Chapter 33
CINDY
Ismooth my hands over the silk of my wedding dress, a creation that took three fittings to get perfect after Sofia's birth. I debated the big gown. It felt like too much for an orphan girl. But then I thought about my daughter.
I wanted her to grow up looking at pictures of her mama on her wedding day, looking beautiful and radiant. I wanted the gown to be over the top because I hoped that when Sofia got married, she would get to have her own fairytale.
And then there was Leo. He was adamant that a princess needed a big dress. And Luka often called me princess. Or queen. In Leo’s mind, I was the princess Luka rescued from the big, bad dragon.
In many ways, I was.
So here I am in a princess gown worthy of the fairy tale Luka somehow managed to give me despite all the darkness we've weathered together.
"Stop fidgeting," Mara says from behind me, putting the finishing touches on my veil. "You look absolutely radiant."
Mara Volkov became my unexpected friend over the past few months—the wife of Dimitri Andropov's lieutenant and one of the few women in this world who truly understands the complexities of loving a dangerous man.
She's also the closest thing I have to a sister now, which makes her the perfect choice for matron of honor.
"I can't believe we're actually doing this," I whisper, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman looking back at me seems like someone from a dream. She’s a beautiful Russian woman. She’s forty but looks twenty if a day.
She has glowing skin with her platinum blonde hair swept up in an elegant chignon.
Her pale pink dress is, of course, designer.
Luka spared no expense. With the success of the last few months, money will never be a problem for our family. Or Leo’s family. Or Leo’s children.
"Having second thoughts?" Mara asks with a knowing smile.
"Never." The answer comes without hesitation. "I just... sometimes I can't believe this is my life. That he's mine."
Through the bridal suite window, I can see guests arriving. Due to safety concerns, we’re holding the wedding at our compound. He thought I would be disappointed we weren’t getting married in a church.
I told him I would marry him in a cardboard box in a back alley.
The guest list reads like a who's who of organized crime families, legitimate business leaders, and politicians—the complex web of relationships that makes up Luka's world.
Our world now.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Come in," I call.
The door opens to reveal Leo in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking so grown up it makes my chest tight. At six years old, he's appointed himself chief guardian of both his baby sister and his mother. Officially, his mother.
"Wow, you look like a real princess."
"Thank you, handsome. You look pretty amazing yourself." I adjust his bow tie, which is slightly crooked. "Are you ready to walk me down the aisle?"
His chest puffs out with pride. "I've been practicing with Tony all week. He says I need to walk slowly and keep my shoulders back and make sure everyone knows you're my mom."
The sentiment makes my eyes threaten to water, but I blink back the tears. No crying until after the ceremony—Mara will kill me if I ruin my makeup.
"Where's Sofia?" I ask.
"Grigori has her. She's being really good, just sleeping in her fancy dress." Leo grins. "Dad is walking all around like crazy. Viktor told him to stop because he's making everyone nervous. Then Dad told him to shut up or he would shoot him.”
I wince, but it’s nothing Leo hasn’t heard before.
I can picture it perfectly—my usually composed husband-to-be reduced to anxious energy because he wants today to be perfect. The thought makes warmth spread through my chest.
"Is he okay?"
"He keeps asking if you changed your mind. Tony told him, "If you were smart, you would run away.” And then Dad got that look that means someone's in trouble, so now Tony's hiding in the kitchen."
I laugh despite my nerves. "Poor Tony. Tell Dad I'm not changing my mind, okay? I'm just getting beautiful for him."
"You're already beautiful," Leo says seriously. "But yeah, I'll tell him."
Another knock, softer this time. Mara opens the door to reveal the Russian priest who had flown in with Luka’s family.
"Mrs. Markovic? We're ready when you are."
Mrs. Markovic. In about thirty minutes, that will be legally, officially, and eternally true. Although I’ve been called his wife for the last year.
"I'm ready," I say, and mean it completely.
Our six-month-old Sofia sleeps peacefully in Grigori's arms—he volunteered for baby duty and takes the responsibility as seriously as he takes everything else. She is our honorary flower girl. Grigori was supposed to pull her in a wagon, but Sofia decided a nap sounded like more fun.
And if we’ve learned anything about our daughter, when she wants to sleep, we let it happen.
Mara smooths her dress and takes her position. Leo offers me his arm with the solemnity of someone three times his age.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
The massive doors swing open, and suddenly everyone is rising to their feet.
But I barely notice them. My eyes find Luka immediately, standing at the altar in a black tuxedo that makes him look like he stepped out of a magazine.
When our gazes meet, his entire face transforms with relief and joy, and something so deep I feel it in my bones.
This is right. This is perfect. This is forever.
Leo and I begin the slow walk down the aisle, past faces I recognize and many I don't. Viktor nods approvingly from the third pew. Dimitri Andropov and his wife smile warmly from their seats.
But none of it matters except the man waiting for me at the altar. With each step, the rest of the world fades away until it's just us and this moment.
When we reach the altar, Leo formally places my hand in Luka's with the gravity of someone performing a sacred trust.
The priest begins the ceremony, his words washing over us like a blessing. But I'm only half listening because I'm lost in Luka's eyes and the way he's looking at me like I'm the answer to every prayer he has ever said.
When it comes time for vows, Luka goes first. He pulls a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, then seems to think better of it and puts it away.
"I wrote something," he says, and then shakes his head. "But looking at you now, all those words seem inadequate."
We keep our vows short. Neither of us are big on public displays of affection. We don’t need them. We know how we feel about each other, and that’s what matters.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of rings and promises and sacred words. When we’re finally pronounced husband and wife, Luka grabs me like the powerful man he is. The kiss would never be tolerated in a church.
That’s the only kind of PDA our guests care to see, judging by the ‘huzzahs’ and many people saying za zdorovie!
The reception is everything a mafia wedding should be. It’s elegant, extravagant, and slightly intimidating to anyone who doesn't belong in this world. But as I dance with my husband while our family and friends celebrate around us, none of the politics or power plays matter.
"Happy?" Luka murmurs against my ear as we sway to the music.
"Completely."
"No regrets about marrying into this life?"
I pull back to look at him, this man who's given me everything I never knew I wanted. "My only regret is that it took a kidnapping to bring us together."
His laugh is rich and warm. "I'll have to remember that for future romantic gestures."
"Please don't kidnap anyone else. I'm the jealous type."
"Good thing I'm a one-woman man, then."
“Are you sure you’re not angry about Charles?”
“No,” I answer. “This is our day. This is my new life. I told him I would send him a video. You were right—he doesn’t belong here.”
Luka had put his foot down. At first, I was hurt, but I understood. Charles could not be trusted. Our daughter’s safety was more important than making him feel better. I wouldn’t say I forgave Charles, but I didn’t have the energy to hate him.
Later, after we've cut the cake and toasted with champagne and danced until my feet hurt in these beautiful, impractical shoes, I find myself on the terrace overlooking the party still happening below.
Luka joins me, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. Even rumpled, he's the most handsome man I've ever seen.
"Thinking about anything in particular?" he asks, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
"Just... all of it. How we got here. What comes next."
"What comes next is simple," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. "We live. We work on the 'Cuda on weekends. We build the life we want."
"And the other stuff? The business, the danger, the constant need for security?"
His arms tighten around me slightly. "That comes with the territory. But Cindy, I need you to understand—none of that changes what we are to each other. What we've built together. The love we have and the family we've created. That's separate from everything else. That's ours."
I lean back against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I know. And I'm not afraid anymore."
"No?"
"How can I be afraid when I have you? When we have this?" I gesture toward the backyard, where I can see Leo dancing with Mara. Tony is standing two feet away—always watching over his charge. Grigori is sitting at the high table with Sofia nestled in his arms.
"This is our family, Luka. All of it. The blood family and the chosen family.”
He turns me in his arms so we're face to face. "You make me stronger."
"We make each other stronger."
"Mrs. Markovic," he says, testing out my married name with obvious satisfaction.
"Mr. Markovic," I reply, loving the way it sounds.
"Ready to start forever?"
"More than ready," I whisper against his lips.
He kisses me then. It’s hungry and desperate and full of promises for what comes after we escape to our bedroom.
I taste champagne on his tongue and smell his cologne mixed with something that's purely him. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even though there's no space left between us. Heat pools low in my belly as he deepens the kiss, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that makes me gasp.
"Luka," I breathe when he finally pulls back, both of us breathing hard.
His eyes are dark with desire, pupils dilated as he looks at me like he wants to devour me right here on the terrace. "You have no idea what you do to me in that dress."
"Tell me," I challenge, emboldened by the champagne and the way he's looking at me.
"You look like every fantasy I've ever had," he growls against my ear, his voice rough with want. "Like a queen. Like mine. And all I can think about is peeling you out of all this silk and lace and showing you exactly how much I love you."
His words send fire racing through my veins. I arch against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my hip through the layers of my wedding dress. Even through all the fabric, the contact makes me dizzy with need.
"Then maybe we should go to our room and you can show me."
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a growl. His hands slide down to my waist.
"Not yet," he says, though his voice suggests it's taking every ounce of his considerable self-control. "We have to stay for the toasts. And the traditional dances. And—"
I silence him by pressing my mouth to his again, pouring all my love and desire and desperate need into the kiss.
His restraint crumbles immediately. One hand tangles in my carefully styled hair while the other presses against the small of my back, holding me against him as he kisses me like he's claiming me all over again.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing like we've run a marathon. His hair is mussed from my fingers, and I can feel pins falling out of my updo.
"Forget the toasts," I say against his lips. "I'm already married to you. That's all that matters."