SAY YOU ARE MINE

The Devil's Secret

Kieran was unconscious for three days.

Three days I didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Didn’t leave his hospital room. I showered in his private bathroom wearing his t-shirt, because his blood was still on my dress and I couldn’t wash it off. Couldn’t lose the last piece of him.

Three days of Viktor and six guards outside the door. Of nurses whispering _"She’s the one he took the bullet for."_ Of Moscow’s elite sending flowers I threw in the trash.

Three days of holding his hand and begging. _"Come back to me, you bastard. You don’t get to die after making me yours."_

On day four, he opened his eyes.

Blue. Clear. Alive.

“Alina.” My name. Not _milaya_. Not _mine_. Just Alina. Like a prayer.

I broke. Sobs I’d held for 72 hours ripped out of me. I collapsed over his chest, careful of the bandages. “You’re awake. You’re awake, you’re awake—”

His hand came up. Weak. Trembling. But it found my hair. Stroked it. “Don’t cry. Hurts worse than the bullet.”

I laughed. Or sobbed. Both. “I hate you.”

“Liar.” His thumb wiped my cheek. “You said you were mine. Can’t hate what’s yours.”

“You can hate it and still own it.” But I was smiling. God, I was smiling.

---

They discharged him today. Against doctor’s orders. “The Bratva doesn’t heal in hospitals,” Kieran said. “Too many windows. Too many enemies.”

Back at the penthouse. His bed. He’s propped against the headboard, shirt off, fresh bandages. Pissed that he’s weak. That he needs help.

“I can get my own water,” he growls when I bring him a glass.

“I know.” I set it down. “Drink it anyway. Doctor’s orders.”

He drinks. Because I told him to. The Devil of Moscow, taking orders from me. The power rush is terrifying.

“I need to shower,” he says after. “I smell like hospital.”

“You need stitches to not rip.”

“I need you to stop looking at me like I’m going to die.” His eyes are sharp. “I didn’t take a bullet to have you tiptoe around me, Alina.”

“So what, I should what? Pretend you didn’t almost bleed out for me?”

“Yes.” He grabs my wrist. Pulls me down to sit beside him. “Pretend it was Tuesday. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend you’re still mad I bought you.”

“I _am_ mad you bought me.”

“Good.” He smirks. “Mad is better than scared.”

I want to argue. But he looks exhausted. So I change the subject. “Viktor said you have a safe. In your office. He said you should change the code, since…”

Since I’m here. Since I’m not a prisoner anymore. Since everything changed on that balcony.

Kieran goes still. “What about my safe?”

“I need your passport. For the hospital discharge papers. They want ID for emergency contacts. Since I’m… yours.” The word doesn’t hurt now. It fits.

He studies me. For a long time. Then: “Bottom drawer. Left side of the desk. Code is 0204.”

February 4th. I file that away. “Your birthday?”

“No.” He closes his eyes. “Just open it.”

---

The safe is biometric + code. His fingerprint is already in the system, but it opens for me. Because he put me in. When?

Inside: cash. Lots. Guns. Passports in different names. A knife. And an envelope.

Thick. Cream. Expensive. My name on it. _Alina Sokolov_. In his handwriting. Sharp. Cyrillic.

I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t.

I open it.

First page: *LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF KIERAN ALEXANDROVICH VOLKOV*

My hands shake.

_I, Kieran Volkov, being of sound mind…_

I skip. Down. Down. To the assets.

_All properties, real estate, holdings, liquid assets, Bratva interests, offshore accounts totaling approx $4.2 billion USD…_

_To be transferred in full upon my death to:_

_ALINA SOKOLOV_

No conditions. No “fiancée”. No “if she bears my child”. Just my name.

Date signed: _February 4th, 20XX._

Eight months ago.

Before the warehouse. Before Dmitri stole from him. Before I even knew Kieran Volkov existed.

My blood goes cold.

I flip pages. There’s more. A letter. Also dated eight months ago.

_Alina,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m dead. And you’re probably pissed I didn’t tell you._

_I saw you first at the ballet. Bolshoi. You were with your brother. You wore blue. You laughed at the wrong part of Swan Lake and didn’t care who heard. Dmitri bought you a rose from a street vendor. You kept it for three blocks before giving it to a little girl crying on the steps._

_I had Viktor follow you for a week. Not to hurt you. To know you. You work two jobs. You tutor kids for free. You give half your paycheck to your brother’s tuition. You’re good, Alina. Too good for this world._

_I was going to leave you alone. I don’t deserve good things. I break them._

_Then your i***t brother stole from me. And I saw a way._

_I won’t pretend the debt was real. I had Viktor plant the money on him. I needed a reason. I needed you to say yes. I needed you mine before someone else took you._

_So I bought you. With fear. With threats. With your brother’s blood. I’m a monster. You said it. You were right._

_But you’re mine. Even if you hate me. Even if you leave after the year. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours. Because the second I saw you laugh, I was dead anyway._

_Don’t mourn me. Be free. Be happy. Be mine, even if I’m in hell._

_Kieran_

_P.S. 0204 is the day I saw you. The day the Devil fell._

The letter falls from my hands.

Eight months. He’s known me eight months. He planned it. The debt. The warehouse. The ring. All of it.

He loved me before he met me.

He took a bullet before I said I loved him back.

I walk. Or run. I don’t know. Back to the bedroom.

He’s asleep. Or pretending.

I climb onto the bed. Straddle his hips. Careful of the bandages. His eyes fly open. Startled. For the first time, Kieran Volkov looks startled.

“February 4th,” I say. My voice is not my own. “The ballet. I wore blue.”

His face shuts down. Blank. Dead. “You went through my safe.”

“You faked my brother’s debt.”

“Yes.”

“You planned it all.”

“Yes.”

“You loved me before I said I was yours.”

His jaw ticks. Once. “Yes.”

I lean down. My lips brush his. Soft. Not a brand. A question.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper against his mouth.

“Because,” he says. Voice broken. Honest. Raw. “I wanted you to choose me. Not the money. Not the fear. Me. And you never would have if you knew.”

I kiss him. For real this time. No teeth. No war. Just mouths and breath and eight months of secrets.

He makes a sound. Low. Wrecked. His good hand comes up. Fists in my hair. Not to control. To hold.

When I pull back, we’re both shaking.

“Say it,” he begs. Not a command. A plea. “Say you’re still mine. After all of it. Say it.”

I look at him. The Devil. The monster. The man who bled for me. Who lied for me. Who loved me before I was his.

“I’m yours, Kieran,” I say. And I mean it. “I was yours at the ballet. I just didn’t know it yet.”

He breaks. Completely. His forehead drops to my shoulder. His body shudders.

And Kieran Volkov, the man who never cries, cries.

Into my neck. Into my skin. Into me.

*END CHAPTER 5*