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She didn’t respond to calls or texts after that.
It was like my sister died the moment the phone disconnected.
Sickness fills my guts. I keep thinking about my sister, my poor sister, my best friend, the nicest person I ever met in my life, dead in a bathtub. I keep hearing the fear in her voice and imagining how she must’ve felt.
Murdered by her own husband.
The man I’m about to marry.
And the man that’s going to kill me too.
I grab my phone from the end table and shove it down between my breasts, lodging it in the bra I insisted on wearing even though it doesn’t really work with this dress, because fuck everyone, that’s why. Then I step up to the bedroom door, steadying my nerves, and turn the knob. I pull it open, step into the hall, prepared to march to my own doom, when I stop abruptly, my mouth falling open.
He’s standing there, staring at me, barely five feet away.
Rustik Aslan.
The Russian Lion.
Leader of the Aslan Bratva.
My sister’s killer.
And my future husband.
Rustik’s big, broad, with a square jaw and a hooked nose that looks like someone beat it into submission. His brows are blond, his hair thinning and buzzed short. He’s bursting out of his suit, like someone made it two sizes too small. His arms are like fire hydrants. His legs are like skyscrapers. The man stares at me with a vicious, terrifying energy, and I hear the women in the room behind me start to whisper.
I shut the door with my foot, cutting off my own escape.
Better to face him with my chin up.
I school my expression, the way Papa showed me.
“You’re late.” Rustik’s voice is a low growl. He’s an American, no hint of a Russian accent, though I’ve heard his father barely spoke any English. Only the old tongue. “Everyone is waiting.”
“They’ll wait as long as it takes, won’t they? You’re the great Russian Lion, after all.”
Is that the hint of a smile? No, of course not, Rustik Aslan doesn’t smile. He only stares. “I want you downstairs. I want you walking down that aisle. No more delay.”
“Are you going to drag me yourself? I bet the guests would love that. Why don’t we put on a show for them?”
He takes a step forward. My hands come up to my throat involuntarily, like I’m protecting myself. His voice drops lower. “Don’t test me, Alisa. Don’t be like your sister.”
I open my mouth. I can’t find any words. Horror rings through me, crystal clear like a frozen waterfall. I hate this man, hate him with every inch of my body, and I would do anything to kill him with my bare hands if I could.
But he’s a hulking brute.
And he’ll break me, the same as he broke my sister.
Maybe not right away. Not even the Lion could get away with killing two sisters in the same year.
But day by day, week by week, he’ll make sure I don’t live to see the children he forces into my belly grown.
“How did she die?” The words come out whispered, choked.
“You know how.” Another ghost of a smirk. This time, his eyes are twinkling. Knowing, mocking. “Do you want the details? Do you want to know about all the pills your sister swallowed? I can tell you. I can count them all, from her throat down to her stomach.”
“Stop it.”
“Liliya wasn’t the saint you like to pretend she was. That girl didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. She snooped, she asked questions, and now that she’s dead, the world’s a better place. If you can’t learn to mind your manners the way Liliya never did, you might end up just like her. High on pills, dead in a bathtub.”
“You bastard.” Tears well into my eyes again. I hate myself for this weakness, these emotions, but I can’t handle listening to him talk about my sister like that. Liliya was a lot of things—clever, beautiful, outgoing, a bit of a troublemaker, good at heart—but she was not an addict, and the world’s a darker, more terrible place without her in it.
“You can insult me all you want for now, but once you’re my wife, I will not tolerate that sort of behavior. You will learn to bow your head and do as you’re told, or I will happily break your toes and bruise your body until you learn.” He leans in, showing teeth. “Or maybe I’ll shove some pills down your fat gullet, just like Liliya.” He holds my gaze for an agonizing second. I want to scream in his face, but I’m petrified. “Get yourself together. It’s pathetic. Be downstairs in ten minutes or I really will drag you down by your fucking hair. I hope our children don’t get your disgusting weakness.”
He turns and strides off. I gasp when he’s gone, leaning up against the wall, my heart hammering into my guts and sweat tingling down my back and under my arms. I cover my mouth with both hands, trying to shove the sobs away, but I can’t stop them.
