Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
LUKYAN VOLKOV
Here it is. My motherfucking wedding day.
I looked into the mirror, adjusting my cerulean tie. I’d chosen that color specifically to bring out the shine in my pretty blue eyes. My hair was up high in a bun. It accentuated the sharpness of my jawline, and a black, fitted three-piece suit was molded to my frame.
The whole event might not have been something I’d have chosen for myself, but I was going to make damn sure I looked good doing it.
I picked up my cuff links from the bathroom counter next, putting them on. I’d received numerous messages from my siblings, all wishing me well. Their words of encouragement meant a lot. Especially coming from Aleksandr.
We hadn’t spoken since I left, and even though I was yet to reply to him, I’d already decided I would call him later that night, after the wedding and festivities were over, and squash whatever bullshit was going on between us.
Life was too short to bicker over such meaningless and frivolous shit.
I could literally die at any moment if I stepped out of line.
If my grandfather uncovered the secret plot to kill him and take over.
I didn’t want to die with unresolved issues.
Light, bassy music played in the air as I moved out of the en suite and into the main bedroom—a piss-poor attempt to try to lighten my mood after the conversation with Sergei the night before.
It had put everything into perspective. Highlighted exactly what was at risk if I didn’t succeed. Pressure had squeezed my chest all night, making it impossible to catch even a minute of sleep. I was too busy planning.
While my father was being watched every hour, every second, I had no one. There wasn’t a single guard monitoring my movements. It worked in my favor, sure, but it also pissed me the fuck off because it meant my grandfather didn’t think I was a big enough threat to even bother with surveillance.
I was going to make him look me in the eyes when I killed him so he could see exactly how much he had underestimated me.
A knock sounded at my bedroom door.
“Yep?”
Father and Autumn walked in. Behind them stood a guard detail of four.
I arched an eyebrow. “Four?” I laughed, sitting down on the bed. A pair of black dress shoes sat at my feet. “Grandfather really doesn’t trust you.”
“It’s actually insulting, if you ask me.
” Autumn strolled further in, her heels click-clacking along the marble floor.
She was dressed in a beautiful, floor-length green dress, her blazing red hair up in a fancy updo.
“That he thinks four will be enough to stop me if I want to do something.” Autumn scoffed, shaking her head. “Insulting,” she repeated.
Father followed her inside, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. He wore a dark suit, much like my own, but his tie was red, and it matched the pocket square in his breast pocket. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear when we opened the door and saw them standing in the hallway.”
She shrugged. “I was annoyed. I warrant at least six. Maybe seven. Add in the three for you, and we should have a guard detail of ten, not a measly four. It’s offensive. I have a reputation to uphold here.”
“Wait a second, why do I only have three?”
Autumn gave him a look that could only be described as Oh, honey.
Father put a hand up in the air, palm outward. “You know what? Don’t answer that. We don’t have time to argue.”
Autumn pouted. “What about later?”
“Fine. Later.”
Because scheduling a time to argue was completely normal behavior.
He turned to look at me. I’d just finished putting on my shoes, and was officially all dressed and ready to go. “Let me look at you.”
I stood.
His eyes traveled up and down my frame. He fixed the lapels on my jacket, straightening them, and then brushed my shoulders. “I hate that this is your fate. I wanted you to marry for love, not for some trade deal for your grandfather.”
I shrugged. Everyone else seemed to care more about the whole thing than I did. Probably because no one knew what I had planned to get out of it. “Love can grow. Look at you and Autumn. Didn’t you two hate each other when you first met?”
Autumn snorted. “That’d be an understatement. He tried to kill me.”
“You tried to kill me first,” he said back, affronted.
“I don’t remember it that way.”
Father rolled his eyes. “Anyway, while yes, you’re right—love can grow—this was never the path I envisioned for you.
But maybe this can be the start of a great adventure for you.
After you’re married, we can step into negotiations and see about having the two of you move back to Las Vegas.
Or would you prefer to stay?” His eyes did a slow sweep of the room, and he squeezed my shoulder.
I understood what he was trying to say without needing to hear the words.
Grandfather most likely had a bug planted somewhere in the room—several, if I had to bet on it, and he was probably listening right that minute.
Father was talking as though we had no plan to overthrow him.
As if we were truly there to honor Grandfather’s orders without putting up any resistance.
“I’m happy to stay,” I answered, playing along. “As long as you can convince my idiot siblings to come and visit.”
He allowed his lips to quirk just a fraction. “I’m sure I can do that. You have everything you need?”
“Yep. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
Father nodded. “I’ve looked into her. Your future wife. She seems nice. Sweet. I think you’ll like her.”
There was nothing wrong with sweet. Sweet was good. Safe.
It also sounded boring as hell.
“Cool.”
“You might want to act a little more excited.” Humor danced across Autumn’s face. “It’s your wedding day, after all.”
I flashed my teeth in a wide, open smile.
Autumn chuckled. “Better. Totally believable.”
“How was dinner last night?” Father asked, doing a lap of the room. His eyes ran over everything, searching every nook and cranny.
“Fine. It was pretty much what you’d expect. Food. Awkward small talk. A little light threatening with a side of assholery. You know, the usual.” I moved to the dresser and picked up a bottle of cologne. “There’s something off about Mr. Average.”
Autumn’s brows lowered. “Who?”
“Vernon,” I clarified, spraying the cologne at the column of my throat. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something going on between him and Grandfather. Something they’re trying to hide.”
Father came to a stop in the center of the room, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.
“I wouldn’t concern yourself with it. Your only focus right now should be the wedding, and making sure everything goes off without any problems. There’s too much at stake to think about anything else. ”
He was saying that for Sergei’s benefit. So the old fart would think we were toeing the line. Falling into place. That we weren’t secretly doing the very thing he feared…planning a rebellion.
“You’re right,” I blew out. “I just can’t shut my brain off.” That wasn’t exactly right. I just couldn’t shut my brain off about one specific thing, and I was desperately grasping onto anything else in an attempt to keep my mind distracted. To keep myself from thinking about her.
Moya malen’kaya ten’. My little shadow.
Why haven’t I heard from her? She’d proven time and time again that she possessed the capability of finding out information—information she wasn’t really privy to. She would have known I was getting married, and yet, she’d done nothing about it.
No messages. No creepy love notes. In the past, she’d shown up and straight up murdered any woman who so much as looked in my direction, declaring her undying love for me and how we were soulmates.
Destined to be together. But she’d done absolutely nothing about the fact that I was literally hours away from tying myself to another person?
Nothing?!
It didn’t make sense.
Clearing my throat, I checked my watch. 8:47 a.m. Still plenty of time. “What are my future in-laws like? Have you met them?”
Father’s lips twisted in displeasure. “Yes.” He started spouting off details about them as if he were reading them off an informational fact sheet.
Small family, but with a lot of influential power and connections.
They weren’t an active family within the Bratva, which was why Sergei had no control over them.
But Anya’s father, Akim, was the brother of some high-ranking government official, and therefore, had the strings to pull some pretty big favors.
“Akim is the definition of a man who feels as if he is owed the world. I’ve met him several times at high society functions.
Although he uses his brother’s success and connections for his own gain, he’s jealous of the attention and wealth his brother possesses, and wants it desperately for himself. ”
“Sounds familiar,” I commented. My fucktard of an uncle was a lot like that. Didn’t end too well for him.
“This deal is an opportunity of a lifetime for Akim,” Father continued.
“It’s his chance to get his foot in the door.
To get out from underneath his brother’s name and create his own.
By marrying his daughter off into the Bratva, he opens up avenues.
Connections he might not have been able to establish without his brother.
He will no doubt use that as a stepping stone to gain more power. More influence.”
“So he’s power-hungry and willing to sacrifice his only daughter to get what he wants?”
“Yes.”
“Dickhead.” I moved over to the gold-plated circular mirror on the wall and did a final fit check.
I hated people like that—those who were willing to sacrifice their family, the ones they were meant to love and protect, for their own selfish gain.
“So steer clear of the father,” I stated.
“A man with such desperation to become something is dangerous.” Too dangerous to try to take on with everything going on.