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Soon, we land in Russia
Where my husband will be branded
Heir to the Bratva throne.
The charming corruptor, the devil in bed,
He rigs my position, chuckling darkly
As I unravel under his thumb,
Fall apart in his hands,
And come tumbling down
in heavenly bliss.
But I cannot love him.
Those three words remain lodged in my throat
At the thought of what his family did.
So, as he defends his place as heir.
I am forced to stay by his side,
Those three words grappling inside my throat
fighting for life.
