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She joined him, careful not to step on the hem of her wedding dress as they made their way down the hall to the grand staircase. Her heart pounded harder and faster with every click of her heels on the parquet flooring. At the crest of the stairs, she looked down at the packed event space, the crowds of Sokolovs, Baranovs, and more, waiting for the new couple to appear for the big ceremony. She watched the wave of people taking notice, everyone nudging each other and turning to gaze at her at the top of the stairs.
Her father lurked at the foot of the staircase, ready to take her arm and lead her outside to the ceremony on the grounds. He was beaming at her, but she knew his excitement had less to do with his daughter’s big day, and more to do with his secret plans to unravel the whole scene. Annika was angry just looking at him, disgusted by the man she once idolized. He didn’t have that old power over her anymore. Soon, he wouldn’t have power over anyone.
The band stopped playing their lively music and began a stately, inspiring version of the traditional bridal march. Annika looked throughout the room as she descended the stairs, with all eyes on her. She wished Mikhail was one of the faces looking back at her. She needed his presence to reassure her, especially on the very cusp of the most important moments of her life and in the lives of everyone in attendance.
As she reached the final stair, Egor shuffled up next to her. He offered his arm, and Annika reluctantly took it. She gave him a fake but convincing smile. He was looking around at the crowd, grinning even though the joy didn’t reach his eyes. His touch was cold and clammy. Annika realized how odd it was, how uncomfortable she was being near him. Now that her eyes had been opened, she could never see her father the same way again. She felt no inkling of real love or pride from him. He seemed to take much more joy in strutting past the glaring Sokolovs, head held high, like he was pulling something over on all of them. From his perspective, he was doing exactly that. Little did he know Annika had something planned, too.
The crowds parted to make way for Egor and Annika as they stepped out into the blistering, bright July sunshine. The garden was gorgeously decorated with white flowers, streamers, ribbons, and balloons. The crowd of close family and friends gathered within the velvet ropes stood at their chairs, beaming at the bride as she approached with her father. There were Baranovs on one side, Sokolovs on the other. The aisle was dotted with white flower petals, which crumpled under their steps. The bridal march echoed around her, the heat rolling sweat down her back. Everything was going fuzzy now, like time itself was slowed down. Annika felt every thump of her heartbeat. She stared straight ahead, straining her eyes for the one sight that could comfort her now.
Mikhail stood at the altar, looking like a spread from a wedding magazine in his perfectly tailored designer suit. He wore all black, except for the sumptuous red rose on his chest square. His dark hair was swept back, his jawline shaved smooth for the event. Annika’s heart fluttered and a tiny smile crossed her face. Mikhail locked eyes with her, and a silent understanding passed between them from opposite ends of the aisle.
It was time.
Annika stopped short in the middle of the aisle, causing Egor to glance back at her in confusion as he tried to keep walking. In that split second of confusion, a sharp whistle split the air, and the first body dropped to the petal-strewn ground.
CHAPTER19
MIKHAIL
Mikhail stoodat the altar with the priest at his back, and the entire congregation tearing into pieces before him. The vibe of the ceremony had split from pomp and sentiment to unrestricted pandemonium in a second. Baranovs and Sokolovs alike screamed, darted away, and dropped down for cover. It was an unfortunate side effect of planning a secret operation; in order to function, there had to be innocent bystanders. Not everyone could know the plan, especially one as fine-tuned and unexpected as this. Even though everyone present was somehow affiliated with the Sokolovs, Baranovs, or both, not every guest was a rough-and-tumble bodyguard type who was used to carnage. These were elderly advisors, businessmen, entertainers, personal staff, and relatives of the respective Pakhans who were really only familiar with the shiny financial side of the mafia lifestyle. They were less accustomed to bullets and knives, especially in the middle of the most important wedding Vegas had seen in decades.
While many of them ran away, as expected, there were a select few who stayed. These were the elite Avtoritets and Brodyaga who were best suited to help Mikhail pull off the switcheroo of the century. The men had been strategically placed in the ceremonial congregation on the Sokolov side, mixed in between the harmless civilians and associates just there to enjoy the wedding. As soon as the first knife sailed from Mikhail’s hand to lodge in Egor Baranov’s thigh, these men leapt into action. They each dove straight for their assigned targets, tackling the Baranov dissenters to the ground before they could begin their own shoot-and-stab routine against the Sokolovs.
“No! It wasn’t supposed to go this way!” Egor howled.
The Baranov leader himself had fallen to his knees, clutching at his wounded thigh and wailing in anger. Annika was on the ground, too, behind him in a mass of white lace and tulle. She was unharmed, as the plan dictated, but she stayed down for cover while the men battled all around her. Sokolovs and Baranovs fell across the aisle, tangled up in a fury of fists and spitting insults. One by one, the traitors were neutralized, whether by willing or forced surrender. Some required a little convincing, while others cried out for mercy instantly. Egor watched his master plan fall to pieces as each of his men was taken down. The desperation on his face grew wilder and more unhinged with every fallen Baranov. His plan was failing, but he didn’t want to give up on the most important part.
“Damn it!” Egor bellowed. “Do it now! Kill him, you fool!”
The Baranov patriarch was glaring urgently at the priest just behind Mikhail. Luckily, the Sokolov Pakhan was a step ahead. He spun around just in time to catch the portly, middle-aged priest as he reached into his white robes. Mikhail grabbed the priest’s arm and yanked him off his feet, the priest yelping as he stumbled to his knees. Mikhail gritted his teeth and clutched him by the throat, tightening his grip as he scowled down at the priest. The remaining congregants gasped in horror to see a man of God locked in Mikhail’s ruthless grasp.
“Let him go!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“He’s innocent!”
Egor fed into the panic, shouting, “You can’t trust Mikhail Sokolov! Only a man with no honor would assault a priest!”
But Mikhail ignored them. He knew they were wrong, and he was about to prove it. The priest cowered at his feet. Mikhail shoved him onto his back like a turtle, pulled back his flowing white robes, and withdrew a shiny handgun with a silencer. He held it aloft so that it glimmered in the bright sunshine.
“This is what the Baranovs consider a truce?” Mikhail snarled, holding up the gun as he stared daggers into the frightened crowd.
All eyes turned to focus on Egor as the wedding guests put two and two together. Shock and horror crossed their faces. Not only had Egor besmirched the sanctity of marriage by using the ceremony as an assassination attempt, but he had endangered his own daughter and associates in the process, and either paid or bullied a real priest into defying his own moral code to kill Mikhail. Even for the Baranovs, Egor’s true colors began to show.
“Oh my god, you really were going to kill him,” Annika gasped, glaring at her father as he bled all over the wedding aisle. “I knew it. Your advisor told us everything. But I couldn’t really believe it until I saw it myself. Mikhail was right all along.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Egor hissed, trying to drag himself closer to her. “Don’t let that filthy man pollute your mind. You are loyal to me, not him!”
Annika scooted away from him, wrinkling her nose as she scrambled to her feet. She looked down at him over the layers of frilly white fabric. As he reached out for her, she kicked his hand away with her stiletto heel and he howled in pain.
“Why would I be loyal to you? What have you ever done but lie to me?” she shouted.
“I raised you! I paid for your ballet lessons! I fed and clothed you for nineteen years!” Egor screeched.
“You never loved me. You don’t even know me,” she spat back.
“I know you better than anyone. I know how weak you are. I know how stupid you are. It was so easy to fool you all these years. Clearly, you never inherited my intelligence, nor my strength,” he snipped. “I knew since the day your worthless mother birthed you that you would be a thorn in my side. I asked for a warrior and I got a ballerina. What use were you to me?”
