The Doctor Wife: A Bratva possession のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Elena’s POVMarta squeezes my elbow one last time before the double doors swing open. “Be brave, doctor,” she whispers, voice barely carrying over the low hum of the organ.Brave? I think, biting back a bitter laugh that sticks in my throat. Brave would be running, screaming, fighting tooth and nail against this twisted vow, but here I am, stepping forward alone because what choice do I have when the alternative is a shallow grave or worse?I step through alone. No father on my arm. No bridesmaids giggling. Just me in this black dress that feels like a second skin, lace scratching my arms, slit flashing thigh with every step down the aisle.The chapel is freezing. Candles spit and flicker like they’re nervous too. Twelve people total. Half packing heat under their jackets. No one claps. No one smiles. They just watch.Dante’s already at the altar. Black suit, black shirt, black tie. Looks like sin wrapped in expensive wool. His eyes find me immediately and don’t let go. That stare dra

Elena's POV “Pressure!” I snap over my shoulder. “I need pressure right fucking now!”The men around me freeze, guns still up, staring like I just grew wings.“Move your asses!” I bark. “You want him to die while you stand there jerking off? Someone give me something clean!”A folded cloth lands in my hands. Marta, quick and quiet.I press down hard on the wound. Blood soaks through instantly, hot and sticky on my fingers. The guard groans, eyes rolling back.“Hey, stay with me,” I say sharp, leaning in close. “Eyes on me. Look at me. What’s your name?”“Marco,” he rasps, voice wet. “Boss’s… wife.”“Yeah, Marco. That’s right. Boss’s wife is telling you not to die on her wedding day. You hear me? Breathe slow. Don’t close your eyes.”He blinks heavy, tries to focus. “Hurts like hell.”“I know. Keep breathing. You’re doing good.”Dante’s voice slices through the noise. “Protect her! Close ranks!”Three men pivot, guns trained outward, forming a tight wall around me and Marco while I wo

Dante's POV "You're not." She points to the stool beside the table without looking up. "Shirt off. Now."Rossi glances between us, eyes wide. "Uh… I can wait outside if you two need the room.""Stay," Elena says sharp. "You're not walking around with half-done stitches. And he's not bleeding out on my floor because he's too stubborn to sit."I grin despite myself, shrug out of my jacket, peel the ruined shirt over my head. The shallow slice across my shoulder's still oozing, mixing with dried blood from earlier. I drop onto the stool, legs spread wide.Elena steps between my knees without hesitation, cool fingers brushing the edges of the cut. "This is shallow. Lucky. Hold still."I catch her wrist before she can dab at it, thumb pressing her pulse point. "You look good covered in blood, wife. Real fuckin' good."Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't pull away. "Flirt later. I'm working.""Can't help it." I lean in closer, voice dropping. "Walked in here and found you stitching up my man

Elena’s POV The dining room feels too big tonight, too quiet, too full of ghosts. I sit at the long mahogany table alone, fork pushing cold risotto around the plate like it owes me money. Three days since the wedding, three days since Dante pinned me against the medical cabinet and left me locked in there with my own heartbeat pounding between my legs. He hasn’t touched me since. Hasn’t even slept in the same wing. Says he’s “handling business.” I say he’s torturing me on purpose. The chandelier throws soft gold light across the silverware. I’m still wearing the black silk robe Marta slipped into my room yesterday, the one that ties loose at the waist and shows just enough thigh when I cross my legs. Comfort, I told myself. Not bait. Footsteps echo down the hall, sharp and deliberate. Not Dante’s heavy boots. These are heels. Expensive ones. Svetlana glides in wearing a crimson slip dress that costs more than my old apartment rent, hair swept up like she’s going to a gala inst

Elena's POV “Pretty much. She called me a high-priced whore, said you’d toss me when the green-card papers dry. I told her to know her place. She swung. I swung back harder. Soup happened. End of story.”Svetlana whirls on me. “You see? She admits it! She’s violent! She’s—”“Quiet,” Dante says. One word. Flat. She shuts up like someone cut her strings.He steps forward, stops between us, eyes on me the whole time. Then he laughs.Not a chuckle. A real, deep, rolling laugh that starts low in his chest and fills the whole damn dining room. His head tips back, shoulders shaking, like I just told the funniest fucking joke he’s heard in years.Svetlana freezes mid-sob, mascara-streaked face confused.He finally looks at her, still grinning, eyes glittering dark. “Go to your room. Stay there. And if I hear one more word out of you tonight, I’ll have you shipped to the summer house in Siberia with nothing but the dress you’re wearing. Move.”She stares at him, mouth open, soup still drippin