”

“Names?” I ask.

He gives them. I already know three. The fourth is new, which tells me he’s either stupid or desperate.

Sofia leans on the doorframe, arms folded, looking like she wants to stab somebody out of habit. “His accountant tried to run,” she says. “He didn’t get far.”