Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Isabella

I sit in this… prison. A well-decorated, very comfortable prison, yes, but it's still a fucking prison.

The room in his family's home is extravagant… from what I've seen, anyway. It's impeccably clean, too. My mama would approve, though she never understood the American love of neutrals and whites. But even though this room is gorgeous, I still feel as if I'm caged.

I practically am.

He made sure to remind me of that before he left to go help with preparations or whatever, our earlier conversation forgotten.

All day, I've heard people coming and going outside my door. Lev's men scurry about, making arrangements. He's leaving nothing to chance, ensuring there's no possible way for me to escape. I've tried the windows, the locks, even the ventilation ducts. He's covered every possible escape. I met with his family, we discussed the wedding, then he brought me to this room.

I guess the whole freedom thing doesn't apply here. The truth is, though, I could escape even this room if I put my mind to it, but breaking out of here doesn't hold the appeal it once did.

I stare out the window when the door swings open, and Lev steps in. He's calm, composed, every bit the cold and ruthless strategist I've come to despise. When his eyes meet mine, the fire in them stokes flames of my own.

He's cunning, wicked and fearless… and I want him.

I so fucking want this man all to myself.

Yes. Yes, we're going to do just fine. I mean, we'll have our growing pains.

"It's all set," he says. "We're almost ready."

I'm glad he doesn't ask, Are you? Because that would be a ‘hell no'. I try to remember the glimmer of whatever I saw in him earlier. I try to remember my promise to myself to make this work.

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to lash out. "You're making a mistake," I spit. "I'll never be yours willingly."

He steps closer, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came. "You don't have a choice," he replies. "The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."

I manufacture a glare at him… playing along, my mind racing.

I'll let him think he's won.

As he turns to leave, I let my posture relax slightly, a hint of defeat in my stance. There's some kind of surveillance in here. I know it. It's all part of the plan. The more compliant I appear, the more likely he is to let his guard down. And when he does, I'll be ready.

"I'll be back soon."

I open my mouth to stop him, but the door clicks shut behind him. What is taking so long?

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. I can't afford to lose control now. This marriage may be a trap, but it's also an opportunity. I'll use it to learn everything I can about the Bratva's operations and his weaknesses. I'll gather every piece of information, every scrap of intel, and I'll use it to bring not only Lev down but fucking everyone else. My brother won't even know what hit him.

Tonight, I'll be his bride, but that doesn't make me his. Not truly. I'll bide my time, play my part, and when the moment is right, I'll strike.

Lev thinks he's the only one playing a game, but he's wrong. So fucking wrong.

Sun breaks through clouds on the other side of the heavy drapes. Hope. There's hope.

I stand in front of the mirror and make my decision. I'll play along with him. I'll let him think he won. He'll expect me to fight, so I'll give him that, and I might even fucking enjoy it.

Yes. This might work really, really well.

I could get out of here if I really wanted to; I know I could.

Then what? No matter how hard I try, no matter what resources I secure, I'll never be able to take over my family on my own and claim my rightful position of power. If I could, I'd have done it already.

The odds are stacked against me. But with the help of the Romanovs…

I thought he said he was ready? Now that it's go time, I'm growing impatient.

Finally, the door creaks open, and I tense, expecting another guard. Instead, it's Lev. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence heavy and charged. This time, he doesn't glare at me as he did before but looks a bit more… contemplative.

"What?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. I swallow hard when his brows draw together and his lips purse.

I remember what it was like being chained in his basement. I remember the erotic charge between us.

He doesn't respond immediately, just walks over to the window and stares out. His presence is a bit unnerving. I don't know what to expect.

"They tell me you're not eating," he says finally, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You need to keep your strength up."

It's the last thing I expect him to say. "Somewhere between ‘you'll be my prisoner, oh, just kidding, how about my wife,' I lost my appetite." I roll my eyes.

"Watch it, woman," he says in a low purr that makes my skin heat.

I can't let him see that he's affected me. I scoff, crossing my arms. "Why do you care? I'm only a pawn in this game. You know that. All you need is a warm body."

He turns to face me. "Maybe you don't have to fight this so hard." He rests his hand on mine. "We've received word that your family knows we're marrying me today. Let the adventure begin."

My God. So soon, they know? I flinch, unprepared for the sudden wave of anxiety that grips me. The room feels too small, the air too thick. I gasp, trying to steady my breathing, but the panic takes hold. I can almost feel my brother's hands around my neck, squeezing the air out of my lungs. He tried once before, but one of his beefy captains shoved him off and told him my father would kill him for losing his temper with me.

There are no barriers now. Though I celebrated the day we buried my father, I knew it meant I was fair game to Javier. I can still feel his hands around my neck. My eyes bulging as I clawed at his fingers and gasped for breath. The heat in my face and the bruises on my neck I had for weeks.

I'm struggling for breath. Reminding myself that won't happen again.

There are many ways to kill a man, and I've rehearsed damn near all of them. He won't hurt me again.

Lev's expression changes. Frowning, he holds my hand. "Isabella, breathe. Look at me."

I try to focus, but it's hard. The walls feel like they're closing in, and my chest is tight. "I can't… I can't breathe."

"Listen to my voice," he says, his tone steady and calming. "Inhale slowly, hold it, then exhale."

I follow his instructions, my breaths shaky but gradually slowing. His eyes never leave mine. After what feels like an eternity, the panic begins to ebb.

"What happened there?" he asks.

I let out a breath, still lightly caught in the panic attack. I shake him off and try to brush it away. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine. I mentioned your family. Is there something you need to tell me?"

There are lots of things I need to tell him and even more that I don't.

I shake my head. "It'll go away." I turn to face him. It's time to give him a bit of the truth. If the two of us are going to conquer together, he'll need to know. I swallow hard. "Suffice to say, my family is nothing like yours."

His gaze darkens, and he leans in closer. "I know this. But once you're mine, they can't touch you. They can try, but I won't allow it." He drops his voice. "None of us will."

For a moment, we stand there in silence. I'm not sure how much of what he's telling me is bullshit and how much is truth. He's still the man who's forcing me into this marriage, but right now, he's also the man who helped me through a panic attack.

"Why are you being kind to me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks away, staring out the window. "You're going to be my wife ."

In my world, that explains nothing. In his, there's no more to say.

Maybe Lev isn't just a monster. Maybe he's as trapped as I am.

His words hang in the air, and for the first time, I see a crack in his armor.

I don't need a man to protect me. I never have and never will. It matters to me to take care of myself.

"Even as your wife, I don't want your sympathy," I say, though the words lack their usual venom.

"I know." He opens his mouth as if to say something else, then shakes his head. "We're ready now. Get dressed."

With that, he turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. I'm left standing by the window, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.

I stare around the room. I feel like I've just run a marathon.

Somebody left a white dress wrapped in plastic for me. After carefully putting it on, I stand in front of the mirror, the silk of my wedding dress smooth under my fingers. It's beautiful, an intricate design of lace and satin that clings to my curves in all the right places. But to me, it's nothing more than a symbol of my captivity.

Lev has outdone himself in making sure this wedding is perfect. The room is filled with flowers we'll use for the wedding, their cloying scent heavy in the air. I glance at the door, knowing there are guards posted just outside, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of rebellion.

A knock at the door startles me. His sister Polina, steps in. I knew I'd find sympathy with her, which is probably why he didn't want me meeting her right away.

"Oooh. It's gorgeous, Isabella." Tall and willowy with white-blonde hair, she looks nothing like her brothers, but this family is unlike others. Maybe the only thing that makes the men look like each other are the scowls and muscles.

She's carrying a small bouquet of roses, her expression a mixture of sympathy and resignation.

"You look beautiful," she says softly, handing me the bouquet.

"Thanks," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "Not bad for a fake wedding." I laugh, but it sounds a bit choked.

Polina gives me a sad smile. "Oh, there's nothing fake about this."

I nod. That's not what I meant.

She clears her throat. "This might not make sense to you now, but I promise—my brothers aren't as mean as they might seem. I won't make excuses for what they do, but… well, anyway. Maybe he'll surprise you."

Her words give me a flicker of hope. She doesn't seem like a liar. It doesn't matter, anyway. We can still rule together if we call a truce.

We'll be much stronger if we forge an alliance…

"It's my own fault," I tell her. "I was the one who broke the rules." I shrug. "They could've killed me."

She winces. "I've heard a lot about you. I know you're strong . It takes incredible strength to do this. Don't forget that."

I nod, taking a deep breath. "I will."

"Alright," she says, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the length of her dress that falls to the floor in rippling silver. "What can I do to help?"

I stare at my mop of hair and face. "I can tell you how to pick any lock or find an exit in the tightest of situations. I can show you how to become invisible and stay resilient under pressure." I tug at my mass of hair. "But something tells me a messy bun isn't gonna work for this ceremony, and I don't know highlighter from foundation from concealer, so… help a girl out?"

She claps her hands together with glee. "My God, yes. Yes. This is like giving a master painter a blank canvas in front of a breathtaking sunrise. I am honored." I can't help but smile. Her enthusiasm lifts my spirit. She sighs and tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear. "You and my brother will have the most gorgeous children on the planet. "

Children. Yikes. I've barely gotten past the part where we'll have to consummate this shit, something I have to admit, I am very much looking forward to. But… children?

She does up my face with some magical potions or whatever, and when she's done, I nod appreciatively . "Impressive," I murmur. My eyes are brighter and my complexion flawless. My lips are fuller and a bit pouty. She even put this shimmery thing on my cheeks so when I turn to the side, I feel like I'm glowing.

"You are so pretty ," she says wistfully. "Now, they're waiting for us. We've kept them waiting quite a long while, so there's a nod to your Colombian heritage." She's not wrong. Colombians have what may be called a leisurely concept of time. " Hora Tipicia ," Colombian time, means that a bride might show twenty or thirty minutes late for her own wedding.

The preparations outside this door have died down, so now is as good a time as any. Plus, who knows how long this makeup will last.

Polina winks. "Let's get this over with."

It feels like she's on my side.

Maybe I have more choices than he thinks.

The ceremony will be held in a grand hall, every inch of it screaming wealth and power. Lev stands at the altar, looking every bit the formidable Bratva leader. His suit is perfectly tailored, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on me as I walk down the aisle.

My heart leaps in my chest when his gaze locks onto mine. God, why does he have to be so irresistibly handsome? That blend of ruthless bad boy, dominant male, and suave charisma makes it impossible to look away. My self-protective instincts scream at me to run, while my primal instincts bow down in submission to this alpha male who promises to take good care of what belongs to him.

I force myself to meet his gaze, to show no fear. Each step feels like a march to my doom, but I hold my head high. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Yeah, I can be a little dramatic, but it's in my blood.

A priest stands nervously in front of us as if sensing the tension in the room. We didn't do any of that dramatic walking down the aisle pomp and circumstance.

"This won't change anything," I say in a low voice, playing my part.

Lev's response is icy, his jaw tight. "It changes everything. As my wife, you'll be bound to me in every way."

Is that so, Mr. High and Mighty? Heh.

The priest drones on and on, flipping through a well-worn book with tattered pages. The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice a dull drone in the background. I barely hear the words, my mind focused on my plans. I need to gather information, find allies, and wait for the right moment to make my move. This marriage is just a means to an end.

When it's time to exchange vows, Lev takes my hand. His grip is firm. Possessive. "I, Lev, take you, Isabella, to be my lawfully wedded wife," he says, his voice steady and unwavering. "To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

I'll remember that, Mr. Romanov.

I swallow hard, fighting back the scream rising in my throat. I never thought I'd be here. Here goes nothing.

"I, Isabella, take you, Lev, to be my lawfully wedded husband," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The rings are exchanged, cold metal slipping onto my finger. I stare at the physical reminder I'm shackled to him.

D'aw. How sweet. A mini handcuff .

When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, Lev leans in, his lips brushing mine in a chaste kiss. I brace myself. I remind myself to stay aloof, not to allow him to have any power over me at all, but the touch sends a shiver down my spine. He's hot, and I'm not dead. And now that we're married… there's no telling what he'll do to me next.

When the ceremony ends and we turn to face the crowd, the applause is deafening. When I glance at Lev, his expression is inscrutable.

This is just the beginnin g, I remind myself. The game has only just begun.

His hand grazes my elbow. I stifle a shiver at his touch, even as my body tingles and my heart beats faster. I swallow, quickly scanning the room to anchor myself. I catch Polina's gaze, and she winks at me. I wink back, take in a deep breath, and march forward beside my husband.

Means to an end. Means to an end , I chant in my head. I can do this.

As we walk down the aisle together, side by side, I vow silently to myself that I will find a way out. Lev may think he's won, but he doesn't know what I'm capable of. I will bide my time, gather intel and strength… and when the moment is right, I will make my move.

"Phew," I mutter under my breath. "Something about being held captive and being forced to marry a Russian gives a girl an appetite, I guess."

Lev's large, rough, warm hand squeezes mine just a bit. His eyes spark at me. "I get it. There's something about keeping a Colombian firecracker princess hostage that's made me a bit peckish, too."

I can't help it. A corner of my lip twitches. He's told me we're in this together, but I am not so sure about that. I need cold, hard evidence before I will believe it.

I'm more than a little pleased, though. It's nice to know I haven't been the easiest to keep prisoner. I haven't lost my touch. Maybe he isn't quite as hard to read as he thinks he is.

"You shine up nice," I say appreciatively when he shrugs out of his suit coat and leads me into the dining room. I can throw him a bone.

The room is set up with large vases of flowers in deep reds and oranges. The air is filled with the warm scents of cinnamon and clove, making my heart ache just a little. I don't miss my family, but I do love my homeland. The colors and scents remind me of the markets in Colombia.

I'll get back there.

There's a small table set for two a bit apart from the rest, and he leads me over to it.

"I shine up nice?" he says with a smirk. "I'd say the same for you, but you never lost your luster. Even when you're angry, you're beautiful." He sighs. " Especially when you're angry. You're glowing, but it doesn't take much to spark your eyes, does it?"

I stare at him before responding. There's no hint of foul play or sarcasm in his tone.

He pulls out a chair for me while I stand frozen. "Did you just pay me a compliment? "

"Definitely not," he says, shaking his head. I unfreeze and fold myself into the chair, giving him a curious look. "Just an observation," he finishes.

"Right," I say, remembering how my father would rant about my looks and scream about keeping me away from predators and men who would use me. I wasn't allowed to wear anything tight or remotely appealing. I couldn't wear makeup or two-piece bathing suits, and the day he caught me trying on lip gloss, he gave me a fat lip. His "protection" had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his own pride.

On the surface, it might seem Lev's appreciation of me is something I would want. But I know better.

"Any word from my brother yet?" I ask, hoping he doesn't notice the way my hand trembles when I reach for the wine glass. Before answering my question, he asks one of his own.

"Wine?" I blink at the label, taken aback. Marqués de Villa de Leyva. A nod to my homeland.

"Mmm. Please," I say. He pours me a generous glass, and I close my eyes and inhale. My father died when I was eighteen. While others drank this exact wine to honor his death, I drank for another reason altogether—in celebration of the end of tyranny. The first layer of it, anyway. "So? Anything?"

"Yes. Javier has a few associates lurking nearby, but none of them have made a move yet."

I smile at snapping cameras. We hold our wine glasses up next to each other as if they're kissing and clink the rims. "He will," I say, smiling at the camera. "Get me the names of who's here and I can tell you exactly how. We're not impermeable. He will either think you've captured me against my will and our marriage was a power move or that I've betrayed him and given myself over to the enemy, plotting an attack against him." I shrug. "In both cases, he'd be right. Still. We have to be careful."

He nods but doesn't otherwise respond as his family enters the large room. I notice Viktor first, because he's so huge it's hard to miss him. I wonder idly if he books two plane tickets when he flies. His wife Lydia stands next to him, a full-figured, stunning woman with thick, wavy brown hair, wearing a red dress that shows off every curve and dips dangerously low, all the way to her navel. She catches my eye and blushes, wiggling her fingers at me. I smile and hold my glass to her.

Cheers to the women who married into this family because they had no other choice.

Aleksandr, the tall one with dark black hair, is sitting, talking to his mother, his wife Harper on his other side. I know them mostly from research. Harper was a Bianchi before she married into this family, and I know for a fact she can outshoot every damn person here.

I find all the brothers from the warehouse, but someone's missing… hmm. Who's missing? Oh, right, Nikko, the assassin. His wife Vera is often off somewhere doing fieldwork, and even though he was here earlier, he's likely off on the trip with her.

And Mikhail. Where's Mikhail? The eldest brother and leader of all, I need to keep my eye on him.

Wait… there he is. Walking in here now.

Others are present—people I don't know and people who don't matter for my purposes. Cousins and aunts and uncles, or associates and paid help, smaller, less powerful men from the Romanov Bratva, businessmen and women. Who knows, and who cares?

The one who matters the most is sitting right next to me.

Mikhail nods and gives Lev and me a little, informal bow before he reaches for his wine glass and clears his throat. His wife Aria, with a slim pair of glasses perched on her nose and her wild mane of curly hair momentarily tamed in a bun, eyes me with curiosity.

"Tell me again about Aria," I whisper to Lev. "I couldn't find much about her online except that she's good with computers and married to Mikhail."

Lev leans in. It feels somehow intimate whispering like this as if we're friends. Allies. And even though we're married, we're neither friends nor allies… yet.

But we could be.

"Aria's the world's best hacker," he says with no hint of exaggeration. He simply states this as fact, which gives veracity to his statement, in my opinion. "There's no one she can't find, nothing she can't do. She sees the world's most impermeable firewalls and encryption as a personal insult and challenge."

"Oh, wow." Oooh. Now, that is awesome. The more I think about it, the more it would make sense for me to lean into the Romanov family and all they bring to the table. Here, each one of their skills builds a solidified front, whereas in my family, one only sees another's strengths as a personal threat to their safety.

World's best hacker… world's best hacker. Hmm. I could do something with that.

I take a sip of the wine and look at Mikhail.

"A toast," he says, clearing his throat as he waits for the ensemble of guests to quiet. "Ever since Lev joined our family, he's had to make a show of himself. Prove his worth as younger and smaller than the rest." Mikhail's lips twitch. "It was nothing we demanded of him but something he did on his own because Lev is fierce and proving himself mattered to him."

The room quiets down. Viktor looks at Lev with pride, and Aleks sits up straighter in his seat. "And some of us thought we were better by sheer age and brute force until Lev taught us otherwise."

Lev smiles, but there's a sadness in his eyes. I, too, have borne the pain of not being enough for my family based on where I came in the lineup and having nothing at all to do with my actual talents, gifts, what I could do, or who I am.

"I know what that's like," I mutter to him in a low voice.

"Having to get stronger than five brothers?" Lev asks, his brow lifted teasingly. "Glomming endless YouTube videos on how to best someone bigger and stronger than you in a match like David defeating Goliath? How many of your older brothers did you have to beat up?"

I shrug and stretch, mimicking buffing my nails.

"All of them," I say with a yawn.

He snorts. "I thought you only had one brother."

"Well, yes, but that's all of them."

Mikhail continues and Lev's eyes twinkle a bit. He whispers in my ear, "I'd like to hear that story sometime."

I whisper back, "It seems we both have some stories to share."

"And now," Mikhail says, holding his glass up. "We've seen the youngest among us rise to the top. He's fought every adversary that's come his way and proven himself tirelessly the most loyal, the most dedicated, the most dependable brother we could ask for."

"Hey," Aleks says with mock effrontery.

Mikhail ignores him, and his mother, a regal woman with gorgeous silver hair and twinkling blue eyes, laughs. "It's not a competition, son."

"Oh, but it is," Lev whispers to me. "I might have to knock you up with triplets. You game?"

I bury my face in the wine glass and pretend I didn't hear him. I absolutely love sex. Love. It. I swear to God, people who don't aren't doing it right. But the thought of other little humans occupying my body—well, I'm not quite there yet, especially if said humans contain Romanov blood.

What have I gotten myself into?

"Do you have like… breeding competitions?"

Lev seems to be mulling this over. "Well, that's a crass way to put it."

I feel my brows shoot into my hairline. "Is there another way to put it?"

"Mmm," he says but nods toward Mikhail, who's finishing up. We're putting a pin in this conversation, pronto.

"On behalf of the entire Romanov family, we want to thank you, Lev, and welcome you, Isabella. Though our future is uncertain, know this: By marrying into the Romanov family, you are now one of us, and we welcome you."

My nose feels all tingly, and my throat surprisingly tight.

I guess he maybe, probably, has to say something like that, but it doesn't mean I'm not eating it up.

They all cheer, and we clink glasses. I lift my glass for Lev to refill.

But Mikhail is still standing up. "On a practical note," he begins. "Our enemies will be on the prowl."

We all know without him saying that said enemies are my family.

"They will be looking for you after word gets out that you've been married. I've decided it's in everyone's best interest for you two to take a honeymoon in an undisclosed location. When we're done here, Aria will give you all the details. Even I don't know where you're going."

"Heavily encrypted!" Aria says with a grin. "But I promise, I found a perfect spot. You're gonna love it."

Lev can't disguise the look of surprise on his face. "A honeymoon?"

I shift in my seat, not making eye contact with him. I know what happens on a honeymoon. He knows what happens on a honeymoon. Whatever happened when he interrogated me in the basement only stoked my appetite. We're going away?

"Yes, a honeymoon. You two will go away for a week, and in that time, we'll keep a close eye on any developments."

I don't need him to tell me exactly what those developments could be. I know as well as he does.

"For now, a toast to the newlyweds." He lifts his glass and pronounces something in Russian.

"What does that mean?" I ask Lev.

"It means may the happy couple have lots of babies and lots of practice trying."

I stare, my mouth agape when I notice him smirking.

"You lied!"

He shrugs. We toast and drink, and the doors open, and staff pour in.

"In my family, weddings are practically acts of war."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"Mmm. During my cousin Eduardo's wedding, someone secretly poisoned the champagne used for the toast. Several guests were in agony after toasting. Another time, when I was a small girl, a bride's brother was kidnapped and beaten before the ceremony was about to begin. We had to reschedule the wedding and negotiate his release. Another time, during a celebration, an older uncle who was kind of an asshole disguised himself as wait staff and launched a surprise attack." I sip my wine. "My family's fucked up. "

"Got it," he mutters into his wine glass. "Don't expect a wedding gift."

I stare at the platters of food.

"You look shocked," Lev says as I watch the staff mill about, serving salads and appetizers. They lay silver trays of decadent food in front of us. I blink in surprise.

"Lev, is that… bandeja paisa ?" My throat is a little tight. Someone actually arranged for the traditional wedding feast of my homeland. The platter includes grilled steak, chorizo, fried pork belly, and a variety of other foods that make my mouth water—rice and beans, avocado, and fried plantains. Another platter of arepas , delicious little fried cornmeal cakes, accompanies the rest. They even have tamales and empanadas. "Wow."

"I thought you could celebrate a day like today with some food you were familiar with." He shrugs.

I stare at him. There are more layers to him than I expected.

"Thank you." I don't need to be asked twice and make a large plate of food then tuck in. Mikhail said we leave in an hour, so we probably have forty minutes left or so. He eats as well, and even though they've brought some more traditional Russian foods, he tries everything from Colombia.

"What do you think?" I ask.

Do I care what he thinks?

"It's not Russian," he says, his eyes twinkling. "But I could see how food like that puts hair on your chest."

"Excuse me ," I mutter under my breath. "You've seen my chest, and it's absolutely hairless."

He leans over and plucks a remnant of my fried plantain and pops it in his mouth. "I've seen all of you, and I can indeed confirm you're hairless everywhere ." My belly spasms, and heat builds between my legs. "But I look forward to doing a more thorough inspection later tonight."

If I were more innocent, I'd likely blush. I only pour myself another glass of wine.

Polina makes us take picture after picture and keeps commenting on our future babies. Lev snorts, but I can tell he's pleased. His brothers each congratulate him, one at a time. I have a growing suspicion that he's been oppressed by his family, just like I have. They may be closer and less hostile, but he's had to prove himself to them.

Maybe we have more in common than we thought.

Time flies by until the chop of helicopter blades catches the attention of everyone.

"Time to go," Mikhail says.He leans and whispers something to Lev, who nods soberly.

"Yeah. I do." What the hell is that about? Probably something about keeping me in line or whatever. Good luck with that.

"Here," his mother says, bringing a covered plate over to us. "You can't leave without your dessert."

"Thank you," I say graciously, taking it. Something in me stirs at the sound of helicopter blades.

I'm escaping. Leaving. And even though logically I know it isn't true—I just took vows to a man who's a sworn enemy—my brother won't be able to find me. Even Lev's brothers won't know where we are.

They all stand and cheer as we make our way toward the exit. I'm barefoot, having kicked off my painfully tight wedges, and when I lift the edge of my gown, Polina squeals.

"Here!" she says, handing me a pair of black flats. "Take these. Mom buys more shoes than she knows what to do with. I grabbed these from her closet. The tags are still on them."

I take them, touched by the gesture. "Thank you!"

She leans in. "And I packed everything else you asked me about, too."

Thank God for sisters. My throat gets a little tight. "Seriously, thank you. I owe you."

I slide them onto my feet. They're warm and soft and fit like a glove. My throat tightens. Lev holds the door open in front of him.

"I could carry you if your feet hurt," he says softly, his brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, taking his hand and joining him as we head outside to the helicopter. I'm not, though. I'm not at all. I'm disarmed and wary, a decidedly unnerving combination.

"C'mere," he says, shaking his head, and before I know what's happening, he's swinging me up in his arms. "I can't carry you over a threshold so this will have to do."

Everyone cheers behind us, and I actually feel my cheeks blush.

Am I seeing the man behind the mask? The man behind the monster?