Chapter 21 Chapter 21
Lily
The jet touches down in New York just before sunset, the city cloaked in a deep shade of charcoal grey. The skyline glows faintly in the distance, but there’s no time to admire it. Everything moves fast.
Two sleek cars wait at the tarmac—Sebastian’s obsidian-black Bentley and a matte black Range Rover, engines humming low like predators in the dark. The cold air rushes against my skin as Sebastian helps me down the jet’s stairs. His hand never leaves mine.
He guides me to the Range Rover, his grip tightening. Dressed in a tailored black suit, with his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, he looks like something out of a crime god’s dream—lethal, powerful, intoxicating.
Before I step inside, he pulls me close, his breath warm against my lips. He kisses me—fiercely, deeply. A kiss that feels like goodbye and promise wrapped into one. I can feel how tense he is, how much he’s holding back.
“My man will take you home,” he says once we break apart, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Stay inside. Call Bella if you want company, but don’t leave the penthouse. The Bratva is in the city, and they’ll come for you just to hurt me. Because now… you’re my wife.”
His thumb traces the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t go anywhere until I return. No exceptions, Lily.” His tone is sharp, protective. Dominant.
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Yes.”
He kisses me again—shorter this time, but somehow even more intense. Then, he pulls back just slightly, and his gaze pierces mine. There’s something different in his eyes now.
“I love you, Lily.” The words land heavy in the air, heavy and real. It’s the first time he’s said it since we got married.
Emotion crashes into me like a wave. I cup his face with both hands, my eyes already brimming with tears. “I love you, Sebastian.”
He leans into my touch, but only for a breath. Then he straightens, steel returning to his frame.
“Just know,” he says, voice quiet now, almost broken, “anything can happen to me tonight. But you—you need to live, Lily.”
My chest tightens painfully. “Don’t say that.”
But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he places a final kiss on my forehead—soft, lingering, reverent.
“Bye,” he murmurs, then shuts the door gently.
I watch through the tinted window as he walks away. His back is straight, jaw clenched, flanked by his men like the king he is. He slides into the Bentley without once looking back.
And just like that… he’s gone.
The bodyguard climbs into the driver’s seat in silence, and we drive into the waking city—leaving behind safety, peace, and the man who just gave me his heart like it might be the last time.
Sebastian – POV
The city never sleeps, but tonight New York feels like it's holding its breath.
My phone buzzes as I sit in the backseat of the blacked-out Bentley. The godfather’s name lights up the screen. I answer immediately.
His voice is strained. “They’re here. The Bratva. Most of my men are gone. They want to talk to you, Sebastian—only you.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m on my way.”
The call ends. My driver swerves onto the private road that leads to the godfather’s estate. The iron gates are wide open—a bad sign. Blood stains the gravel driveway. Several bodies of men I’ve worked alongside for years lie motionless near the entrance, their weapons beside them, untouched now by the living.
I step out of the car, my steps slow but heavy, every instinct in me screaming that this isn’t just a meeting. This is a reckoning.
Inside, the mansion smells like gunpowder and iron. I walk into the godfather’s main room—usually guarded and filled with trusted men. Now, the Bratva fill the space. The tension is thick. Makarov, the second-in-command of the Russian Bratva, stands in the middle like he owns the place. His cold, reptilian eyes meet mine.
The godfather is seated in a chair, his hands bloodied but still breathing. He looks older than I’ve ever seen him.
“Sebastian,” Makarov greets, his voice smooth and venomous. “You came. Good.”
I stay standing. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t waste time. “Our clan is weakening. The old ways are dying in Russia, and we need someone powerful, strategic. We need you. In exchange, we let the godfather live.”
My eyes narrow. “You want to take me to Russia?”
He nods. “Yes. You’ll be our ghost. Dead to this city. Your businesses, your wife, your name—all gone. You will belong to the Bratva.”
I clench my fists. “And if I refuse?”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Then we kill him,” he motions toward the godfather, “and eventually, we’ll find your woman too. Lily, is it? She’s very beautiful.”
My blood runs cold. I step forward, rage boiling in me. “Don’t you fucking say her name.”
Makarov only smiles.
I take a deep breath. My mind races. I think of Lily—of her soft voice, her fierce heart, her stubbornness. Seven days of marriage, and I’ve never loved anyone more. I remember the first time I saw her—storming into my office, all fire and curves, and how I mistook her for a con. I stripped her to break her, and instead I fell. Hard.
I look at the godfather. He gives a slight shake of his head. “Don’t do it,” he mouths.
But I know I have no choice. I have to protect them all.
“I’ll go,” I say aloud, and silence follows.
Makarov’s smile returns, satisfied.
One of his men approaches, and before I can process it, cold metal wraps around my wrists—handcuffs.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snap.
“A show of loyalty,” Makarov says. “You’re ours now.”
They drag me away from the mansion. The godfather watches, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes. As I’m pushed into the black SUV waiting outside, he gives the order.
“Announce his death.”
It echoes behind me as the car door slams shut.
My world turns silent as we head to the private airport.
As the plane ascends, I stare out the window, New York fading below like a memory. My chest aches with the thought of Lily. Of how I kissed her goodbye, not knowing it was the last time. She doesn’t know. She can’t know.
This is the price I pay for loving her.
But she was mine—and no matter what the Bratva says, she will be mine forever.