Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Renata

Every second that passes is like a ticking time bomb. Every heartbeat that passes brings us closer to destruction.

God. Carlos is on the move. It sickens me to know I'm going to hear from him and terrifies me that I haven't yet.

I have to get married. That's the next step forward.

I find some toiletries and quickly wash my face, brush my teeth, and run my fingers through my hair. I hear the door open. When I go to exit the bathroom, Ollie storms in, looking murderous. Fury burns in his eyes like a storm about to break.

I face him head on. "Someone storm the castle? Attack the moat?" I tip my head to the side. "Has your armor rusted?"

"I told you I didn't want the dog on our bed."

I have to admit, there's something about clean, freshly shaved legs and minty breath that perks me up a little bit, so much so that I almost forgot that I have a steely-faced future husband right in front of me. But whatever would've disturbed me quickly evaporates when I see my fluffy little fur-ball. He's wagging his tail and licking Ollie's hand. Before he catches me looking at him, the tension between his brows softens just a bit. We'll soften him yet.

"Well, Polina watched him, and then he fell asleep. Also, we need a name."

He shrugs and mutters with a curl of his lip, "So dog isn't original enough?"

"How about… Princeton? I like Princeton."

He wrinkles his nose. "Sounds like he needs a stroller and a diamond collar."

"I can arrange that."

He grunts, turning away from me as he walks to the dresser and rifles through the clothes. "Yeah, somehow, I find that very easy to believe. Polina's got a dog sitter and bought a bunch of shit for him."

Aww.

"It's time to go. You'll wear a dress I pick out and nothing underneath."

My belly flips, but I play it off with a toss of my head. "Oh, how original," I snap, which earns me a hard smack to the ass.

"Haven't gotten to the original part yet, Renata," he says with a growl. "I have another delivery of sorts that's on its way." Turning me to face him, he brushes his fingers over my chin. "Be patient, little Renata."

I should be offended. It should feel demeaning, but I remember the man behind the fury—the one who saw me, not just the danger that presses in on us. I remember how he would occasionally let his guard down and talk to me, person to person.

I remember all of it. Sometimes, I wish that I didn't.

I lift the sleek, sleeveless dress he hands me and step into it. My breasts fill it out well as I smooth it down and slide on a pair of flats. The fabric is forgiving. It lifts and tucks in all the right places. "Nice choice."

I walk back to the bathroom and do a quick braid in my hair, bringing the thick plait to hang over my shoulder. I snap on gold hoops, a gold necklace, and a little bracelet. I'm pretty much feeling like myself already, even though I would really appreciate shopping for myself instead of relying on the charity of someone who hates me.

My stomach growls with hunger.

"We're going out to breakfast. I want to test something," he says.

I'm usually more confident than I feel right now, but my nerves are on edge. I'm not sure if it's because I'm about to have breakfast with a family that thinks I betrayed them or because I'm afraid my brother is going to find me. And if Carlos comes for me? For us? He's chaos and has no mercy.

I release a ragged breath.

We arrive at a restaurant near the beach, and Ollie takes us immediately to the back, where there's a private room behind glass doors. My stomach leaps into my throat when I see that everyone is there before us—Mikhail and Aria, his other brother Aleksandr and his wife Harper, all of the brothers and their wives, and even some of the children. My God. I don't know what I'm going to do next. I must look like a deer caught in headlights because before we enter, Ollie leans in and captures my gaze. "Nothing matters except that you are mine," he tells me. "It doesn't matter what you did, it doesn't matter who you were. You'll be taking vows to me. You'll be my wife. You might think you don't belong, but you do. Right here. With me."

His vote of confidence does, in fact, give me a small measure of relief. I swallow and nod. "Yeah, of course," I tell him. "Are you going to tell me what you're testing?"

"You're a smart girl. What do you think?"

I frown. "Whether or not my brother found me." A sudden realization dawns on me. "Why I have this cut on my arm that's still hurting."

Oh God. What did my brother do?

"Precisely." He leans in and kisses my cheek, but he's only trying to get to my ear so he can whisper to me. "You can keep whatever's in your arm until tomorrow because I want whoever's watching to see everything. Then, on our wedding night, I'm taking that out of there, and we're escaping where nobody knows where we are. Do you understand me?"

Does he think there's a tracker in my arm?

My heart thunders in my chest. How exactly does he plan on taking it out of me? And where exactly is he going to take me?

I nod and swallow hard. "I understand."

"Good," he says with a smirk. "Go to the ladies' room and wait for me there."

What the actual fuck is he planning on doing? "Excuse me?"

He smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You heard me, wife. You've been around my family long enough to know what I expect of you, haven't you?" He leans in and captures my gaze with his.

"Is that right, sir?" I ask him, fire in my eyes. He excites me and infuriates me. "Do you do everything your family tells you? Or is that just for me?"

He cups my jaw in his large, warm palm, and his eyes hold mine. "I'm an old-fashioned man, Renata. My wife does what she's told. You know what it means if you don't."

The vision of him overpowering me, my wrists trapped in his, my eyes locked in his, makes my pulse race. I swallow and nod.

"I do."

The tension between us has shifted again, palpable and electric. His protective instincts have always been intense, but now, there's something in his eyes that makes my heart race with fear, excitement, and anticipation. A shiver runs down my spine when his hand comes to my back.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, my voice a whisper.

"Trust me," he replies, his eyes dark with a mix of desire and determination. "Now go."

I nod, my pulse racing as I move toward the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I stand in front of the mirror, my breath shallow. He enters behind me, carrying something in his hand.

I look down. It's a silk blindfold. "Ollie. Here ?"

Obviously here.

"Turn around," his voice a command that leaves no room for disobedience. My hands trembling, I face the mirror. I watch his reflection as he stretches the silk between his fingers. He steps behind me, his body pressed against mine as he ties it over my eyes. I'm immediately plunged into darkness, acutely aware of his heat behind me, his breath on my cheek. The faint scent of lavender and vanilla fills the air. Somewhere in the distance, I hear laughter and the sound of running water. "Can you see anything?" he asks, his breath in my ear.

"No," I whisper, heightened senses taking over.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hands sliding down my arms.

My pulse races, my grip on the cold sink the only thing keeping me from falling completely under his control.

"Hold still," he whispers. "Don't you dare disobey me. Not here. Not now."

My thoughts are a tempest.

I'm old-fashioned.

My wife will obey me.

You know what happens.

Good girl.

Little Renata.

I grip the sink as his hands roam over my body. He lifts the hem of my dress, fingers brushing against my thighs. Pleasure surges through me. He takes his time, his touch disarming, tender, and teasing, building me to a fevered pitch.

I remember last night in vivid detail. Ollie Romanov will take control of me in more ways than one.

I hate and love that he does. "You're so beautiful," he whispers in my ear, his voice reverent. "And so strong. You're going to be mine, Renata, and you're never going to lose who you are. Do you understand me?"

No. I don't understand that at all. How the hell is that gonna work? I shake my head, biting my lips as his hands move higher, caressing my hips, my body arching into his fingers as they move over my bare skin. "Stand still," he growls in my ear, his breath hot against my neck.

His family is right outside the door. My brother is somewhere out there, too, his eyes always on me. Anybody could come in here at any time. He wants me to surrender, and he's pushing me to the brink.

Obeying, my body trembles with a mixture of desire and need. When I feel his hands on my hips again, my heart races. My pulse skyrockets when he presses his lips to my shoulder, his kisses slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the urgency I feel inside. Why is he being so slow and deliberate?

Uuuuggggh.

He's the quiet one, the patient one who's learned to wait for what he wants.

Lucky me.

"Ollie," I moan, my voice shaky.

"Patience," he whispers, his hands moving to the front of me. Slowly, he trails his fingers up my stomach, brushing against my breasts before moving to unbutton me. The fabric falls away, leaving me exposed. He trails his fingers up my stomach, brushing against my breasts before moving the fabric away. "Hold on," he commands. "Did I give you permission to move?"

My breathing hitches as I feel him drop to his knees. What is he…? Oh my God. I grip the sink so tightly I think it's going to snap. His hands trace the curve of my back, his touch reverent and possessive. When he spreads my legs slightly, his fingers graze the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and a wave of pleasure consumes me. All he's done is touch me. "Oh my God," I gasp. "What are you?—"

"No talking," he whispers. "If you disobey me, I'm going to bring you to the edge of release and then leave you right here. Is that what you want? When I get you alone, I'll whip your pussy and bring you to the edge over and over again. Tell me you understand. Say 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir.'"

"Yes, sir," I whisper, my mouth dry. What is he doing to me? I don't call any man " sir ." What the hell is this? Is he—oh God. When I feel his breath against my most intimate parts, it's tantalizing, so hot I stifle a scream. His tongue flicks out, teasing me. My grip on the sink tightens. He moans as he grips my hips to keep me steady.

I'm overwhelmed by the sensation, the touch and flick of his tongue sending me closer to the edge. Tension coils inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from speaking.

Just when I think I can't take anymore, he pulls away. I whimper at the loss, but his fingers are quick to guide me up, turning me to face him. He removes the blindfold, and I blink in the light, adjusting to it. My eyes meet his. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes," I breathe out. "I thought you said you were going to punish me if I disobeyed. That you were going to leave me there?"

His lips curve into a dark smile. "Naughty girl. Did you think I was going to let you come in the bathroom? With my family right outside that door?"

"But you said?—"

"I'm not done with you, Renata. You filthy, beautiful little slut," he says in a low voice that makes my nerves shiver. "Get dressed and get back out there." He straightens himself, adjusts his raging hard-on, and flicks his hair in the mirror. He turns me around and slaps my ass hard. "Now get out there. And the next time I tell you to come to me, you will obey me."

He has me in his control, and I've allowed this to happen. God.

I walk back to the table, all my effort poured into maintaining my composure.

I can do this. Oh God. My legs are shaking, and my breathing's ragged.

Isabella looks perfect, of course, her hair all neatly done. She's hidden her tiny little baby belly, but she's barely got any. She sits ramrod straight, her hands in her lap, and doesn't meet my eyes. A pang of sadness hits my chest.

"As of this afternoon, I'm looping you into biometric feedback," Aleks says with a grim smile. "Welcome to the family," he says gruffly. "You're one of us."

"Biometric what?" I ask.

Ollie speaks up behind me. "One of Aleksandr's jobs is to check and track the biometric feedback of all of us at all times. It's how we know where everybody is and if they're alright. He's done it forever. Consider it a compliment."

Polina eyes me weirdly, and that hurts my heart because she was always the friendliest to me, at least back when I was here before.

"Do we have eyes on him?" Ollie says, handing me a menu. I don't need anyone to tell me that he's talking about my brother. That much is clear.

"No. Remember how easily he faked his death," Mikhail says. "Even his closest rivals thought he was dead."

"Are we still sure he isn't?" Ollie says.

I bite my lip, unsure of what I can say that won't sign my own death sentence. As soon as my brother finds out I'm getting married to one of them, he'll come after me.

"Now, children," Ekaterina Romanova says with a smile. "We're not talking anymore about Carlos Carerra, the cartel, or anything that doesn't have to do with the wedding," Ollie's mother says. "I've heard you like a good meal, Renata. Do you have any preference on your dress?"

Thank God.

I never thought about things like this. While I love clothes, and I love getting dressed, I just shrug my shoulders. "Well, I… I'm not sure this is an occasion to celebrate," I say. The room goes silent.

Mikhail narrows his eyes at me. "This will be something that unites us, Renata," he says softly. "You should think about that."

Ollie clutches his cup of coffee. The waitress comes over, and I smile sweetly. "I'll take the French toast and a side of bacon," I order. "This one over here might need a little something sweet for his coffee. Just to sweeten it up a tad. Sugar?" I shrug. Ollie shakes his head at me, a warning, I guess. He told me to behave myself, but I don't fucking care.

"I heard you like shopping," Polina says. "I wish we had time." She's trying, but everything is strained here between us.

If I tell them anything about my brother, he will find out, and there will be retribution. I remember his warning to me before I left. It's absolutely killing me to keep the secret from all of them, but I don't know what else I could possibly do.

I barely taste anything, the tension hanging in the air thick with the presence of the Romanov family. Conversations swirl around me, but I stay silent, trying to absorb everything but actually absorbing nothing. When the family begins to discuss wedding plans, I assume it has something to do with me and do my best to pay attention.

"So, Renata," Harper begins, her tone kind but authoritative. Harper is Aleksandr's wife, and I don't know much about her. We didn't interact much before when I was here, as she was always busy. They have children, and I am told that Harper shoots a gun better than any of the men here. Interesting to note. I do know that before she came here, she was an influencer, knowledgeable about hair, makeup, and clothes. Polina once mentioned this to me.

Harper blushes. "It was just something I did, and I don't anymore, but I'll always be interested in things like this. What kind of dress do you have in mind for your wedding?"

I shrug. "A white one, I guess? Something traditional."

"Sleeveless, lace, fitted, what do you think?" Harper asks, her eyes lighting up as she lists different styles. I don't know what she's talking about as she mentions things like sheath and bodycon and A-line.

I glance around the table, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on me. This isn't me. I love clothes, and I love dressing up, but the thought of choosing a wedding dress for something like this feels surreal. "I'm not sure," I admit. "I love elegant and simple designs."

Ollie clenches his jaw. "We'll talk, Harper." His eyes meet mine. "I'll choose what she wears."

My body tenses. Back in the room, when he chose my clothes, it felt like he actually cared about how I looked. This feels more like a power move, but I'm caught right in the middle of a "pick your battles" type of situation.

I manage a small smile. "Sounds like a good plan."

"Always a classic choice," Harper says. "Maybe we can visit some boutiques later today."

Ollie shakes his head. "Absolutely not."

Everyone's silent at the table for a brief moment, and finally, Harper's husband, Aleksandr, intervenes. He's a tall man with dark eyes and sharp features, the one who is apparently reading my biometrics. Can he tell when I'm pissed off? Turned on? Probably. Ugh.

"Ollie's right. It's way too dangerous. We know there are eyes on you. It's why we're here, isn't it?" Aleksandr smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. I suppose he's right. I look over my shoulder, half expecting a crazed maniac wielding a gun behind me.

Of course, there's no one actually here. Not where I can see them, anyway. I know they're here. Carlos told me he would be.

Polina chimes in, her eyes still wary. "Do you have any preference on what we eat?"

I perk up slightly at the mention of food. "I love all sorts of foods. Maybe some traditional dishes from Colombia."

"I don't want anything from Colombia," Isabella says. "Nothing that nods to Carlos. I love Colombian food, but right now, I want nothing to do with my homeland." Isabella gives me a strange look, playing with the food on her plate but not actually eating it.

"It's her wedding," Ollie insists, sitting up straighter. Lev growls under his breath, but Ollie is undeterred. "She can decide what she fucking wants."

"Oh yeah?" Isabella asks, her eyes flashing. "What if she?—"

"I want dessert," I say suddenly, interrupting. "I like dessert. I want dessert."

"Since when? You're always watching your carbs," Isabella says.

"The old me did," I say with a shrug. "But the new me doesn't mind fattening up."

Ollie's lips curve into a lewd smile. My cheeks flame.

Lydia, Viktor's wife, grins at me. "We had a great selection of cakes at our wedding, and there's a local place that can provide them for us. No time for anything custom, but they have good stock. We can buy them out."

"Done," Ollie says. "Thank you, Lydia."

"I'm more concerned with who's going to be there. I don't care what we eat, or what kind of music we have, or the venue. It matters who is there. It matters who knows that we're getting married."

I know what he's saying is true, but there's only one person who really needs to see that I'm getting married, and he already knows we will.

As the conversation continues, I contribute where I can, but I'm still guarded. Despite the efforts of the women to include me, part of me is constantly glancing around, expecting Carlos to appear out of the woodwork. Ollie hates me. Would he really protect me?

After we split up to handle different tasks, Harper and Polina walk over with their phones, showing me various gowns. I just shrug, and Ollie has a conversation with them. "That one," he says in a low voice. "Can you get that one?"

"We may not be able to get that exact one, but we can get one like it. What do you think?" Polina asks, her eyes sparking.

"I told you I was picking, Polina. Why are you doing this?" Ollie leans in, his voice a rumble. "You know you're next."

His already pale sister blanches. "Don't be an asshole," she whispers. "You know you were always my favorite. Don't do this now."

"Then don't fucking interfere," he snaps. "I told you I'm picking her dress. And she will like it. If you can't handle that, get the hell away from her."

Oh, I will get to this asshole if it's the last thing I do. You can't tell off a man of the Bratva or shake him until his teeth rattle or slap his perfect face. But you can get under his skin and persuade him. It's times like this when I wish I'd had a mother growing up, a woman who could've shown me the methods of female persuasion.

"It's beautiful," I interject. "Thank you, Polina."

She narrows her eyes at him, though she's talking to me. "We'll have it here within the hour, and we'll try different sizes. There's no time for adjustments, so we will find one that works."

Ollie turns to talk to Aleksandr, effectively dismissing any dress conversation.

One of the waiters comes up to me, discretely pushing a folded piece of paper into my hand.

I unfold the paper in my palm, distracted by talk of the wedding.

When I open it, I immediately recognize Carlos's handwriting.

I'm watching. Don't fuck me over. Remember your place. You think you can run away and marry into that family? I know who you are, and I know where you came from. I'm watching. Don't forget your loyalty.

My hand shakes as if I'm holding something on fire. I take a breath, trying to steady myself.

"I have to use the restroom," I say, rushing away from the table. But of course, Ollie is glued to my side. He snatches the paper from my hand.

"Of course he's here, the fucking coward. Doesn't have the balls to show his face to me, does he? Who gave this to you?"

"The waiter. He just rushed up to me. He was a younger guy. White, brown hair."

Ollie scans the restaurant and walks straight to the desk. "Which waiter came into this room?" he asks.

"Sir, the wait staff serving your room is all female."

Of course. Someone's in disguise.

To his credit, Ollie doesn't seem very ruffled. He takes me by the hand and walks to the door. As we head back to the car, I can't shake the feeling of dread settling in my stomach, Carlos's threat echoing in my mind. This is far from over. But for now, I have to keep up the fa?ade and pretend that everything is just fine.

When we get to the door, he reaches for me, wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, and squeezes. My heart hammers in my chest as his mouth descends on mine.

His kiss steals my breath—and for that fleeting moment, nothing else matters. Part of me hates that he does this to me. He doesn't love me.

When he pulls away, his eyes flare with something I can't quite identify.

"Let him see that, Renata."

The door shuts behind us.