Page 14 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

Tamara blinks. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs. Real and loud. Three conversations near us falter at once.

Mikhail points at her triumphantly. “See? I knew she was interesting.”

“You’re drunk,” I tell him.

“You’re emotionally constipated. We all have problems.”

Tamara nearly chokes on her champagne.

“You know what you need?” Mikhail continues, speaking directly to her now. “A drink, loud music, and one bad decision that doesn’t involve organized crime.”

“Mikhail.”

“No, hear me out.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “You just endured a strategic alliance disguised as a wedding. If anyone in this room has earned a catastrophic second drink, it’s you.”

Tamara looks toward the staircase. Then at the champagne in her hand. She drains the rest of her drink, sets the glass on a passing tray, and says, “You know what? Fine.”

My brows lift. “Fine?”

She turns toward the staircase, pulling the pins from her hair. Blonde waves spill over her shoulders as she descends into the club level wearing a cathedral-white wedding gown and the absolute refusal to be dignified for one more second.

Katarina stares after her. “Oh, this is going to be spectacular.”

Mila smiles into her drink. “I like her.”

I should stop this. Instead, I follow as if hypnotized.

Downstairs, the reception has shed its manners, jazz giving way to deep house. Colored lights cut through the crowd.

And in the middle of it⁠—

Tamara, dancing, violently alive.

The lace of her gown flashes white beneath the lights as she moves through the crowd like she’s trying to outrun the last twelve hours. Hair loose. Black nails wrapped around another drink someone handed her. Laughing now when my sister Katarina joins her.

People stare because white lace under club lights is impossible to ignore. But Tamara gives them nothing back.

Mikhail appears beside me, looking deeply pleased with himself.

“Your wife’s insane,” he says.

I should disagree. I’m not sure I can.

Across the dance floor, Tamara spins under strobing lights, laughing breathlessly as Katarina drags her deeper into the crowd.

She doesn’t look like a hostage bride at all. She looks like a woman I will have trouble staying away from.

5

THIS WAS BECOMING A PROBLEM. (TAMARA)

“This is the bedroom.”

Aleksander’s voice breaks the long, airless stretch that began the second we left The Velvet Echo.

I stop just inside the doorway.

Dark wood. Glass. Steel. Floor-to-ceiling windows with Manhattan scattered beneath them like broken light. The room is immaculate, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure.