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Leo sinks back onto a bench in the corner of the hut. “I suggest we use a distraction method. Something that will cause chaos all around. Either a fuse bomb or a power outage if we can swing it.”
“I like that, but it means we need to go in at night to create the most confusion,” Mercy says shrewdly. Then to one of her men she says, “See if you can hack into the power grid.”
“How are we going to get near this place?” Andrei asks, looking at the satellite image on his phone. “It’s like a fort in the mountains.”
“We can take the Humvees to the foot of the hills. Then we hike. It’s the best way to get in undetected. The compound is remote enough that there is no fence, just eagle-eyed guards with AR-15s itching their hot little hands. Especially with the wedding taking place today. Once we’ve handled our business, choppers will extract us.”
My chest burns, and a vein throbs in my forehead. The thought of another man’s ring on Bianca’s finger, especially that evil fuckwad’s, makes my blood boil. His death will be long and slow, and as painful as possible. Doubly so if she’s hurt.
Activity buzzes to life around me. Mercy’s team is well-trained, understanding exactly what needs to be done, and how to move forward undetected. Yulian, Leo, and Andrei join the fray. This might not be our usual line of operation, but bratva business is not so different. We’re used to leading a team and taking down any enemy that needs to be eliminated.
Yet here I am. Glued to the spot. Clenching and unclenching my fists that hang at my sides.
Mercy eyes me carefully. “Gonna be honest with you here. This mission is gonna be tense. We can’t afford to have emotions running high. If you want to wait here—”
“Fuck no.” I scowl. “I have no intention of sitting this one out. I’ll be the one to gut the motherfuckers who did this to her. Who hurt her.” But even as the words roll off my tongue, I know that I’m no better. I’m the reason she’s here.
And if that’s not fucked-up, I don’t know what is.
She may want nothing to do with me ever again, and frankly, I’d understand. But I’m going to make sure she gets her revenge, and I’m going to make sure it’s ugly. “This is my mess, and I’m going to clean it up.”
“Giddyap, cowboy. We leave at seventeen hundred hours,” Mercy says before punching my shoulder with more force than seems entirely necessary and stalking off.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
BIANCA
I never imaginedI would die on the same day as my wedding, but hell, life is full of surprises.
The idea of death coming for me today should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It’s comforting. It means I’ll get my revenge, and Daniil won’t be collateral damage.
Small mercies.
Daylight had faded behind the majestic mountains, the sky transformed into dusk. With the sun’s disappearance, the humidity has eased up, and it’s a pleasant enough evening for a wedding. And a funeral.
As I take a final look in the mirror, minutes from walking down the aisle, I think that in another world, with another man, this would be a perfect day. If I were marrying Daniil—likereallymarrying him, not like before—we’d pledge our life together, in sickness and in health, and in every way that matters. If it were Daniil, today might be the best day of my life. But as it stands, today’s probably going to be the last day of my life.
I’m escorted to the threshold of the mansion by a half dozen guards. Music floats in from the courtyard, even though there are no guests, just a bunch of bored looking Zega soldiers who were ordered to standby.
I don’t know why we’re going through this farce of a ceremony other than it appeals to Jorge’s giant ego. What a joke. But I’ll get the last laugh. A quick glimpse into the plush bouquet of white roses I am holding confirms that the sewing scissors I took earlier are well hidden within the full blooms. Hidden in plain sight. It’s great that the feds are here, but revenge is mine.
The “Wedding March” begins to play, my cue to get on with it. Anxious eyes of the domestic staff drink me in, perhaps wondering if I am going to bolt. They have no idea. Even if I was inclined to do so, the submachine-gun-toting guards would definitely be a deterrent. Luckily, I have other plans.
Jorge waits for me on a pedestal below a white gauzy canopy with my uncle standing impatiently beside him. Emilio is not usually a presence I welcome, but today is different. I want him close to me for one reason, and that reason will come soon.
As I make my way down the aisle—which is a simple white liner spread over the hard ground—I keep my gaze focused on the horizon, past the men gathered around the canopy, past Jorge, whose eyes track me like a hunter stalks its prey. The look he gives me causes my insides to clench. It’s not quite desire, but something more like triumph gleams in his eyes.
With each step towards the altar, my ears buzz and I fight a wave of nausea. Can I really do this? Can I go through with it? I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, but rage compels me forward. I draw in a breath, hoping the oxygen might focus me. Might give me strength.
The men I can’t call guests all look bored, sweating in the humid evening air, sitting down to take in this farce of a wedding at my uncle’s bidding. Although there’s no doubt everyone here is packing heat, only one man is obviously armed as he stands holding a submachine gun. I do a double take as I pass him, not because of the weapon, but because he’s familiar. I take a moment to place him, but when I finally do, my insides twist. He’s the man from Stereo, the one who accosted me when I was on the way to the VIP room.
He’s part of Jorge’s crew. I should have known.
He smirks at me, but I ignore him. I can’t allow distractions right now.
As I approach the pedestal, I allow myself to look behind me at the domestic staff standing with their backs to the house, watching from afar. I gave them clear instructions that no one is to come close under any circumstances. They don’t deserve to be caught up in the carnage. Whatever comes next, it will be vicious and ugly.
A sweaty priest with beady eyes and a shifty gaze nods at me as the music fades. Jorge leans in close, his cologne assaulting my senses, and whispers, “I can’t wait until I own you. Think of my ring as a shackle. A smaller version of what I’ll use to chain you to my bed.”
