Page 13 of Beautiful Monster

Ice floods my veins. "You didn't tell me they were already making moves."

"I'm telling you now." His gray eyes meet mine steadily. "She's safer with your name, but only if you can keep her close. Kira has always been... independent. She won't make it easy."

Across the room, my new wife laughs at something her friend has said, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she keeps glancing toward the exits. She's still planning to run, still believing she can somehow escape the web we've all been caught in.

"She'll learn," I murmur, and Anton nods grimly.

The reception winds down with excruciating slowness. I play my part—the satisfied groom, the dutiful son, the shrewd businessman expanding his territory through matrimony. But beneath the surface, something darker prowls. Every time another man looks at Kira for too long, every time she smiles at someone who isn't me, I feel the familiar burn of possessiveness that I thought died with Alina.

When it's finally time to leave, I place my hand on Kira's lower back to guide her toward the exit. She stiffens but doesn't pull away, not with dozens of eyes watching our every move. The photographers capture our departure—the powerful Bratva heir and his beautiful oligarch bride, a union that will reshape the balance of power in the city.

The limousine ride to my home in Brooklyn is filled with unspoken tension. Kira sits as far from me as the leather seats allow, staring out at the passing streetlights. The champagne-colored dress has ridden up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her calves, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.

"Regretting your escape attempt already?" I ask, my voice cutting through the silence.

She turns to face me, and in the dim light of the car, her eyes look almost luminous. "Should I be?"

"That depends on whether you plan to try again."

"And if I do?"

I lean forward, closing some of the distance between us. "Then I'll have to get creative about keeping you close,kiss. And trust me—you won't enjoy my methods nearly as much as I will."

Her breath catches, but she doesn't look away. "Is that a threat, husband?"

"It's a promise."

Chapter 7

Mikhail

The door to our penthouse closes behind us with the finality of a coffin lid. My new wife—this woman I barely know—seems to shrink in the dim light of the foyer.

"Welcome home." The words feel strange on my tongue, hollow as I watch Kira take in her surroundings. Her blue eyes dart from the high ceilings to the fortified windows, scanning each corner where I know she spots my men positioned like shadows against the walls.

Nikolai nods from his post by the stairs, his hand never far from the pistol at his hip. Yuri stands sentry by the back elevator, expressionless as always. Their presence is a reminder of what we both know—this marriage isn't just about paperwork and promises. It's about protection. Survival.

"Your father's men delivered your belongings earlier," I tell her, watching as she wraps her arms around herself. The delicate perfume she wears—something floral and expensive—fills the space between us. "Everything's upstairs."

Kira doesn't respond, just nods once, a quick jerk of her chin. The defiance in that small gesture stirs something in me—admiration, perhaps. Or irritation. It's hard to distinguish between them these days.

"I'll show you the bedroom," I say, moving toward the stairs.

She follows, her footsteps nearly silent against the hardwood. I feel her presence behind me like a physical weight pressing against my spine. When we reach the master suite, she brushes past me, her shoulder barely grazing mine. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through my system.

"There's a bathroom through there," I point to the door on the far wall. "And your clothes are?—"

Before I can finish, she's darting for the bathroom, slipping inside with the quickness of a startled animal. The lock clicks into place.

I stand there, staring at the closed door. Count to ten in Russian, then in English. The old anger management technique my father mocked, but Sasha, my security chief, insisted I learn after I put three men in the hospital last year.

"Kira." My voice is controlled and measured. "Come out."

Silence.

"This is childish." I step closer to the door. "We need to talk about how this arrangement will work."

I hear movement inside, water running. Kira's ignoring me.

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