Bound Bride (Mafia Lords of Sin #16)

1. Rose

ROSE

"Are you ready?"

The throaty voice rising up from behind me delivering those words is tinged with a note of impatience, and the following sigh only serves to amplify the weighted feeling that somehow I'm the problem here.

If I had a choice, I'd be anywhere else.

Rain lashes against the large window, battering the glass so hard that it trembles slightly within the frame.

Beyond, the large surrounding garden grows dark in color as hundreds of plants, bushes, and trees become weighed down with water.

I know the feeling.

I'm drowning, just like they are.

Each breath I drag past my painted lips is restricted by the overwhelming tightness of the bodice hugging my ribs and waist like a second skin.

This dress is a size too small. I bet it's on purpose. I wouldn't put it past these assholes to try and embarrass me in public on my wedding day just to get an extra kick out of the torture they're putting me through.

My reflection in the glass shimmers and wobbles as rain pours down the window, and for a moment, she's granted the tears I have to swallow down.

I'm getting married today.

And I'd rather die.

Maybe I could.

I could throw myself out this window and into that garden, and then just run until my feet are stained with mud, my wedding dress loses its pearly white hue, and all the perfectly applied curls around the sparkling diamond tiara on my head come spiraling loose.

It would be selfish, but for a few long seconds, it feels like I could do it. I could leave everyone and everything behind and let fate take its course while I go and live my life away from this chaotic fucking mess.

"I said, are you fucking ready?!"

My fantasy shatters as Mathew grabs my upper arm from behind and jerks me away from the window.

Stumbling on my heels, one foot catches on the swirls of silky fabric from my dress and I trip, only for Mathew to grab my other arm as well and shake me violently.

"We don't have time for your fucking daydreaming."

"Ah!" Pain lances through my upper arm as his fingernails bite into the soft skin near my armpit. "I'm sorry, I was just—"

"I don't give a shit." He drags me across the room to the floor-length mirror on the other side and positions me in front of it, then he stands behind me with his hands on my waist and his chest pressing against my back.

"Look at you." Mathew leans down until his thin, scarred lips press against the swirl of my ear. "You're so fucking beautiful, Rose. Your family must be so proud."

His tongue darts out and catches on the end of my earlobe. I barely contain my recoil.

"If it wasn't for the plan, I'd be the one dragging you down the aisle, and then I'd spend the entire night fucking you until you couldn't walk." His hips thrust against my ass as he groans and despite the boning in my bodice, the tightening of his hands against my waist is unmistakable.

Disgust lances through me like a blade. I lift my chin, narrowing my eyes as I glare at him in the mirror. "I thought you told me to stop daydreaming," I mutter coldly. "There's no way you could keep it up all night long."

"Fucking bitch!" He steps around me, lifting one hand to my throat and gripping so harshly that my tongue bulges slightly in my mouth.

I lift both my hands to his wrist and grip as tightly as I can, but Mathew is stronger than me.

Nothing I can do will make him release me.

"You're fucking lucky I can't ruin your pretty face right now," he growls as he drags me forward until we're nose to nose.

"Otherwise, I'd beat the shit out of you for that comment, you hear me?

Don't you forget why we're here, because the second you stop being useful, I'll drag your little sister up here and we'll see how long she survives. Should I do that?"

"No!" The word wheezes past my lips as I struggle for air.

"Are you sure? She's what, fifteen? She'll be half the fucking trouble you are, Rose."

"P-Please!" My heart pounds like a drum and my stomach tightens as Beatie's face flashes through my mind. The thought of her suffering even an ounce of what I've endured makes my blood run cold. "I'll be good!"

Mathew's grip on my throat tightens and for a few cold, terrifying seconds, I fear his dark, soulless eyes will be the last thing I ever see.

Then he releases me and I stumble back into the mirror with a gasp. Each desperate breath I drag in afterward sends a burning sensation down my throat, but I'm alive and breathing, and that's all that matters.

"You'll be better than good," Mathew mutters.

"You'll be the fucking best, you hear me?

You'll be the picture-perfect, ideal wife for that bastard and he won't be able to keep his hands off you.

" He snorts and peers past me into the mirror while adjusting his tie that bunched up during our scuffle.

"Shouldn't be too hard, his last wife is fucking dead.

If you can't beat a dead woman, you're in serious trouble. "

My lips part around my last ragged breath, but before I can reply, a swift knocking at the door interrupts us.

Before either of us can speak, the door swings open and a tall man walks in.

He's taller than Mathew, and broader as well, which is likely why Mathew suddenly lifts his chin and puffs out his chest when Calvin walks in.

At least, I think his name is Calvin.

I've only met him once, and he introduced himself as someone who works for Konstantin, my soon-to-be husband.

Kindly eyes rest under thick brows, and his sandy-brown hair sweeps to the side with a slight tilt of his head as he looks us over.

"Rose? We're ready for you." The American twang to his words is oddly comforting, considering I've been around nothing but Russians for these past months. His eyes dart from Mathew's preening to me by the mirror where I'm quickly dabbing the stress-induced tears out of my eyes. "Are you alright?"

"She's fine," Mathew cuts in. "Wedding jitters. You know how it is."

"Right." Calvin's deadpan tone almost makes me smile. "Is your brother still walking you down the aisle?"

"Of course I am," Mathew cuts in again. "Who else would do it?"

Calvin's jaw tenses, but he's successful in restraining whatever comeback bubbles behind his teeth.

"I'm ready," I say finally, once I'm satisfied none of the smudges on my eyeliner are noticeable. "Sorry, I didn't mean to take so long."

"Women, eh?" Mathew smiles suddenly, and despite the gauntness to his face, his eyes grow small around the sudden bulge of his cheek. Then he holds out his arm and offers his elbow to me. "Let's get this over with, sis."

My stomach flips over itself and I force a polite smile, swallowing down the bile that rises at this asshole daring to act like we're family.

It's all part of the plan, but some things are much harder to deal with.

I loop my hand around his elbow and as we leave the dressing room, all my masks fall into place. It's the only thing that will get me through this hell and save my family.

Music rises up from the grand hall, drifting from under the double doors that Calvin approaches as he leads the way.

Countless times I dreamed of what it would be like to be married, how excited I would be to hear the wedding march and walk down the aisle toward someone who loved me.

How naive I was.

Today, I walk down the aisle to marry a man I have never met, all for the safety of my family.

Calvin reaches the doors and grips both gold handles, then he glances over his shoulder and meets my eyes. "Deep breaths," he murmurs and he throws the doors wide open.

It's not until I'm a handful of steps down the aisle that I realize that's the first kind thing someone has said to me since this whole disaster started.

It nearly brings me to tears.

I don't notice the crowds of people on either side of the aisle, or the heavily decorated seats or rafters.

I don't notice the colorful flowers everywhere or the line of men in dark suits lining the hallway looking ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

I don't even notice my father sitting in the front row with his lips pressed into a thin line and both his hands clasped anxiously in his lap.

My mother and sister should be next to him, but their spaces remain empty.

All my focus locks onto the man standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt.

He's tall.

Taller than Calvin (and definitely taller than Mathew).

Thick, dark hair piles atop his head, gathered over shaved sides that taper around the back.

Several streaks of silver are combed through his hair almost as if they're intentional decoration rather than signs of age.

A soft, dark shadow of hair clings to his jaw, melting into dark, tanned skin.

Konstantin Belyaev.

My future husband.

He doesn't react while I walk down the aisle, but he never takes his eyes off me, barely blinking as I approach.

From where I started, his eyes looked black, but now I'm closer, they're clearly gray, and they twinkle slightly as the wrinkles around his eyes deepen with a shift of his jaw.

At least he's handsome.

More than handsome. He looks cut from a dream and pasted over reality.

With every blink, I expect him to fade and the real Konstantin to take his place, but it never happens.

He remains standing there, watching me until we're right next to one another and Mathew is passing my hand into his.

A silence falls over us like a blanket, forcing me to realize that people had been clapping and cheering along with the music while I walked down the aisle. I barely even noticed.

Everything remains fuzzy in my periphery while my heart pounds in my chest, and a tremor moves down my arm the moment Konstantin's hand closes around mine.

If he notices, he doesn't say.

His hand is warm in mine, slightly weathered and rough but not unpleasant. He firmly threads our fingers so we're palm to palm, then he turns to the minister and the ceremony starts.

It's a blur.

The man, draped in robes, speaks of love and fate, loyalty and soulmates, and how lucky we are to have found one another.

It's a speech as fake as the 'love' that exists between us, as if everyone in the hall doesn't already know this is nothing more than a deal.

A deal I have to seal if I have any hope of saving my family.

Everything goes in one ear and out the other, including the vows I'm forced to recite to make everything perfect.

The only constant is Konstantin's hand in mine and the occasional flex of his fingers between my own. It's a nice hand.

The warmth is almost comforting, and if I squint, I can pretend his palms are rough and calloused because he's a simple working man who likes carpentry or something.

A weak mask for the truth—that he's just as much a monster as Mathew is, although I pray they're cut from a different cloth.

I've barely survived Mathew.

I can't go through that again.

I'm so caught up in dismantling what kind of man Konstantin Belyaev might be, considering he's a mafia king, that I don't register that the ceremony is all but over until Konstantin's other hand touches my waist.

I freeze and my eyes dart up to meet his.

His hand, after seemingly gaining permission from my look, slides around to my lower back and uses that hold to draw me in against his solid, warm body.

Chest to chest, my heart starts racing faster and faster until it's just a blur of vibration in my chest that I'm certain he can feel.

"It is with great pleasure that I now pronounce Konstantin Belyaev and Rose Chaika to be husband and wife!" booms the man in robes. "You may kiss the bride and bring Rose Belyaevna into your fold!"

Kiss the bride.

Fuck.

I forgot all about that. I've been so caught up in Mathew's threats, how I present myself, not raising suspicion and keeping myself calm that I forgot all about how Konstantin and I have to—

My thoughts screech to an abrupt halt the moment Konstantin's mouth closes gently, yet firmly, over mine.

His lips are warm and dry, and they close over my own like they already know exactly how to slot together.

The arm around my waist tightens and draws me even closer to his body so I lift my hand and rest it on his chest.

His other hand remains tangled with mine, and his fingers flex once again.

Then they slip free and brush under my chin.

A hint of pressure is enough to make me tip my head back slightly, leading Konstantin to deepen the kiss as if he's trying to imprint himself on me.

Part of me wants to let him.

The crowd fades away to nothing.

My rabbit-running thoughts remain stalled and quiet.

My heart races, and for a few seconds, his heart seems to race just as fast under my palm.

Although that might be a trick of my imagination, because Konstanin pulls back almost immediately.

The cacophony of cheers, yells, and music surges back to me like the crash of waves.

He doesn't look nervous. In fact, his face looks as calm and impassive as it did when I was walking up the aisle, while he's left me with weak legs and aching lips from a single kiss.

Just one kiss.

Holy shit.

I blink slowly and a smile catches at the corner of my lips, but when I open my eyes, Konstantin is gone.

Coldness sweeps through me from the absence of space he's left beside me, and I glimpse him striding away down the aisle without looking back.

My heart sinks and Mathew's cold, hard gaze stands out from the cheering crowd like a fucking beacon, dragging me right back to reality.

The moment we lock eyes, he mouths his next words to me. I can almost hear his throaty voice in my ear.

"You know what you have to do next. And if you fail? Everyone dies."

How the hell am I going to get pregnant by a man who just abandoned me at the altar?