Page 95 of Chain Me

I stare at him, at the ring, at the way his knuckles have gone white where he grips the box.

“I know I'm not romantic.” His voice is rough and uncertain in a way I've never heard from him before. “I'm not good at pretty words or grand gestures. I had to google how to propose, for Christ's sake.”

A laugh chokes out of me—half shock, half hysteria.

“But I'll look after you.” The words pour out faster now like he's afraid I'll stop him. “I'll protect you, cherish you for the rest of my life. I know people might say this is about the war, about finding a way out of the mess with your father, but that's not—” He stops, jaw working. “I want you, Katarina. Not because you're convenient or strategic or any of that shit. I want you forever.”

The emerald catches the light. This man who never shows weakness, who controls every emotion with military precision, is shaking as he waits for my answer.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and the simple words carry more weight than any elaborate speech could. “Will you marry me?”

The emerald blurs as tears spring to my eyes. Erik's face goes pale, misreading my reaction completely.

“Katarina—”

“Yes.”

The word falls between us like a stone dropped in still water. Erik blinks, his grip on the ring box tightening.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I'll marry you.” The words taste like freedom on my tongue, which should be impossible given everything they represent.

I'm saying yes to marrying a criminal. A man whose hands are stained with the same kind of violence I spent years trying to escape. A man whose business dealings aren't so different from my father's—except in all the ways that matter.

Erik would never sell me. Would never treat me like property to be bartered for alliances or power. When he looks at me, he sees Katarina—not an asset, not a pawn, not a pretty decoration for someone else's empire.

My father kidnapped my freedom before I even knew I had it, wrapping my cage in silk and calling it protection. Erik kidnapped my body but somehow freed my soul.

“You're sure?” His voice cracks on the question. “Because if this is about stopping the war?—”

“Fuck the war.” The vehemence in my voice surprises us both. “I mean, yes, if our marriage ends the bloodshed, that's wonderful. But Erik...” I slide from my chair to kneel beside him on the hardwood floor. “I'd marry you if it started ten more wars.”

He searches my face like he's looking for cracks in my resolve. “Your father will never accept this. The Petrovs?—”

“Let them come.” The words ring with conviction. When did I become this person? This woman who'd choose love over safety, passion over peace? “I'm tired of other people deciding my fate. I choose you.”

Erik's hands shake as he slides the ring onto my finger. The emerald catches the candlelight, throwing green fire across the walls.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He kisses me then, soft and reverent like he's sealing a sacred vow. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Mrs. Ivanov,” he murmurs, testing the words.

“Not yet.” I smile through my tears. “But soon.”

The candles flicker around us, and for the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I belong.

37

ERIK

The café is situated in the heart of downtown, with glass windows offering full visibility to the street. Perfect. No hidden corners, no shadows where violence can breed. Just fluorescent lights and the mundane hum of civilians going about their lives.

I arrive first, positioning myself at a table with a clear sight of all exits. Viktor stands near the entrance, his bulk reassuring in tailored black. The Ducati and McLaren sit gleaming in the parking lot—both returned to pristine condition. The car’s paint job cost me fifteen grand, but some gestures require perfection.

Igor Lebedev enters five minutes late, flanked by a single guard who looks like he bench-presses small cars for fun. The old man’s eyes sweep the café before settling on me. His face reveals nothing, but I catch a slight pause when he spots his vehicle through the window.

---