Chapter 37 – Poppy
When Ivan said he wanted to prove himself to me, I wasn’t expecting him to take me to church.
Besides, I was sure I remembered him saying he would do it before we married.
But the night of the raid on the rival mob was a blur.
Too much blood, a hell of a lot of booze, and a long nap curled against Ivan’s side.
“I don’t have a dress,” I protested, gazing up at the stone facade.
A river of disappointment spread through me.
There were other wedding customs I wanted to implement.
Some were Italian, others Bulgarian. At the very least, I wanted to be wearing something other than green linen shorts and a fitted cream tank top.
The flip flops had a tear near the thong for crying out loud. That was not the memory I wanted.
“Why would you need a dress?” Ivan parked the car and turned to me.
I shot a look at Brady, who was paging through a book in the backseat. That kid was going to be the one who showed up to functions with a story he’d rather be reading. It didn’t bother me one bit that he was obsessed with books.
“Well, it’s normal for a bride to dress up,” I muttered.
Ivan snorted. “We’re not getting married, flower.”
Those words hurt my heart.
“Not today, but soon.” He grasped my chin. “There’s something I want to do first.”
Relief rushed through me. “Okay.”
I didn’t remember the promise from that night correctly. What a relief.
Ivan moved around the car, coming to open my door.
“I’ve got it, tatko!” Brady sprang from the backseat, tearing after his father. Since the sports car didn’t have back doors, he had to climb out behind a front seat. Or in this case, vault over the center without waiting for one of us to fold the back down.
“Brady!” I scolded.
But he was already racing to join Ivan.
“A gentleman always opens the door for a lady,” Brady explained. “Not because she can’t, but because she’s a queen and she should be served.”
The lesson I worked hard to instill in him shone. I was calling this a mom-win. My little hellion was going to be some girl’s dream come true one day. She’d better be worth him—or we’d have problems.
One of the things I’d come to love about Ivan was that he never teased Brady. He gave him a solemn nod. “That’s right, Hristo.”
Brady opened my door and held out a hand. “I’m teaching tatko how to be a gentleman.”
I bit my lip in an attempt to fight back my smile. Sliding my fingers into the damp—and sticky—palm, I exited the car.
“You’re doing a fine job, bud.” I squeezed his fingers and when he released them, I discreetly wiped them on my shorts. “Thank you for being thoughtful.”
“Welcome!” He bounced around me to take Ivan’s hand. There was only a thin bandage wrapped around his bicep today. The shotgun blast missed his arm by a dog’s hair; only a few stray pellets lodged in his flesh. The nerve that was struck was already healed.
It could have been a thousand times worse.
“So, if we’re not going to take vows, what are we doing here?” The parking lot was packed with cars, but I didn’t spot anyone. Their voices, however, carried around the building.
“You’ll see,” Ivan murmured.
From a quick glance, the crowd seemed to be local families from the neighborhood.
But details stuck out, and I would bet money that these men were Made and under Ivan’s protection.
We never did this with my father’s men. There were ranks, and they didn’t intermingle.
While the captains would occasionally come to dinner with their wives decorated like trophies, they were never social visits.
The famiglia turned out for formal events like weddings, funerals, and baptisms, but soldiers didn’t sit at picnic tables with capos, and enforcers didn’t play basketball with bookies.
There was comradery here. This was the type of friendship that existed in a close-knit group.
All this time. To think what I’d been missing.
“I need to go get ready.” Ivan gave my shoulders a squeeze before breaking away to speak with Rayko.
“Hi!” a sweet voice called out. “Poppy? You’re here.”
“I am!” I grinned at Katerina.
Brady gave her a spastic hug. “Can I hold Myla?”
I was about to tell him the infant was too small, but Katerina nodded eagerly. “Just like I showed you, okay?”
My little guy plopped onto the grass, crisscrossed his legs, and then cradled the bundle.
I stared.
Out in Carrington, my cousins would never have let Brady hold one of the newborns.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Katerina gushed and then gave me a big squeeze. She was comfortable with my tiny human ball of fire holding her even smaller bundle of snuggles. Truly astonishing.
I hugged her back. “I am going to come visit you. I would have! But no one told me.”
“Pshaw, it’s not your fault,” Katerina let out a short laugh. “We were under orders to keep our distance until Ivan decided what to do with you.”
That sounded ominous.
It also explained a hell of a lot.
“That’s why I was allowed to come today,” I surmised, realizing that this kind of gathering must be frequent for this throng of people to be this close.
“Yeah, you accepted his hand in marriage.” Katerina gave me a confused look. “You’re one of us.”
“I did.” And if I hadn’t?
Ivan was never going to kill me. I knew that, the same way an animal knew they could trust a human. But what was the alternative? To be kept in the pretty little cage?
That was worse than death.
Shivers raced over my skin. I was suddenly very, very cold.
A drumbeat began. The booms were deep, steady—insistent. There was a primitive call to the tune, old and steeped in mystery.
“It’s starting!” Katerina whispered, voice full of excitement.
“What is?” I looked around.
The crowd made a semi-circle around the middle of the church lawn. Katerina scooped up Myla and gestured. A pipe joined the drum. The shrill notes clawed its way into my bones until I felt the eerie spell it cast.
People pressed close, murmuring prayers under their breath, their expressions somewhere between reverence and fear. They were staring at a patch of ground that was black. A few of the Made Men used rakes to pull at the earth.
Only…it wasn’t dirt.
It was a bed of coals, the remnants of a mighty bonfire.
Boom. Boom. Boom, sang the drum.
Ivan appeared without fanfare, slipping from the church like a shade.
Barefoot, clad in white linen embroidered with scarlet thread, he seemed…
distant. His gaze was unfocused. In his left hand, he carried a gun, red flowers wrapped around the muzzle, the trigger guard, and even stuck in the barrel.
His knife, held in his good hand, was equally swaddled in crimson blooms.
Shock rooted me in place. I knew exactly what this was.
Nestinarstvo.
When researching Ivan’s home country, I found it fascinating that in the tourist areas, this tradition was used as a sort of entertainment.
But in rural areas, especially in several mountain regions, it was practiced in the proper sense.
Dancers—nestinari—entered a trance-like state.
They danced barefoot as part of a religious custom that mixed old Christianity with even more ancient rites.
The Made Men stepped back, leaving the coals in a glowing bed. A gust of wind brightened them. From where I stood, pressed in the crowd, the heat rolled out in waves.
“No!” I let out a strangled croak. “What the hell is he doing?!”
Katerina gave me a funny look. “Dancing.”
The drumming quickened.
The crowd began to sway in answer.
“Why? He’ll hurt himself!” I snapped out of my frozen state and moved ahead to stop him. Katerina reached for me, but it was Rayko who suddenly blocked my path with a crutch.
“Boss said to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid,” he clipped out.
“Let me pass. This is madness!” I hissed.
Curious glances shot in my direction, but as a whole, the crowd remained fixated on the scene in front of them.
“We are proud of our traditions, Poppy,” Rayko chided. “Every Made Man here has danced on the flames to prove himself worthy of joining the syndicate.”
I was going to be sick. They’d twisted the religious custom to become the initiation of their ruthless organization.
“If you interrupt him, if you ask him to stop, you throw shame on him,” Rayko warned in an undertone. “Don’t.”
I clasped my hands, tugging at them in a vicious grip. “Why is he doing this? He’s the boss.”
“Ivan is proving himself. He’s a worthy male, and tonight, in front of all these witnesses, he’s showing them that he is strong enough to be our leader—and to call himself your husband.”
“I’ll prove myself worthy to be yours. I am strong enough to protect you.” His words rang in my ears.
“Oh, shit,” I choked. “This is because of me.”
I pushed him. I questioned his ability to keep us safe in this city. And now, this!
The drum rose to a frenzy. The pipe blasted a fevered call. Ivan stepped onto the flames…and began to dance.
There was no hesitation.
No flicker of pain.
Holy virgin, he must be in agony. I burnt myself plenty of times on the stove and oven. The cousins back on the ranch often had bonfires, and I’d touched the smore sticks on accident. Once, a sappy log popped, spitting an ember at my calf. It was a brief touch, but it left a nasty red welt.
None of those times had been close to this level of insanity.
But…there was something powerful about the scene as well.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Ivan. The sight was obscene and holy all at once.
His bare feet pressed into the bed of coals, each step sending sparks into the night.
Embers scattered like gems. The weapons glowed in his hands, gilt edges catching the firelight.
The mob boss didn’t scream. He didn’t falter.
He moved with a slow grace, circling, swaying, stamping.
Around me, the crowd crossed themselves or whispered what I supposed were prayers. It wasn’t a show. It was a petition—health to the boss, good fortune to the community, safety from enemies prowling in the city around us.
The drumming built until my heart seemed to rattle against my ribs. Smoke and sweat stung my eyes, and for a moment I thought I saw Ivan’s face transform. In the blazing glow, ecstasy, madness, or perhaps a communion with something far older transfixed him.
He will keep us safe.
I was hopelessly in love with this crazy, beautiful man.
When the drums stopped, the silence felt heavier than the noise.
Ivan walked out of the fire. His face gleamed with sweat.
An individual moved toward him, bent and kissed the weapons in his hands.
She wasn’t the only one, only the first of a dozen.
When Ivan made his way to me, I copied their motions, swept up in the holy fervor.
But as I reached for his blade, it flashed out of my reach.
Ivan dropped to his knees, and while holding the weapons, he wrapped his arms around my body and crushed his lips to mine.
The moment his lips touched mine, time itself seemed to shatter, scattering in fragments around us like stardust. I never believed in magic. That was the spice and seasoning of books.
What I felt right now was enough to convince me it was real.
His breath mingled with mine, warm and sweet, as my eyes fluttered closed. The world receded until there was nothing but the hard pressure of his lips, the steady feel of his hands as they cradled my face.
My heart, which had been thundering against my ribcage only moments before, seemed to pause mid-beat, then restart with a staccato rhythm. My fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair. I leaned into him, and something ignited between us.
The kiss turned ravenous.
There was only us. There was only this. This raw hunger, the pulsing need. I whimpered when he bit my lip. The strip of cloth between my legs was slick with heat and need.
His hands slid from my face, tracing a burning path down my neck, my shoulders, coming to rest on the curve of my hips. He pulled me closer, eliminating what little space remained between us, and I gasped against his mouth.
“Time to go home,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint. “Unless you’d rather stay for the suckling pig they’ve spent all day cooking.”
I shook my head.
And then reality snapped back into place. Cheers and whoops filled the air, mimicking a summer thunderstorm. Here I was, on my knees, in front of the mob boss—who was on his knees—kissing him as though my life depended on it.
Which wasn’t too far off. Because it most certainly did. I would be lost without this part of my soul. Staring into the black pits of his eyes, I saw my other half looking right back out at me.