The ceremony was quick. Simple. Almost deceptively so, just the way it had to be.
The chapel was small, tucked away behind stone walls worn smooth by centuries of prayers and secrets. Sunlight filtering through narrow stained-glass windows, spilling muted colors across the stone floors. The sound of waves, breaking against the cliffs, bells tolling in the distance could be heard. Utterly indifferent to the two lives being bound inside these quiet, ancient walls.
It was just the two of us at the altar. Olga standing a few steps behind me, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes softened when she looked my way. Alex had introduced her as his mother, years ago. And I couldn't help but felt that too, when I saw the way she stared at the man she raised with pride.
One of Alex's men waited near the door. Still and silent, more like a guard than a guest. There were no music. No crowd. No room for doubt.
Alex was standing across from me, dressed in his simple black suit. No extravagance. Just him. His gaze never leaving mine, not even when the officiant began to speak, as if looking away might shatter the fragile reality of this moment.
This time, everything was legal.
I felt the weight of it as the words were spoken, binding and irrevocable. Real.
Apparently, Lara had been declared dead months ago. A necessary erasure that made room for me. The knowledge of it sat uneasily in my chest, but I said nothing. It wasn't like I could go back to being her again anyway.
When Alex slipped the ring onto my finger, his touch lingered, just slightly. Enough for me to feel the tremor he refused to show. Enough to remind me that beneath all the planning and the calculation, that this was still love. Dangerous, obsessive, ruinous love.
"I now pronounce you, husband and wife." The priests's voice echoed softly through the chapel, steady and unhurried.
The words settled into my chest with a quiet finality. It was real, this time. Binding.
Alex didn't move at first. He just looked at me with those green eyes, as if he needed to memorize the truth of this moment before the world could touch it. Then his hands came at my waist, firm and familiar, grounding me as he leaned in.
The kiss was slow. Deliberate. Not possessive, but not desperate either. Just...reverent. As if he was sealing a promise rather than claiming a victory. The chapel fell away, the witnesses forgotten, until there was only the press of his lips and the unspoken understanding between us, that there was no turning back now.
When we finally pulled apart, his thumb brushed once over my cheek. I couldn't help but lean on his touch, a fleeting tenderness he rarely allowed anyone to see. It was like I was transported to our wedding, three years ago, just like this.
Then we turned together, side by side and walked down the narrow aisle, toward the open doors. Sunlight spilled in, bright and unforgiving, waiting for us like a reckoning.
As we crossed the threshold, his mouth brushed close to my ear, his voice low enough to belong only to me.
"We'll survive this," he said. "I promise."
I didn't answer. I simply tightened my grip on his hand as he guided me toward his waiting car, stepping forward into whatever we had just sworn ourselves to, unable to tell whether we had chosen salvation...or each other's ruin.
The black SUV idled a the curb, the same one he used to drive back then. The sight of it made my chest ache.
Once the door closed behind us with a muted thud, it sealed us into a silence. Still, he took my hand as he pulled onto the narrow cobblestone street, keeping his grip firm, almost grounding. Even when his eyes stayed on the road, his jaw set, as if the city itself might overhear us if he spoke. I only continued on staring at the familiar lines of his profile, searching for the man I had married once before, finding him and not finding him, all at once.
Nothing felt the same, and yet, everything did. It was confusing, weird. Back then, we had been buzzing with excitement, giddy with our future that simply felt endless.
"Isn't it rude to sneak out of our party this early?" I asked, half-laughing, half-scandalized like it was the most dangerous thing we've ever done.
He chuckled, warm and unburdened, reaching for my hand and pressing a slow kiss to the back of my palm. Then, deliberately, he guided our joined hands to rest over my abdomen. My chest tightened. It was as if he was already couldn't wait for our child to arrive. God, he's really going to be a father. We're going to be parents.
We were driving along the outskirts of Dubrovnik, the road hugging the cliffs. Night had swallowed the ocean whole, but I could still smell the salt in the air, feel the openness of it all.
"I've got a surprise for you, Mrs.Barinov," he said, his smile unmistakably proud.
My breath hitched. "What?" I asked. "What is it?"
He laughed softly, teasing, utterly certain of us.
"You'll see."
The memory faded like a bruise pressed too hard. Tender and alive beneath the skin.
"You're remembering something," he said, his voice cutting gently through my thoughts.
"Just how different this feels," I replied, watching the road unfurl ahead of us. "Compared to the first time we did this."
We had already left the cobblestone streets behind. The asphalt was smoother now, the city giving way to open road. I didn't know where he was taking us, only that the distance felt deliberate. Like he was desperate to get us alone. Far away from everyone.
"It was a different time," he said, his jaw tightening. "I didn't know then what I know now. Neither did you. We were different people."
"Would you have preferred me that way?" I asked quietly, turning to him.
He looked every inch the Alexandre Barinov that the underworld knew. The strategist, mercenary, the man with the ability to bent empires to his will. Not the Alex I had once loved in the dark, laughing and unafraid.
"Innocent?" I pressed. "Untouched by the world we were born into?"
He released my hand and placed both on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as the road curved upward along the coast. The car climbed higher, the view opening to the sea. Sunlight scattering across the ocean below, waves crashing violently against the cliffs.
It was breathtaking. Merciless.
"For a long time," he said at last, "yes."
The honesty in his voice hurt more than a lie would have.
"I wanted to keep you unscarred," he continued. "I didn't want the politics, the violence, the bargaining of lives to ever touch you. I wanted you far away from it. Safe."
His gaze stayed on the road, but I could feel the weight of his every word.
"But after learning who you truly are," he said, quieter now, "a part of me was relieved."
My lips parted, breath caught.
"Because you're going to survive it," he went on. "You won't be broken by it."
He exhaled, slow and heavy, like something he had been holding in for years.
"With you," he said, finally turning his head just enough for me to see his profile, "I don't have to pretend anymore. I don't have to carve pieces of myself away just to be loved."
His hand found mine again, firm this time, grounding.
"You know what my life costs," he continued. "You know the blood, the deals, the darkness of it, and you're still here. Not because you didn't want to, but because you crave it too." His thumb brushed over my knuckles, reverent. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have hid those weapons in our old home."
He knew about the weapons. Of course he did. I had used it that morning to defend myself.
The road stretched on ahead of us, endless and exposed. Familiar.
"Maybe," he said quietly, almost like a confession, "something better could come out of that. Not peace—" a faint, wry curve touched his mouth, "—we both know better than to believe in that."
His grip tightened, just slightly.
"But honesty," he finished. "A life where we stop lying to ourselves. To each other."
He glanced at me then, those green eyes dark and steady.
"And for a man like me," he said, "that's the closest thing to redemption I'll ever get."
The car kept climbing, while the sea roared below us.
And I realized then, that what he was offering wasn't safety.
It was the truth.