Hel & Veritas

The Decision

Xenia usually made a trip to New York every couple of months to hash out any big decisions with Dr. Brevinska. Once the Volga Group's network stretched across the globe, he made it a point to personally visit every hospital at least once a year, dropping in unannounced to get a real feel for the management and make calls as needed.

He was supposed to be in Singapore last week, but his little flower had thrown a wrench in all his carefully laid plans. Lately, his life had been a constant back-and-forth to Russia, dealing with Bratva business. With the Italian mafia sniffing around, trying to cut a deal, his weekends had become a tiresome parade of negotiations.

He'd reluctantly penciled in a few days in Russia to discuss upcoming shipments and ammunition manufacturing, but then one of his men reported that the rat who'd swiped fifty grand and fled the motherland had finally been located, working at a bakery in New York under a phony name.

Usually, Xenia would have sicced Vladlen on such a lowlife, but the chance to be back in New York, to watch his tsvetok, was too damn tempting for Wraith to pass up. He landed in New York in the afternoon, staking out the alley beside the bakery, waiting for the cloak of darkness to fall so he could handle this piece of trash and then go feast his eyes on his malen'kaya dorogaya.

It was like his deceased parents were pulling strings from the afterlife, conspiring to bring him closer to his baby. He was in the middle of making that sniveling worm cry – and the guy hadn't even felt the first dart yet – when Vladlen pinged him a picture. His Fiorenza, walking into the café looking like a f*****g queen in that short dress that showcased those thick thighs he desperately wanted to bury his face in.

From the moment she'd peeked into the back room, Xenia knew she was watching everything with those wide, innocent emerald eyes. He had to give her credit; she was trying damn hard to stay silent. He'd already instructed Vlad to block the exit, ensuring his little flower wouldn't bolt.

He would have savored the torture session, dragged it out, but the opportunity that had landed right in his lap was too good to waste. He heard her sharp, audible gasp of surprise when he yanked the neon mask off his face. Now, she was one of the very few – only his grandmothers, Vlad, and his old housekeeper/nanny – who had seen him without the mask.

Before she could even think about running, Xenia swiftly injected her with a dose of Benzodiazepine, enough to keep her compliant and deeply asleep for at least fifteen, maybe sixteen hours. He strapped another identical neon mask around his own face before gently scooping his precious malysh into his arms. “Prep the jet. We’re leaving for Moscow. And get a priest waiting for me at the mansion who can marry us immediately!” he commanded Vladlen, carrying his unconscious bride.

He wasn't going to let this chance slip through his fingers. He needed to bind her to him forever before she could even consider fleeing. Under normal circumstances, he would have courted her properly, but after witnessing her pleasuring herself, her sexy voice whispering his name, his resolve to stay away had shattered.

Xenia settled into the car, his baby nestled in his lap. He gently brushed a curl from her forehead and kissed it, a feeling of contentment he hadn't experienced in years washing over him. Finally, someone he could truly call his, just as she would soon call him hers. “I know you’ll be furious, malysh. This probably isn’t how you imagined getting married someday, but I promise you, moy tsvetok, soon, when you’re ready to accept your feelings for me, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose.

They soon reached the airfield, but before stepping out of the car, Xenia carefully strapped a spare neon mask to Fiorenza’s face. From this day forward, she would live a double life alongside him: Dr. Angelo Mikhailov to the world, and the Tsarina of the Russian mafia to him.

They quickly settled into the private jet, Vladlen discreetly choosing a seat a few rows back, granting his lovesick Tsar some privacy. Xenia saw text notifications lighting up her phone and swiftly replied, thanks to the detailed information Vladlen had compiled about her. He smoothly deflected her father’s attempt at a video call with a convincing excuse of feeling utterly exhausted and needing to sleep.

According to the intel, his baby had been cherished and indulged by her parents, their only child. He knew introducing himself as her husband wouldn't be a walk in the park, but he was prepared to do whatever it took to appease them. His father had once told him, there's no shame in kneeling if it's for the person who means the world to you.

The journey to Moscow took eight hours, followed by another 30 minutes drive to his sprawling manor in Russia. He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught from his grandmothers the moment they saw him carrying a woman, but he was ready.

The head priest of Saint Basil’s Cathedral was waiting for them in the garden, along with a representative from the ZAGS (civil registry office), ready to issue their marriage certificate. Both his grandmothers stood with deep frowns etched on their faces, trying to decipher the unfolding events, their eyes widening in utter disbelief as they watched their precious grandson approach, a mask obscuring his face, carrying a woman with an identical mask in his arms.

Without wasting any time, the legal formalities were completed. Their marriage certificate was signed by Xenia and marked with Fiorenza’s fingerprint. The ZAGS auditor practically fled, eager to escape the Tsar’s imposing presence.

Xenia changed his mind about the priest, asking him to leave. He would have a proper ceremony when his baby was willing to stand at the altar with him. Once everyone else had departed, leaving only his babushkas and Vladlen, Xenia removed both his and Fiorenza’s masks. He instructed Vlad to take a picture of him with his newly wed wife and have it enlarged immediately for his bedroom wall.

For the first time in years, a genuine smile lit up his face. He was gazing at her lovingly when he heard his Babushka Katrina clear her throat.

He turned to find both his grandmothers looking at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. He cleared his own throat, feeling more like a nervous teenager than the Tsar of the Bratva. “Let me take her to our bedroom, and I’ll meet you outside,” he said, heading for the elevator to the third floor – his private sanctuary where only his grandmothers and his nanny Sandra were allowed without his explicit permission.

He entered his massive bedroom, easily triple the size of her entire condo, and gently laid her on the bed. After removing her shoes, he covered her with his blanket; the Russian air was crisp. He watched her sleeping form for a few minutes, lost in her beauty, a foolish grin plastered on his face.

Looking around his charcoal black and gold bedroom, he realized it needed a drastic change. He’d have Vladlen contact their interior designer to redo the décor in red. He also needed to get in touch with a couple of personal shoppers to prepare his baby’s wardrobe. With that thought, he kissed her forehead and left the room, finding his grandmothers waiting expectantly.

He sat on the couch near the expansive balcony, gesturing for them to join him. They sat opposite him, arms crossed, ready for the inevitable explanation of this shotgun wedding.

He sighed and began, “Her name is Fiorenza Angelo. She is the only daughter of law firm owner Christopher Angelo and Aether’s owner Rebecca Angelo!” He paused, anticipating his diva Babushka’s reaction, and he wasn’t disappointed. She let out a delighted squeal, clutching Katrina’s arm, giddy as a sixteen-year-old. “You mean our granddaughter-in-law is THE Rebecca Donati’s daughter? The very daughter who inspired her to launch Aether?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. His lips twitched, but he nodded. She giggled. “Bozhe moy! I can’t believe I’m now related to one of the most successful supermodels of all time!” she shrieked, making Katrina sigh and Xenia shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

Katrina cleared her throat, drawing his attention back. “And how did you meet her? And why was she sleeping the entire time you got married?” Katrina was equally thrilled for her grandson, and a huge fan of Rebecca Donati herself, but she needed to be sure Xenia understood the gravity of his actions. Now that they were married, there was no turning back.

Xenia recounted everything from the beginning: her confidence in the operating theater, the instant, undeniable attraction between them, and the events that had transpired today. He stood up, a clear intention in his eyes to join his wife, but not before making his feelings known. “You know me, Babulya! I would never do anything to hurt Mamochka and Papochka, because I saw the love they shared,” he continued, his voice firm. “And even though it’s only been two weeks, I know what I feel for her! I know she is the one for me, and I love her more than anything in this world!” He finished and started towards his bedroom.

“And what if something happens to her?” Katrina asked, her voice laced with concern. He stopped but didn’t turn back. “Then I will burn this world to ashes and join the flames when I am certain nothing but dust remains for the rest of eternity!” he answered, his voice low and dangerous, before disappearing into his bedroom.

He always showered before bed, but tonight, he couldn’t wait to join his milaya. He stripped off his clothes, his boxers barely concealing his arousal, and slipped into bed beside his unconscious wife. The dress looked constricting around her breasts, so he gently removed it, his hands lingering on her delectable skin, and then pulled her close, his strong legs tangling with her plush thighs, one hand cradling her head, the other tracing lazy circles around her heavy breasts.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, groaning softly as he inhaled her addictive scent. It was early morning here, and he knew his wife would awaken in a couple of hours, and he would have to face her fury.

But he was ready. Because he meant it when he said their eternity had begun.