9. Lev
Chapter 9
Lev
I adjust my tie and stare at myself in the mirror. The mask is on, but it feels heavy, like my usual charming smile wants to slip off and reveal the inky black horrors underneath.
I hate this shit. I despise being the center of attention. It’s still early in the day, and I’m already exhausted. Everyone assumes that fun-loving, charismatic Lev loves a party, but they’re so fucking wrong. This sort of event exhausts me because it means I have to be on for hours.
I have to keep the mask firmly in place.
No slips. No excuses.
The wedding’s happening at the Fairmount Waterworks. It’s the old water station right next to the Schuylkill River, and it’s a gorgeous venue. Italians and Russians mingle indoors and on a huge patio area where the main reception will happen. The weather’s gorgeous, which is a bonus.
I haven’t seen my wife for longer than a few minutes. For all I know, she’s running away.
“You good, bro?” Alex steps into the little private room set aside for the groom’s side.
“Just taking a break.” I look sideways at him. Of everyone in the world, I could probably be myself the most around Alex. Except even that’s dangerous. “I was hoping for something small at the courthouse, and yet here we are.”
“Valentin Zeitsev requested this, and if that’s how the pakhan wants it?—”
“That’s what the pakhan gets,” I finish for him.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be all right. Ceremony’s in a half hour. Dancing and dinner after that. Then it’s all done and you have yourself a pretty new Italian wife.”
“I’m so excited I can barely breathe.”
“Tell that to your face.” He stands beside me in the mirror. I’ve got a smirk plastered on, but it’s hard not to see the stress at my edges. “You know how much this means to everyone,” he says softly.
“I know why I’m doing this.” For the family. For myself.
Not for the little fencer that stormed into my life and upset the balance I’ve so carefully constructed.
“Then let’s get through it.” He takes a flask from his jacket and holds it up. “ Za vas .” He takes a hit and passes it over.
“To the family,” I say before letting some whiskey warm my throat.
After that, it’s more mingling. I meet more old Italian men than I ever wanted to. Adriano’s there for most of it, guiding me along and letting me know which of his Capos are important and which are on the outskirts of his organization and which are only aware of their legitimate activities, such as they are. I do the same for him with my people, and I can’t help but smirk at the idea of having a mafia/bratva mixer and networking party.
The number of crimes that have been committed by the men in these rooms would make a district attorney salivate.
I’m almost able to calm down and let myself get through this torture when I step out onto the patio to get a moment of air and spot her coming toward me.
Time stills. The water rushing past down below in the river comes to a sputtering halt. There’s a breeze in the air and I smell bracken and soil, but all I can do is stare.
She’s in a conservative, almost old-fashioned white dress. The sleeves are long and glittering. The bodice forms to her chest and hips, and the skirt trails after her. She looks like a ballerina, gliding gracefully. My heart’s in my throat and I can’t believe this woman is my wife, this gorgeous fucking woman with her dark hair in a complicated braid and little glittering gemstones studding around her neck and on her wrists. This woman with her red lipstick like that night. This fucking woman, my little fencer.
And suddenly, I come back to myself.
“Can we talk?” she asks, glancing nervously toward the party.
“I thought this was bad luck.”
“We’re way past that point.” She moves over to the corner of the patio. Some folks lingering outside notice us, but none come over when I follow her.
I stand close enough to smell her perfume. It’s the same scent from that night.
It fucking kills me.
“What do you want?” I ask, sharper than I meant.
She flinches and looks away. “We should talk.”
“If you’re trying to get out of this wedding, you’re much too late.”
“No, that’s not?—”
“I understand this isn’t what you wanted. Do you think I agreed to this because I was excited about marrying a stranger? But this is our duty.”
“You don’t have to be such a prick about it,” she says sharply. Anger spills out of her. She can’t even help it. Where I’m constantly hiding who I am and what I feel, her emotions flow around her in waves, and I bet she doesn’t even know it.
That’s messy. It’s undisciplined.
Fuck, I love her mess.
I tighten my jaw to force that thought from my mind.
“People are staring. Why did you want to talk?”
She opens her mouth but glances to the side. Her face pales slightly when she realizes more people are spilling out onto the patio now, probably because they heard the bride was making the rounds before the ceremony. Not normal, but nothing about this is normal.
“I just have to tell you something before we do this,” she whispers, sounding urgent.
I can barely hear her. My body itches to touch her skin. It’s a sensation I despise, this barely in control lust ringing through my core. My cock’s half stiff being so close to her right now.
It’s a disease, how badly I want her. I’m a sick, fucked-up man, because all I want to do is rip her dress above her hips and bury myself in her soaking wet pussy while she says my name.
My real name.
But I don’t want to be nice. I don’t want to feel this way. I’ve always been in control, but she makes me feel like my mask is cracking.
I need boundaries. I need rules and space.
Otherwise, this itching under my skin is going to make me do something I’ll regret.
“I’m not interested,” I say, and she looks at me sharply. “No, really, Carmie, nothing you have to say matters. Don’t you get that? What happened that night happened, and now we’re moving on with our lives. Once this ceremony is over, you can go back home with your father. You can be whoever you want to be, and we’ll do the bare minimum. I’ll be loyal to you, and I ask that you’re loyal to me, but past that? You’re not mine, and I’m not yours. This is all for show.”
The hurt in her eyes breaks my heart. I’m doing it again; I’m being a bastard because I don’t know what else to do. I hate myself as much as she does in this moment.
“God, you’re such a piece of shit,” she whispers, words trembling. “Seriously, Lev. You have no idea how cruel you are.”
“I’m being pragmatic. You should try it. Now, if we’re done?”
I turn away before she answers. If I let her keep talking, I don’t know how I’ll resist burying her little mouth with my own and claiming her right here.
This is going to be a painful marriage.
My mask falls into place. Once again, I’m affable Lev, engaging, attractive.
While under the surface, I’m boiling for that woman.