Page 14 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I saw the Pakhan who kept New York's underground quiet.

"I didn't ignore your warning," I said, teeth trembling. "And I didn't choose this wedding."

"You wore a ring I picked out," he said, unblinking. "And Isabella is gone. No matter how you spin it, you look like the reason."

His gaze dropped to my ring finger. His fingertip traced the band that was cutting into my skin. It shouldn't have felt intimate.

My heart still jumped anyway, traitorous.

"Becoming my wife," he said, eyes sliding past my shoulder to the balcony behind me, "is going to be the biggest mistake of your life."

"Kiryan—" I got his name out, and he clamped a hand on my shoulder and yanked me to the railing.

Wind knifed across my skin. We were on the top floor of the hotel—fourteen stories up—and beyond the rail there was nothing. The edge dug into my waist as he shoved half my body out over empty air.

What was he doing? Was he going to push me?

"Let me go—I didn't tell her about that night!" Survival tore out of my throat. "She found out on her own!"

He didn't answer.

"I'm going to fall," I said, gripping his hand so hard my knuckles screamed. My stomach rolled. "Kiryan, please—pull me back."

"Remember this feeling," he said.

Then he yanked me in.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking.

Tomorrow I was going to move into his manor.

But there was still a gap between us I couldn't cross.

And just now, he had almost killed me.

Chapter 5

Elena

The afternoon after the wedding, I moved into the Morozov manor.

I carried a pathetic amount of luggage, and Kiryan stayed a few steps ahead of me the whole time.

He didn't bother introducing me to anything. Like the person trailing him wasn't his new wife, just some piece of cargo he had to stash somewhere.

The second-floor hallway ran longer than I'd expected. I followed him past door after closed door until we stopped at the very end. It had to have been the farthest corner room on the entire floor—there weren't even other rooms nearby.

"You'll live here," he said, expression flat as he pushed the door open.

The room was bigger than my bedroom at the Rossi house. Bed, wardrobe, vanity—everything was there. He didn't need to spell it out. He gave me what Mrs. Morozova was supposed to have, but he had no intention of letting me anywhere near him.

"Understood," I said quietly.

I had never expected him to put me in his room. After last night's death-warning bullshit, a door I could close already counted as safety.

He didn't leave right away. He stayed in the doorway and swept his gaze over me.

"From now on, you stay in your room." His voice stayed cold. "Except for meals and occasions where you have to show up as Mrs. Morozova, I don't want to see you. Got it?"