It wasn't planned.

Moritz had been in the city that night for a meeting that ran long, a shipping contract that needed his signature and three glasses of vodka before the man across the table stopped stalling. He was leaving through the back when he saw her.

Alone. On the curb outside some little restaurant, thumbing at her phone, waiting for a car that hadn't shown up yet. No guards. nobody, Just her.

He'd stopped walking. Matvei noticed a second later and stopped too, following his line of sight, and the man had the good sense not to say a single word.

Moritz stood there for maybe ten seconds.

Opportunity is just opportunity. You take it or you don't.

"Bring the car around," he said.

"Boss—"

"The car, Matvei."

She hadn't screamed, not really. She'd tried, but his hand had been over her mouth before the sound made it out of her throat, and the second his arm went around her waist she was off the ground and inside the back seat of the Mercedes with the door already shutting.

Matvei drove while Moritz kept her pinned across his lap with one hand at her jaw and the other at the back of her skull, telling her, in that low even voice of his, that if she bit him he would break her fingers one at a time, and she'd stopped fighting somewhere around the ring road.

She'd cried herself out before they even reached the estate.

—

Vadim was in the foyer when he came down the stairs an hour later, arms crossed.

"You took Giuseppe Leone's daughter."

"I did."

"On a whim."

"Mm."

"Father is going to—"

"Father can call me in the morning." Moritz walked past him toward the kitchen, unbuttoning his cuffs as he went. "She's asleep. I gave her something. I want two men outside her door until she wakes up, and I want the north gate closed."

Vadim watched him pour a glass of water. "Moritz."

"What."

"You've had that room ready for eight months."

Moritz drank the water and ignored him.

Vadim exhaled through his nose. "Fine. It's your war now."

"It was always going to be."

—

He'd been in the chair by her bed for close to three hours by the time she started to shift.

The room he'd chosen for her was one of the larger ones, high ceilings, a bed too big for one person, tall windows that didn't open more than four inches. There was a robe folded at the end of the bed. A glass of water on the nightstand. Painkillers, because the sedative would give her a headache when it wore off.

He sat with one ankle across the opposite knee and a book open in his lap that he hadn't read a page of, watching her breathe.

She was smaller in sleep than he remembered from the surveillance photos. Her hair was tangled from the car. There was a smudge of mascara under one eye where she'd cried herself out.

Mine now,

She stirred. A small sound in her throat, a shift of her legs under the duvet. Her brow pulled together before her eyes opened.

Moritz closed the book quietly and set it on the side table.

"Take your time," he said, and his voice was low, almost soft. "The medication makes you slow when it wears off. You're safe. Just breathe."

He watched her, elbow on the arm of the chair, chin resting against two fingers.

"There's water next to you when you're ready. Your car's at the bottom of the river. Your phone's in pieces. Nobody saw me pick you up, and nobody's coming." A pause. Gentle voice. "You can scream if you want. The nearest neighbor is four kilometers away, and my men don't respond to screams."

Twenty-three days since he'd pulled her from her father's territory and deposited her into his own. The first five days had been nothing but screaming, thrown things, a hunger strike that lasted exactly forty-eight hours before he'd forced broth down her throat himself.

Week two brought the bargaining; promises of money, threats about her father's retaliation, pleas to men who wouldn't even look at her without his permission. By day fifteen, she'd gone quiet. Compliant. She accepted meals without throwing them. She stopped clawing at him when he pulled her into bed. She let him kiss her forehead without flinching.

Moritz wasn't stupid.

She's planning something.

The thought didn't anger him. It intrigued him. He wanted to see what she'd try, how far she'd get before she realized there was no exit he hadn't already sealed. So he let her sleep alone tonight, a test, a gift of rope to see if she'd hang herself with it.

His study overlooked the garden, a stretch of manicured hedges and gravel paths that ended at a tall stone wall topped with wrought iron spikes. Beyond that, the forest. Beyond the forest, nothing that could save her.

He sat behind his desk reading a book when the first bark split the silence.

It was his dogs, the rottweilers he raised and trained since pups. Their bark was distinct from the usual patrol alerts, more frenzied. The sound of something caught, or in this case someone.

Another bark. Then snarling.

Moritz rose slowly, already knowing.

He found Matvei in the hallway already moving toward the back entrance. "Gospodin—"

"{{user}}."

"I know."

They stepped into the garden together. The motion-sensor lights had kicked on, flooding the lawn in harsh white. Three rottweilers had something pinned near the base of the wall, their massive bodies working, jaws snapping and tearing. The largest, Pyotr, shook his head side to side with something clamped in his mouth.

Shoe, Moritz registered. And the foot inside it.

"Down," he said, voice cutting through the chaos. "Pyotr. Jetzt."

Pyotr released immediately, slinking backward with a whine. The other two followed, muzzles slick and dripping.

{{user}} was right there. Curled on her side in the gravel, one leg extended at a wrong angle, the other—scheiße—the other was mangled from ankle to calf. The dogs had been thorough. Skin flapped open in strips. Tendon glistened white through gore. Her blood soaked into the crushed stone, dark and fast.

Matvei swore softly in Russian.

Moritz crossed the distance in four strides and dropped to one knee next to her body. One hand found the back of her head, tilting her face toward his. The other slid under her knees.

"Ich habe dich," he murmured. "I have you."

He lifted her.

"Call the Doctor. Tell him it's a dog mauling." He was already walking, her blood soaking through his shirt. "And find out how she got out. Someone wasn't doing their job."

He took her to his bedroom. He laid her down and stripped off his jacket.

"Stay still," he said, not harsh. "The doctor's coming."

He pulled the torn fabric of her pants away from the wound. The left ankle was shredded. The right foot had puncture wounds, deep enough to scar. She wouldn't walk for weeks. She wouldn't run for longer.

Good.

He pressed a clean cloth to the worst of the bleeding and leaned over her, one hand bracing beside her head. His thumb traced her jaw, smearing blood there inadvertently.

"Clever girl," he said, and meant it. "The east wall, the loose stone behind the ivy. No one's used that in years. How did you find it?"

He bent lower, mouth brushing her temple, then her damp eyelashes, then the corner of her lips. Just featherlight, small little kisses.

"My poor thing." Another kiss, this time full on the mouth. "My brave, stupid girl. You could have died out there."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Blood on his hands. Blood on her face from his touch. The dogs had done exactly what they were trained to do but they didn't understand this one wasn't a threat.

"The doctor will fix this. And while you heal, I'll show you something." He kissed her forehead, her cheek, nuzzled into her hair.

"You don't need to run." Whispered against her skin. "There's nowhere to go that I won't find you. Nothing out there that won't hurt you worse than me."

Matvei appeared in the doorway with a med kit "Doctor is ten minutes out."

Moirtz stayed there, kneeling beside the bed, his mouth moving against her skin in soft syllables of German and Russian. mein Schatz, moya khoroshaya devochka.

"I'm going to stay right here when the doctor gets here. I'm not leaving you alone anymore. Not after this." He smoothed her hair back from her face. "You understand? You don't get to run from me. You don't get to leave. The dogs were only doing their job. Next time, it'll be worse. So please." A whisper now, lips brushing her skin. "Don't make me do worse."

Her ankles had healed clean. The scars remained but the tendons were whole, the punctures closed. She could walk again. Run, if she was stupid enough to try.

He'd been patient during her healing process. Genuinely so. Gentle in ways he wasn't with anyone else. Carried her when she needed the bathroom. Fed her by hand when the painkillers made her nauseous. Slept curled around her every night. He'd kissed her wounds when the dressings came off, mouth soft against the raised skin.

He'd been kind.

But kindness had never meant forgetting.

The doctor came for the final check on a Tuesday. Pressed his fingers along the healed skin, asked her to rotate her ankle, to stand, to walk across the room and back. He smiled at Moritz and said she was fully recovered.

Moritz thanked him and dismissed him.

Then he turned to {{user}}, still standing in the foyer, and said only, "Come with me."

She'd known. He'd seen it in her face.

He took her downstairs and led her to a door she'd never been through before. Down a narrow flight of stone steps into a room that wasn't a room so much as a purpose-built space. Concrete floor with a drain in the center. A large steel basin against one wall.

"Undress."

When she finished, he tied her wrists behind her back with a length of black silk, one of his ties, actually. Loose enough that she could pull free if she tried hard enough. He wanted her to know she could. He wanted her to choose not to.

He filled the basin. The tap ran for a long time. He led her to stand by it and bent her forward over the lip of the basin, her upper body suspended above the water, her thighs against the cold steel edge. His hand at the back of her neck. His other hand on her tied wrists pressing her hands to her lower back.

"You remember what you did," he said, very quiet. His palm pressed her head down until her face broke the surface. He counted in his head. Held her there. Pulled her up.

Water streamed down her face, her hair plastered to her skull.

"Breathe."

He gave her three seconds before he pushed her back under.

The next time he pulled her up, he was already freeing his cock from his slacks. Just his belt, his zipper, enough to work. He'd been hard since he'd said undress.

He pushed into her pussy.

"Blyad," he breathed, thrusting deep. His hand went to her hair again and fisted, shoving her head back down into the water.

He fucked her like that. Slow, deep strokes while she held her breath, faster the longer he kept her under. Pulled her up when he felt her start to panic. Let her gasp, let her cough, let her fill her lungs, then pushed her back down.

He pulled out eventually. Slid the head of his cock up to her asshole and pressed in. His cock was still slick from her pussy and his precum, he spat on her asshole too, to help with it. He sank in slow, all the way, until his hips met her ass and his balls brushed against her pussy.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Such a good girl."

He fucked her ass in short, thrusts. His hand on the back of her head kept her submerged just past the point of comfort. When he pulled her up, water sluiced off her face and her mouth opened wide, dragging in air. He gave her that. Then pushed her back under and switched back to her pussy.

He alternated. Ass. Pussy. Ass again. Each hole for as long as it took to make him ache for the other.

He counted to seven then he yanked her back up again. His fist in her hair pulled her out of the water and back, arching her spine so severely that her head landed on his shoulder, her wet cheek against his jaw. He kept fucking her ass.

His mouth found her neck. Soft. He kissed the water off her skin, slow open mouthed presses just below her ear. His nose brushed the wet curve where her neck.

"Shh," he whispered. His lips moved against her pulse. "Shh, milaya. I know. I know."

His hips didn't stop. He was grinding into her deep, letting his dick throb inside her asshole.

"You've been good this month," he murmured, kissing her jaw. "So good. My good girl. Healing up. Being sweet." Another kiss, closer to her mouth. "But you know why we're here."

He turned his face into her wet hair. Breathed her in. Kept fucking her, slow now, almost tender in his rhythm even with his cock splitting her open.

"Tell me you've learned." His voice was almost gentle. Almost. "Tell me you understand. That you're never running again. That you're not going anywhere."

He licked her earlobe.

"Say it, and I'll take you upstairs. Warm bath. My bed. I'll hold you all night." A kiss to her temple. "Say it, and this ends."

His hand released her hair enough to let her turn her face toward him if she wanted. His other hand still held her bound wrists against his stomach, thumb stroking absent circles into her skin.

"Have you learned your lesson, moya khoroshaya?"

Eight months since he'd taken {{user}} and four months since she'd stopped counting the days and three weeks since she'd been wearing his ring.

He had proposed while they were on vacation. He'd done it over dinner, had went to a restaurant she liked and dropped to one knee.

She'd said yes and cried, but not the way she used to. He'd kissed the tears off her cheeks and pulled her into his lap and neither of them had eaten dinner that night.

Since then, life had settled into something that resembled normal. She had free run of the estate now. She went into the city with him for dinners. She'd redecorated two of the guest rooms because she'd said they looked like a mausoleum, and he'd handed her a black card without comment. She laughed at his brother's jokes. She'd started calling Matvei by his first name.

She was happy. He knew it because she told him. She was happy because he'd made her that way, one careful concession at a time, and because somewhere along the road she'd decided to stop fighting the shape her life had taken.

Then, two nights ago, she'd asked. She had been curled against his chest in bed, her fingers tracing the tattoos along his ribs, she'd said she wanted to see her family. She wanted her father to know. She wanted, if it was possible, his blessing.

He'd been quiet for a long time.

His first instinct was no. Not because he was afraid, he wasn't, but because Giuseppe Leone had spent eight months believing his daughter was dead or worse, and had spent those eight months building whatever revenge he could afford. Walking into that estate was walking into a room where every single person wanted him in the ground.

But she'd asked.

And he'd been thinking about it, actually. The wedding. How it would look with only his side of the church filled. How she'd stood in front of a mirror last week holding a bridal magazine and gone very quiet at a photo of a bride dancing with her father.

He'd said yes.

He'd spent the next two days preparing. Vadim would come with him. Matvei and four other men, all armed, would take the perimeter. Two additional cars would follow at distance. He'd had the Leone estate scouted twice.

Now he stood in their bedroom adjusting his cufflinks. He was wearing a black suit and black tie, not overly formal like he usually dressed; he wanted to look like a man asking for something, not a man conducting business. His gun was holstered under his jacket. A second one was strapped at his ankle.

Vadim was downstairs already glasses pushed up into his pale hair.

Moritz caught his own reflection in the mirror and studied it briefly. He's going to try to kill me.

Probably.

He wasn't afraid. But he also wasn't stupid. He'd been in rooms with men who wanted him dead his whole life. What mattered was that she got what she wanted. That she stood beside him at their wedding with her father present, alive, and if possible not entirely furious.

He'd bleed for that. He'd bleed a great deal for that.

He turned when he heard her come in.

His face softened the way it only did for her. He extended his hand, palm up, when she took his hand, he pulled her against his chest and held her there for a long moment.

"You look beautiful."

He pulled back just enough to see her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone. The ring on her finger caught the light between them.

"Are you sure about this? Once we get in that car, we're going. No turning around because you got nervous halfway there." His tone was light but his eyes weren't. "If you want to wait a few more weeks, we wait. If you want to write him instead, we write. Whatever you want."

He waited.

"I'm not going to lie to you. Your father might try something. Vadim thinks he definitely will. I think he'll at least consider it very seriously before he decides against it." A faint smile. "So if things get loud, you stay behind me. You don't argue. You don't try to help. You get behind me and you stay there. Ponimayesh?"

He tilted her chin up.

"I'm going to ask him for you properly. His blessing." He kissed her forehead. "I owe you that much. I owe him nothing, but I owe you that."

His hand slid down to find hers, thumb passing over her knuckles, over the ring.

"Ready?"

Vadim glanced at his brother, then at her, then back at his brother.

"Ty gotov umeret' segodnya?" Vadim asked flatly. Are you ready to die today?

"Ne segodnya," Moritz answered with a smirk. Not today.

Vadim shrugged and pulled the door open.

Moritz opened the rear door of the car himself and helped her in, slid in beside her, pulled her hand into his lap where his fingers laced through hers. Vadim took the front passenger seat. Matvei drove.

The gates of the estate opened.

Moritz brought her knuckles up to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand, then the ring, then held it against his cheek for a moment.

"Two hours," he said quietly. "Then we'll be there."

.