Chapter 13
Three weeks later, Alexei Volkov was dead.
Not by Viktor's hand — at least, not directly. Cornered by his own people after the evidence went public, betrayed by lieutenants scrambling to save themselves, Volkov was found in a warehouse outside St. Petersburg with a bullet in his skull. Self-inflicted, the reports said.
Viktor didn't believe it. Neither did I. But it didn't matter. The threat was gone.
The world shifted after that.
The Karev fortune transferred into my name — all of it. Accounts in Switzerland, properties across Europe, investments I couldn't begin to comprehend. Overnight, I went from a waitress who couldn't afford rent to one of the wealthiest women on the continent.
It didn't feel real. None of it did.
I sat in Viktor's study — our study, now — watching the rain streak the windows. The safe house was behind us. We'd moved back to the estate, the one I'd first been brought to. But it felt different now. Not a cage.
Home.
Viktor walked in, phone in hand, as always. But when he saw me, he paused. Set the phone down. Walked over and sat beside me.
"You're thinking," he said.
"Always."
"Dangerous habit."
I smiled. Leaned into him. His arm came around me automatically, pulling me close.
"I called the diner," I said.
He stiffened slightly. "Oh?"
"Rosa. She thought I'd been murdered." I laughed — soft, sad. "Told her I was okay. That I'd found something better."
"Better?"
"Her word, not mine." I tilted my head up. "Mine would be more like 'terrifying, complicated, and completely insane.'"
His lips twitched. "Flattering."
"Also," I said, growing serious, "I need to find my father."
Viktor's arm tightened, almost imperceptibly. "Sera—"
"I know what he did. I know he sold me. But he also spent twenty years running to protect me, in his own broken way. I need to at least... talk to him."
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.
"I'll find him for you."
"Thank you."
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Anything."
We sat in comfortable silence. Outside, the rain softened. Inside, the fire crackled.
"Viktor?"
"Mm."
"What are we?"
He pulled back to look at me. "What do you want us to be?"
I thought about it. A month ago, I would have said nothing. Would have wanted nothing except escape. But now, sitting in the warmth of this man — this dangerous, devoted, complicated man — the answer was simple.
"Yours," I said. "I want to be yours. By choice. Properly."
Something flared in his eyes — fierce, overwhelming.
He stood, pulling me up with him. His hands framed my face, and he kissed me — long, deep, and slow. When he pulled back, his voice was rough.
"Then be mine."
"I already am."
"No." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black box. "Properly."
My heart stopped.
He opened it. Inside, a ring — platinum band, single emerald flanked by black diamonds. Not flashy. Not ostentatious. Perfect.
"Sera." He held my gaze with an intensity that stole my breath. "You were promised to me by fate, taken from me by fear, and returned by accident. But this time — I'm asking."
Tears burned my eyes.
"Marry me," he said. "Not because of blood or debt or legacy. Because I can't imagine a single day without you."
I looked at the ring. At his hands — steady, but barely. At his face — open, terrified, hopeful.
"Yes," I whispered.
Then louder: "Yes."
He slid the ring onto my finger — it fit perfectly. Of course it did.
Then he pulled me against him, lips finding mine, and I felt it — the click of something sliding into place. A lock that had been waiting my whole life to close.
"I love you," I said against his mouth.
He froze. Pulled back just enough to see my face.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
His eyes — silver, burning, wet — closed briefly. When they opened, they held everything he'd never said. Every year of searching, wanting, waiting.
"I love you," he said. "More than I knew was possible."
We stood there, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in.
The monster and the girl he'd claimed.
The don and his chosen queen.
And for the first time — not a single shadow between us.
Not by Viktor's hand — at least, not directly. Cornered by his own people after the evidence went public, betrayed by lieutenants scrambling to save themselves, Volkov was found in a warehouse outside St. Petersburg with a bullet in his skull. Self-inflicted, the reports said.
Viktor didn't believe it. Neither did I. But it didn't matter. The threat was gone.
The world shifted after that.
The Karev fortune transferred into my name — all of it. Accounts in Switzerland, properties across Europe, investments I couldn't begin to comprehend. Overnight, I went from a waitress who couldn't afford rent to one of the wealthiest women on the continent.
It didn't feel real. None of it did.
I sat in Viktor's study — our study, now — watching the rain streak the windows. The safe house was behind us. We'd moved back to the estate, the one I'd first been brought to. But it felt different now. Not a cage.
Home.
Viktor walked in, phone in hand, as always. But when he saw me, he paused. Set the phone down. Walked over and sat beside me.
"You're thinking," he said.
"Always."
"Dangerous habit."
I smiled. Leaned into him. His arm came around me automatically, pulling me close.
"I called the diner," I said.
He stiffened slightly. "Oh?"
"Rosa. She thought I'd been murdered." I laughed — soft, sad. "Told her I was okay. That I'd found something better."
"Better?"
"Her word, not mine." I tilted my head up. "Mine would be more like 'terrifying, complicated, and completely insane.'"
His lips twitched. "Flattering."
"Also," I said, growing serious, "I need to find my father."
Viktor's arm tightened, almost imperceptibly. "Sera—"
"I know what he did. I know he sold me. But he also spent twenty years running to protect me, in his own broken way. I need to at least... talk to him."
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.
"I'll find him for you."
"Thank you."
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Anything."
We sat in comfortable silence. Outside, the rain softened. Inside, the fire crackled.
"Viktor?"
"Mm."
"What are we?"
He pulled back to look at me. "What do you want us to be?"
I thought about it. A month ago, I would have said nothing. Would have wanted nothing except escape. But now, sitting in the warmth of this man — this dangerous, devoted, complicated man — the answer was simple.
"Yours," I said. "I want to be yours. By choice. Properly."
Something flared in his eyes — fierce, overwhelming.
He stood, pulling me up with him. His hands framed my face, and he kissed me — long, deep, and slow. When he pulled back, his voice was rough.
"Then be mine."
"I already am."
"No." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black box. "Properly."
My heart stopped.
He opened it. Inside, a ring — platinum band, single emerald flanked by black diamonds. Not flashy. Not ostentatious. Perfect.
"Sera." He held my gaze with an intensity that stole my breath. "You were promised to me by fate, taken from me by fear, and returned by accident. But this time — I'm asking."
Tears burned my eyes.
"Marry me," he said. "Not because of blood or debt or legacy. Because I can't imagine a single day without you."
I looked at the ring. At his hands — steady, but barely. At his face — open, terrified, hopeful.
"Yes," I whispered.
Then louder: "Yes."
He slid the ring onto my finger — it fit perfectly. Of course it did.
Then he pulled me against him, lips finding mine, and I felt it — the click of something sliding into place. A lock that had been waiting my whole life to close.
"I love you," I said against his mouth.
He froze. Pulled back just enough to see my face.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
His eyes — silver, burning, wet — closed briefly. When they opened, they held everything he'd never said. Every year of searching, wanting, waiting.
"I love you," he said. "More than I knew was possible."
We stood there, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in.
The monster and the girl he'd claimed.
The don and his chosen queen.
And for the first time — not a single shadow between us.