I AM NOW A MARRIED WOMAN.
If anyone told me last week, that by this time, I’d be a Mrs., to the Pakhan of the Bratva, no less, I’m certain I’d have struck them on the face.
But the evidence of it all is in my hands, a rectangular-shaped paper Roman Belov left with Dmitry and me before he was ushered out of the car.
After getting us both married.
My and Dmitry’s names sit elegantly on the certificate, our signatures on the bottom of the paper, and somehow, I can’t manage to stray my eyes away from it.
I am now Mrs. Anya Orlov.
“Isn’t it such a good name?” Dmitry is also staring down at the certificate, the corner of his lips tilted into a small smile. “Anya Orlov, I mean.” He clarifies, as if somehow reading my mind.
“I hate you.” I mumble underneath my breath.
“And I can smell your
