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“Does it feel surreal yet?” Riccardo steps from behind and pats my shoulder with an amused grin. He would be one to know the feeling.
“Kind of, yeah.” I can’t help but chuckle, glancing at him before turning back to the window.
Last night, the first snow swept over Chicago, covering the dry grass and naked twigs with a delicate white blanket, so the ceremony was urgently rearranged to take place inside the wedding venue. The weather could not be rearranged, though. The heavy gray clouds are still covering the sky to the horizon, taking a short break from pouring rain over the city, and even though it’s only five, I can barely see the faces of people outside.
There shouldn’t be many guests, though, and I probably know them all by name anyway. My wedding is not as big of a deal as Riccardo's or Paolo’s were, so it was organized with fewer witnesses and less pomposity. Still, the leaders of both families, as well as their closest relatives, are gathering together for the night, so it promises to be quite a party.
“I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly either,” Riccardo murmurs, and through the reflection on the window I can see that he’s watching the cars down below.
We’re standing by a narrow window on the second floor of the wedding venue, and the whole parking lot is in full view. Guests keep arriving, but I can barely see their faces through the umbrellas held by the chauffeurs and bodyguards. I notice Matteo in the corner of the front porch, and I’m pretty sure that’s Yuriy and Olga leaving their car, but I still haven’t seen Sasha, and for some reason it makes me restless.
“Do you think they’re planning something?” I look at Riccardo with a frown.
No matter how happy I would be to think that Sasha accepted my proposal out of pure affection of her heart, I’m not an idiot. The Pushkovs want her to marry me, and remembering her past as a spy, I don’t know what to expect from this deal. Judging by the thoughtful expression on Riccardo’s face, he’s suspicious of them too.
“I think we have to play along and keep an eye on them,” Riccardo lowers his voice, catching my gaze and holding it for a moment. “If something happens, you have to let me know right away.”
Is he hinting at my reluctance to tell him about Sasha? Well, I guess he’ll keep that in mind for a long time.
When I finally told him about my encounters with Sasha and my final proposal, Riccardo was mad. He didn’t yell at me or threaten to lower my position in the clan, no, but I could see in his scowl that he was more than displeased with my behavior. But even then, Riccardo listened to me and, after some thought, agreed that me marrying Sasha would be a good move for both sides.
Riccardo kept quite a cold attitude with me for a few days, and only yesterday, after a meeting at the end of the day, did he finally melt and talk to me as a friend, not as a boss. And I have to admit, it feels nice to have him by my side again.
“You can count on me, brother.” I give him a grin and wrap my arm around his shoulders like we used to do in high school. I thought it looked cool back then. Now, I feel kinda stupid.
Riccardo probably feels the same because he chuckles and elbows me under my ribs. “Save the hugs for your wedding night.”
“Oh, I have plenty for everyone!”
I laugh and tighten my arm around his neck, pulling him into a joking chokehold. Even though he is the don of the most powerful family in Chicago, Riccardo doesn’t chicken out, and we arm wrestle for a few minutes. It probably ruins my suit, but at least it helps me relieve some of the jittery feelings from before.
Fake or not, it is my wedding day, and it’s going to change my life forever.
“You’re having fun, I see.”
It’s Elena’s voice that finally makes us stop and step away from each other. She stands at the far end of the hallway with her arms crossed and the corner of her lips curled in amusement. Riccardo immediately straightens up, brushes himself off, and runs his hand through his hair, turning to her.
“Yes, I’m—” He clears his throat, clearly not knowing what to say, but Elena only chuckles with fondness and gestures for him to come closer.
“Yuriy and Olga are here, we have to say hi. Louis, you better join us, too.”
I can’t say that I’m excited about it, but I guess she’s right. It’s my wedding, after all.
We get to the entrance hall where people are hanging around the buffet, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Even though the room is filled with women chattering and light music, I can feel the tension in the air. The Russians and Italians don’t really mix together; instead, they break into small groups on different sides of the hall, simply tolerating each other’s presence.
“Riccardo, Elena, what a pleasant occasion to meet you!”
Yuriy Pushkov raises his hand and booms with laughter as soon as we step close enough to catch his attention. He is a large and brazen man, overpowering with his presence alone, while his wife Olga is skinny, quiet, and rather aloof, with razor-sharp eyes and power oozing off her posture. They are complete opposites of each other, but it seems that neither of them cares.
“Lenochka.” Olga greets her niece with a kiss on her cheek while Riccardo and Yuriy shake hands, playing the game of politeness.
I linger next to Riccardo, not really impatient to join their little circle, when Yuriy’s penetrating gaze moves to me. Our gazes meet, and even though I can clearly see the cold calculation in his blue eyes, Yuriy breaks into a smile.
“Louis, I suppose? Welcome to the family.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it with a fake smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Of course, we’ve met before, but it’s the first time I can actually talk to the head of the Russian Bratva as an equal. Not that I enjoy it. It seems that they’re intentionally leaving out any discussions of our business, so the conversation mostly revolves around Elena’s pregnancy and the snow. Fascinating, huh?
