Chapter 26 Sima
SIMA
Before we return to the estate we make a stop at the venue.
“Do you mind waiting here?” I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt.
By the way Petyr’s eyes narrow, I can immediately tell he does, indeed, mind.
“It’ll be quicker,” I hurry to add. “Otherwise, I can’t promise Jemma won’t try to waterboard answers out of you in the koi pond.”
His brow lifts. “The koi pond.”
“Yep. It’s a whole thing. Worst feature we ever added, really.”
He looks like he’s trying to remember it from his own wedding. Ours, technically. By the look on his face, he didn’t bother exploring the venue that far.
“Make it quick,” he says, a dark note to his tone. Like he thinks I might bolt, or be kidnapped, or cross paths with a divorce lawyer.
“Aye aye, Cap’n.” I give him a mock-salute that makes zero Petyrs laugh and scurry inside.
When I step into the venue, I find the place eerily quiet. It’s odd. Usually, there’s music playing, some basic wedding playlist featuring a whole lot of Bruno Mars and fifty shades of Ed Sheeran.
Not today, though.
The second I see Marc at the front desk, I immediately understand why. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “What happened to your eye?!”
Marc lifts his face and finally sees me. “Sammi?” he says, a note that sounds suspiciously like relief in his voice. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
But then I get closer, and I realize why he had to ask. His eye isn’t just black—it’s completely swollen shut. There’s an ugly purple bruise blooming around the socket. It must make it impossible for him to wear his glasses.
“Jesus,” I whisper. “Did you pick a fight with the florist’s truck?”
He doesn’t smile. Another weird detail. He’s usually the number one fan of my stupid jokes. “It’s nothing,” he says quickly.
“Like hell it isn’t!” I take in the crust on his cut lip, the dark shadow on his jaw. “Marc, what happened?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Nothing,” he repeats. “Just… a disagreement. With a supplier.”
“Which supplier?” I ask, disbelieving. “We deal in weddings, Marc. I mean, yeah, it can get intense, but last I checked, we didn’t start doing business with the freaking mafia.”
His face goes pale at that. “What do you need, Sammi?” he says, seriously looking like he might throw up. “If you’re here for Bob, I can call him down and—”
“Nope. Definitely not looking to see Bob.” I promised Petyr this would be quick. If Bob starts yelling in my face about the lack of notice, I won’t be out before dark. Or worse, Petyr might decide to wander in and handle Bob himself. “I came to hand in this. My resignation.”
“Oh,” Marc says, sounding a little surprised.
“Yeah.” Sadness fills me. I may not be a fan of weddings—or Bob—but I really liked this job. “Can you give it to him, like, five minutes after I’m gone? Just so I know he won’t chase me into the streets.”
He picks up the sheet. I spy a faint tremor in his fingers. “No two weeks, I see.”
“Nope. Sorry about that.”
I genuinely am sorry. I don’t like leaving my job short-staffed like this. God knows there aren’t enough of us to go around. But Petyr agreed to a compromise, and this felt like the least I could do. Between my classes and the job I was going to leave anyway, classes take precedence.
Marc, however, doesn’t look as sorry as I expected him to be. “Got it. I’ll process it right away. As soon as you’re gone, I mean.” His gaze darts shiftily around the hall. “Will you be staying long, or…?”
“Geez.” I cross my arms. “I wasn’t expecting a cake, but that’s pretty damn cold, M-Dog.”
“It’s not like that!” He fumbles with words for a minute, then exhales loudly. “It’s just… I’m glad you’re okay. And that you’ll continue to be okay for the foreseeable future.”
Call me crazy, but that’s the weirdest goodbye I’ve ever gotten. “Are you sure you’re okay, Marc?” When he doesn’t reply, I press. “You can talk to me. If anything’s wrong—”
“Jesus jumping Christ on a pogo stick!”
I don’t have to turn to know who that colorful exclamation belongs to. “Hi, Jem.”
“‘Hi’?” Her eyes look ready to fall out. “You drop off the face of the Earth for two days, and all you’ve got is ‘Hi’?!”
“I mean…” I awkwardly flash my wedding band. “I also have this?”
Jemma closes the distance between us. Marc takes the opportunity to quietly slip into the back. So much for getting answers.
“I was about to report you missing, girl. I thought something horrible had happened! Like, kidnapped-by-a-mafia-warlord horrible!”
I try to laugh, but it comes out strained. Jemma always had a knack for coming way too close to the truth. “Right,” I say. “Definitely not that.”
“What happened?!”
I sigh. “Long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
I’ve got a ticking time bomb of a mafia warlord waiting outside. “Can’t stay,” I tell her. “But we’ll catch up soon, I promise.”
Jemma crosses her arms. Whatever I’m selling, she’s not buying without a better ad. “I still have the cops on speed dial, dude. Either you start spilling, or they’re my first call after you leave.”
“No!” I say, a little too forcefully. “Ahem. I mean. No cops, Jem. Please. Everything’s… fine. More than fine, actually.”
Her foot starts tapping.
“Really! I…” Not knowing what to do, I twirl in my new dress, letting Jemma see the label. “I have a husband now. And I know it was really sudden, but he wants to take care of me. Financially, that is.”
Realization dawns on Jemma’s face. “You came to quit.”
“Just for now, I promise.” I take both her hands in mine.
If the gold-digger act is what I need to switch off my bloodhound of a friend, then no low is too low.
“He’s really well off, Jem. We’re leaving for our honeymoon, but once we’ve settled into our new life, he…
he wants to finance my business. Our business. ”
Jemma’s eyes go wide. “Oh!”
“Yes. Oh.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you say that sooner?” She hugs me so tight, I’m afraid my spine will snap. “Good on you, girl. I had no idea you even knew the groom. I swear, sometimes, I feel like you’re living a double life right under my nose.”
“Haha.” I start sweating. “That’d be… hard to pull off.”
“Then I saw Marc’s shiner and thought somehow, it had to do with you.”
My blood goes cold. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She nods towards the empty desk. “Morning after the wedding, a guy came around, asking for you. I didn’t see it myself, but I’ve got it on good authority he was the one who roughed up Marc.”
Fear digs into my stomach. “He asked about me?”
“Yep. Kept getting your name wrong, though. That’s how I figured he was probably looking for someone else.”
“Wrong?”
“See-mah or something.”
Nope. He wasn’t getting it wrong. Chances are, he was getting it very, very right.
“Did you catch his name?” I ask, trying not to make it obvious how fucking terrified I am right now.
“Didn’t get the chance. He was big, though. Tall, broad, military haircut. A scar right above his eyebrow. Eastern European, maybe? A little bit like you if you were a bulky Russian spy with a dangler.”
Anatoli.
My heart plummets. I fight the urge to press both palms to my face. Jemma’s description—there’s no way he was anyone else. He must have looked into Petyr’s new bride and realized how familiar she looked.
And if he did… How long until Petyr finds out, too?
“Thanks.” I force a smile. “I really need to go right now, Jem, but…”
“Don’t even say it.” She pulls me into another bone-crushing hug. “You’re doing the Lord’s work. Get me out from under Bob the Blob soon, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best.”
It’s the first thing I’ve said today that wasn’t a lie.
“And when you’re back from your honeymoon, I want to know everything about this mysterious husband of yours.”
“Right.” The words I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you nearly make it out of my throat. “You got that.”
Somehow, I make a dignified exit.
Outside, the air tastes stale, panic clinging to the back of my palate. Petyr’s car is on the other side of the road, just a crossing away. If I went the other way, he wouldn’t even see me. I’d get a head start. I could hail a cab and run, sell my new designer clothes for getaway cash—
No. Something inside me stops me. You can’t run. You made a deal.
Right. There’s that. I just finished telling Petyr we need to be honest with each other’s needs. How rich would it be of me to jump ship now?
Not very. He’s got all the money, remember?
I ball up my fists. I do need his money. Badly. I just promised Jemma I was working on our business—if I run now, what will become of that?
But I can’t risk him finding out. It just wouldn’t be worth it. What’s the use of being a millionaire if you’re floating face-down in the bay?
You could tell him the truth. My conscience is barely a whisper, but I still hear it. Come clean. Ask him for sanctuary.
I shake that temptation right off. Petyr would never believe me. That I ran away from the Danilos, that I’m not loyal to them. If I told him my secret, I’d be making my own bed at the bottom of the Hudson.
He’d never forgive me. Not with what my family did to his. He’d seek revenge—and how could I blame him for it?
How, when my father and brother were the one who attacked his?
No. I can’t tell him. I won’t. I’ll keep my mouth shut, keep my head down, and finish what I started.
And if shit hits the fan?
I’ll run as fast as my feet can take me.