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“One moment, printsessa.”

I turn to him, wondering if he’s about to caution me to be more careful around his people next time, but there’s no concern on his handsome face. Only a smile.

“I know you’re still legally bound to that worthless piece of shit,” Zevran says, cupping my cheek, his thumb tracing my skin with fierce tenderness. “I promised myself I would wait until I’d dealt with your husband before I asked you to marry me. But seeing how brave and magnificent my girl is? I couldn’t hold it in for another goddamn second.”

My heart does a breathless flip in my chest.

“We’ll be driving home down Russell Street. There are many jewelry stores there. Ones that sell beautiful diamond engagement rings.” He leans down, pressing his lips to my temple before smoothing a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear. “Will you let me buy you the biggest ring in the city? I’m dying to slide it onto your finger.”

I have never in my life said yes to anything so fast. “Absolutely yes.”

He smiles, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he tucks me safely into the back of the car, climbing in right behind me.

Once we settle into the leather seats and the car glides into traffic, the joy inside me refuses to stay quiet. I lean forward, gripping the back of the front seat. “Demyan! We’re getting married.”

Demyan catches my eye in the rearview mirror, a rare smile breaking across his usually stern face. “Pozdravlyayu, Miss Cora,” he says warmly. “That is wonderful news.”

Zevran puts his arm around me as we drive, pulling me into his lap until I’m fully cocooned against his chest. As I lean into his body, I gaze down at my left hand. Thankfully, there’s just enough room above my cast for a ring to fit. I haven’t worn my wedding ring since one of the kidnappers twisted it off my finger and pocketed it.

Zevran caresses my cheek. “I’ll free you from him, printsessa. I’ll handle everything. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

I close my eyes and lean into his touch. How seductive it is to be told that all my cares are now on Zevran’s capable shoulders. A small part of me wonders if I should feel guilty or alarmed that Zevran’s method of freeing me from my husband is going to mean putting him in the ground.

I turn my head and gaze up at Zevran, in all his sleek, dangerous glory. Those pale eyes. His defined cheekbones. My attention drops to his lips, and he obliges me by lowering his head and claiming my mouth in a kiss.

Soon, the tattooed hand stroking my cheek is going to be decorated with one more notch.

Inked for me.

Apparently I don’t regret what’s coming to Troy. I only feel warm and protected.

When the car pulls up on Russell Street, Zevran leads me into a jewelry store that makes even Kosmos look plain. There are chandeliers overhead, glass cases stretching in every direction, and gold, platinum, and diamonds catching the light from every angle. A sharply dressed attendant hurries over, and Zevran pulls me flush against his side, his arm around my waist in a public display of possessiveness.

“My fiancée wants to see the most beautiful rings you have,” he says with satisfaction. “Money is no object.”

An hour later, we step back out onto the pavement, and I can’t stop turning my left hand in the afternoon light. A diamond set in polished platinum throws tiny prisms of light across my skin every time I move. It’s heavy and breathtakingly real on my finger.

“Zevran.” I lift my hand to catch the sparkle from another angle. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.”

“Good.” He catches my wrist, pulling my hand to his mouth and pressing a lingering kiss to my fingers. He watches me with wicked satisfaction gleaming in their depths. “Now everyone who looks at you will know you belong to me.”

I’m still gazing into his eyes, lost in the sheer heat of his stare, when the collision happens.

A figure comes out of nowhere, slamming straight into Zevran’s chest with enough force to stagger him.

Beside me, Demyan’s hand goes instantly to the inside of his jacket, his body shifting into a deadly stance. Zevran moves back half a step, his arms spreading wide, his entire frame tensed.

“Whoa,” he mutters, looking down in surprise.

A young woman has her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her face pressed into his chest, holding on to my fiancé for dear life.

A pretty young woman, with cascades of honey-blonde hair, wearing a chic bouclé jacket and a miniskirt, is literally plastered against my man.

Alarm spikes in my chest, followed immediately by something hotter, darker, and entirely unfamiliar.

Jealousy.

An ex-girlfriend? Someone who thinks she still has a claim on him? A man as drop-dead gorgeous and powerful as Zevran must have left dozens of women in his wake. Beautiful, polished Bratva women who would look down their sharp noses at me.