Page 117 of Bride of Vengeance
"I'm learning."
And as we drift off to sleep, his steady breathing matching mine, I think about how far we've come—to this moment of perfect peace.
Chapter twenty-five
Two Become Four
Mariana
The church smells like roses and incense, a combination that should be overwhelming but instead feels perfect. Through the small window of the bridal suite, I can see guests arriving—a careful mix of reformed Bratva, FBI colleagues, and my extended family from Texas who still don't quite know what to make of my Russian husband.
"Stop fidgeting," my mother commands, adjusting my veil for the hundredth time. "You'll wrinkle the dress."
The dress—an elegant A-line that somehow makes my five-month pregnant belly look intentional rather than inconvenient. Mila found it after what she called "only" twelve stores.
"I'm nervous," I admit.
"You're already married. What's to be nervous about?"
"This is different. This is..." I struggle for words. "This is the wedding I dreamed about as a girl. The one where everyone watches and judges and—"
"And celebrates," Mama interrupts. "They're here to celebrate, mija. Your FBI friends who respect you enough to attend your wedding to a former criminal. His family, who accept you despite everything. This is love winning."
A knock interrupts us. Mila enters, radiant in her burgundy matron of honor dress, carrying my bouquet.
"The groom is having a moment," she announces.
"What kind of moment?"
"The kind where Boris had to physically stop him from running."
"He's running away?" My heart drops.
"No! Running to you. He wants to see you before the ceremony. Something about not being able to wait." She grins. "It's actually romantic, but Boris is enforcing the whole 'bad luck to see the bride' thing."
Despite my nerves, I smile. Of course Mikhail is impatient. Patience has never been his strong suit, especially where I'm concerned.
"Five minutes," my mother announces. "Then we walk."
Those five minutes feel like hours. I hear the music change, the processional beginning. My mother squeezes my hand.
"Your father would be proud," she whispers. "You found a man who would die for you."
"I'd rather have one who lives for me."
"You have both."
The doors open, and I see the church properly for the first time. It's packed. Rodriguez is there, having finally accepted our relationship. Williams from the FBI. Alexei's legitimate business associates. Even Dr. Jensen, the doctor from Harrison's facility who tried to hint that Mikhail was alive.
But I only have eyes for the man at the altar.
Mikhail stands there in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking like every dangerous fantasy I've ever had. But it's his expression that stops my heart—wonder, love, and something that looks like disbelief, as if he can't quite accept this is real.
The walk down the aisle takes forever and no time at all. My mother places my hand in Mikhail's with a whispered threat in Spanish that makes him grin despite his obvious emotion.
"You look..." he starts, then stops, apparently speechless.
"Giant?"
