Page 62 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

He nods, and the soft strains of a violin fill the air, signaling the start of the ceremony. I step onto the aisle and walk carefully. Masha walks beside me with quiet dignity, as though aware of the importance of her role.

Mikhail stands at the other end, looking dashingly handsome in a crisp black suit. Our gazes meet, and the rest of the world fades away. I walk toward him, my heart fluttering erratically with each step.

When I reach him, he takes my hands in his. His touch is warm and reassuring. “You’re breathtaking,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

Masha stands between us, clearly inserting herself into the ceremony, and we trade a tender smile before both stroking her ears at the same time as the officiant begins the ceremony.

I barely hear the words. I’m lost in his eyes, seeing a depth of emotion that takes my breath away. He once seemed so dangerous and mysterious but now stands before me as my partner, my protector, and the father of our child.

“Phoebe?” His voice pulls me back to the present. It’s time for our vows. He clears his throat, never looking away from me. “From the moment I saw you with Masha, I knew you were special. You brought light into my dark world and showed me what it means to truly live. I promise to love and protect you and our child and to be the man you deserve for all of our days.”

I blink back tears when I begin my own vows. “Mikhail, our journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s led us here, to this perfect moment. You’ve shown me a world I never knew existed and taught me the true meaning of strength and love. I promise to stand by your side through whatever life throws our way, to be your partner in all things, and to love you fiercely always.”

We exchange rings. Mikhail’s hand trembles slightly as he places the cool metal ring on mine, and I give his fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” says the officiant a few minutes later. “You may kiss the bride.”

Mikhail pulls me close, one hand cradling my face as our lips meet in a kiss that’s tender yet passionate, sealing our vows and our future together. When we break apart, cheers erupt from our guests. Masha barks excitedly, furiously wagging her tail.Mikhail and I turn to face our friends and family, hands clasped tightly together.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announces the officiant, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Sokolov.”

We make our way down the aisle, showered with flower petals. The deck has been quickly transformed for the reception, with tables set up for a celebratory feast. Mikhail leads me to a quiet corner, away from the bustling activity. He wraps his arms around me, resting his hand protectively over my barely-there bump. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Sokolov?” he asks with a smile.

I savor his embrace. “Happy. Overwhelmed. A little bit hungry,” I say with a laugh.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll get you fed soon, I promise, but first...” He pulls back slightly, his expression growing serious. “I meant every word of my vows. You and our child are everything to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy.”

I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. “I know, and I meant every word of mine. I’ll be by your side come whatever.”

Our moment is interrupted by Nastya approaching with two glasses—one of champagne, and the other sparkling cider for me and the baby. “Sorry to intrude,” she says, handing us each our designated glass. “It’s time for the toasts.”

We rejoin our guests, accepting congratulations and well-wishes. Sergei stands, raising his glass. “To Mikhail and Phoebe,” he says, his voice carrying across the deck. “May your love be as vast as the ocean that surrounds us, and may your future be filled with joy and prosperity.”

As we sip our drinks, I catch sight of Masha weaving between the guests’ legs. She trots up to us, her tartan bow slightly askew.

Mikhail bends down to scratch behind her ear. “You did a wonderful job as Best Dog, Masha,” he says affectionately.

“And aisle escort,” I say, smiling at the interaction. It still amazes me how this man, who can be so ruthless in business, shows such tenderness toward our dog. And me. I blink back a haze of moisture as I imagine him with our baby. I’m convinced he’ll be a good, caring father, unlike what he had.

The day continues with food, dancing, and laughter. Late in the afternoon, Mikhail pulls me close for another dance. “Are you happy,lyubov moya?” he asks softly, using the Russian term of endearment he knows I love.

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “So, so happy, love,” I say honestly.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air as Mikhail and I sway gently to the music. His strong arms encircle me, and I lean my head against his chest, appreciating this perfect moment.

Suddenly, he tenses. He tightens his arms around me, and I lift my head to look at him. His jaw is clamped as he stares at the horizon.

“What’s wrong?” I ask with concern.

He doesn’t immediately answer. He takes my hand, leading me away from the dance floor. “Stay close to me,” he says, sounding urgent.

I follow his gaze, squinting against the setting sun. My heart dips into my stomach when I spot several jet skis approaching at high speed, their engines roaring louder as they draw near.

Before I can fully process what’s happening, the first gunshot rings out. The sound pierces through the music, silencing the laughter and chatter. For a split second, everything freezes.

Then chaos erupts.

Guests scream and duck for cover as more shots are fired. The peaceful celebration transforms into a battlefield in the blink of an eye. I catch a glimpse of José Valdés on one of the jet skis, his face twisted with rage.

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