Page 102 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. “How long have you been considering it?”
“Weeks. Since the night you caught me in here the first time. I was going to do it then. I had the drawer open when you appeared.” Tears burn my eyes. “I’ve been lying to you. Planning behind your back. Being exactly the threat you should have eliminated.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t. Every time I got close, every time I convinced myself it was the right thing—” My voice breaks. “I’d see you with Misha. Or you’d tell me something real about your past. Or you’d hold me like I matter more than anything else. I couldn’t do it.”
“Who approached you?”
“I don’t know. The messages were anonymous. They claimed to have information that could take down your entire operation. They wanted the drive as proof.”
Dimitri’s hands tighten on my waist. “Tomorrow, when I’m at the Volkov meeting? Were you planning to take it then?”
“No.” The word comes out firm, certain. “I deleted their last message tonight. I’m done. I’m choosing—” I stop, throat tight.
“Choosing what?”
“You. This. Whatever we’re building that probably shouldn’t work but somehow does.” I meet his eyes. “I’m choosing you, Dimitri. Even though it terrifies me. Even though I don’t know if it’s Stockholm syndrome or actual feelings or some combination that makes me the biggest fool alive.”
The silence stretches. I watch emotions flicker across his face—anger, relief, something that might be love if I didn’t know better.
Then he’s kissing me, and it’s desperate and claiming and nothing like his usual control. His hands fist in my hair, tilting my head back, and I open for him immediately.
“You’re sure?” he breathes against my mouth. “Once you choose this, there’s no taking it back. You’re mine completely.”
“I’m sure.”
“Say it out loud. Say you’re choosing me over whatever freedom they offered.”
“I choose you.” The words feel like vows, binding and permanent. “I choose this marriage, this life, this cage that somehow became home.”
He lifts me onto the desk, papers scattering. His mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing the pulse that hammers there.
“I knew,” he murmurs against my skin. “About the phone, about the messages. I’ve known for days.”
Shock freezes me. “You knew?”
“Felix uncovered the contact at Damien’s event. We’ve been monitoring the messages, tracking the source.” He pulls back to look at me. “I knew exactly what opportunity you’d have tomorrow. I was letting you choose.”
“You were testing me.”
“Yes.” No apology, no justification. Just honesty. “I needed to know if you’d take it. If weeks of understanding and proximity and whatever this is between us would be enough.”
Fury spikes through desire. “You manipulative ass!”
“I know.” He kisses me again, silencing the accusation. “I’m exactly what you’ve always known I am. Controlling. Manipulative. Willing to test even you to ensure loyalty.”
He’s right. God help me, he’s right.
I understand the paranoia that makes him test even those closest to him. Understand the need for certainty in a world where betrayal is currency. Understand that love—if that’s what this is—doesn’t exist without trust, and trust in his world must be earned and proven and tested until it holds.
“I passed your test,” I say. “What now?”
“Now I show you exactly what choosing me means.”
He strips the robe from my shoulders, baring me in the moonlight streaming through windows. His gaze rakes over me with an intensity that makes me shiver.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “And mine. Completely mine now.”
