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“It is my plan, Dmitri.” The tone in my voice shuts him off. “The wedding is a farce. We all know it. It’s an invitation for Igor to try again. Maybe the target was only Vasily, but I don’t think so. What a perfect chance to take aim while I’m standing at the altar with my bride.”
One of my personal guards, Oleg, looks in from the open closet door. He’s dressed as a groomsman in a black suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel. Except for the bride, everyone participating today is armed—from the bridal party to the valets to the caterers. It’s all pretend. The only thing real is the guns concealed underneath our clothing.
Silently, he indicates his watch by lifting his wrist and then steps away. I check my Rolex. It’s time to play our parts.
Paige Reyes too.
I slide my jacket on and examine my reflection as I button it closed. I’m satisfied now that I look more like a groom and less like a man plotting revenge. “If Igor really is working with Talia, then he’s in control. And he will strike when it’s least expected, not when she desires it to happen.”
“She wants to marry the groom, not bury him,” Dmitri reminds me as we walk out.
I send my groomsmen out through the hallway, except for Oleg. The three of us use the hidden stairwell and exit on the second floor. Last night, I moved Paige into the west wing, which is farthest from the main staircase. If someone breaches the front door, the occupants of the west wing have enough time to hide, escape, or fight.
Dmitri and Oleg keep up with my hasty stride. “He’s an eager groom.” Dmitri winks at Oleg. “Has anyone told you it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Andrei Vasilyevich?”
“I’m counting on a disaster,” I quip.
Oleg chuckles but doesn’t comment. His appearance is deceiving if one judges intelligence by physical bulk. Tall and lumbering, he’s a smart man, and I rely on that to keep me alive.
We stop outside Paige’s bedroom. The door repeatedly opens and shuts as a parade of bridesmaids rushes in and out, grasping fabric and flowers, eager to follow my mother’s orders. I catch a glimpse of a stoic Paige in the center of it all. Dressed in her bra, panties, and stockings, she’s expressionless as the dress my mother picked out is tugged onto her waiting body. I glance back at Dmitri and Oleg, who wisely avert their gazes from my half-dressed bride.
But when I look back, Paige is staring straight at me. Her eyes are daggers as she clenches her fists. Her rage is tangible even at a distance. My gaze drifts over her exposed body before making eye contact again. She’s smooth, with glowing skin, and soft with unmistakable curves.
She’s too pure and wholesome. The kind of woman who finds my lifestyle repugnant. Hell, she’s already told me that every time she stands in front of me. Women like her run away from monsters like me. She’s done that already.
Eva beckons to Oleg, and he peers doubtfully at the petite woman waving him over. He looks terrified to enter a room full of chattering, jovial women. “Come here,” she says in Russian. “Here’s the jewelry that needs to be taken down to the jeep andguarded.”
Smirking, Dmitri gives Oleg a slight shove toward the door and pulls it shut. We continue on our way downstairs and outside to the waiting Rover.
“Any progress?” I ask as Dmitri settles beside me. “Has anyone figured out how Gerald Reyes knows Sidorenko?”
He shakes my head. “Nothing. The only thing we can tell is that he quit his job at a boring accounting firm before he picked up a job in construction. And it seems that the only one who might know anything is Sidorenko.”
“We will find out,” I growl.
“Your bride may be innocent of her father’s sins,” Dmitri says. “She may not know Sidorenko or why her father knows him. Reyes has done a good job of hiding his past, if such a past even exists.”
“Because no one has taken an interest in him until now.” I sit back and tap once on the glass separating us from the driver. “If Paige is innocent, then I will continue to protect her.”
I toss the comment out casually, but there’s a knowing look in Dmitri’s eyes.
“I wonder if there might be something else about Paige Reyes that would interest a man,” he says.
“You think like a woman.” My tone wipes the smirk off his smug face. “I overheard Eva speaking to Paige last night. She desperately wants to believe our marriage is based on choice, but how can she not see the truth? This is fake; it must be fake.”
Dmitri stares straight ahead while I watch the road from my car window. But soon, he interrupts my thoughts with his opinion. “There are strong feelings that suggest otherwise,” he replies. “The way she looks at you, Andrei Vasilyevich. Not with fear, but with enough hate to make you ignite and burn in hell.”
I bark a laugh. “Good. Let her hate me. I don’t believe in love, but I believe in hate.”
“Some say love and hate are different faces of the same coin, Andrei Vasilyevich. You don’t believe love can strike you at any time like a bullet to the heart?”
I shake my head with certainty. “Not after everything I’ve seen since the day I could walk. Men beat their wives but show amazing control around their sworn enemies. Men cheat but expect their women to remain loyal only to them. Men won’t bat an eye when using a woman to achieve an end—whether that end is honorable or reprehensible.”
“Like you?” he asks. “Is this honorable, or is this reprehensible?”
“It will be the same with Paige. The Bratva rules our lives.”
“Then why do you exude a sense of turmoil when you look at her?”
