31. Konstantin
31
KONSTANTIN
Every time I lift my arm to stare at the ring, my shoulder aches, as if the damn thing weighs a ton.
How can a simple ring feel so heavy?
“Have you eaten?” Sima asks, coming up to me in the corner of the huge white tent. The valley wasn’t ideal for the reception, so I had three massive tents constructed on the upper grassy fields. My team assembled them while the ceremony went on, working quickly enough that when I finished kissing Emily, the caterers were already passing out trays of champagne to each attendee as they walked up the slope.
That fucking kiss. Emily’s lips were sweet as honey and soft as cream. I refused to drink any champagne afterward to make sure her taste isn’t washed away.
“Kostya.” Sima nudges me. “I asked if you’d eaten yet.”
“No,” I admit.
“Then get some before it’s gone, even if there’s enough food to last all summer. You really went all out.”
“Cutting corners at this stage would be foolish.”
“All in the name of appearances, huh?” Sima asks.
I look out at the crowd. “Is she surviving out there?” I ask Sima, trying to change the subject.
She’s going to hate me when I tell her that the terms of this agreement have just changed.
“For now.” Chuckling, he snatches a shot glass off a passing tray. “I’d save her from herself if I were you.” Draining it in a single draw, he lets out a laugh that ricochets around the valley. “ Yebats , never mind the food—this vodka is the good stuff!”
Save her from herself? I move through the tent, acknowledging all who call my name, pausing where I must to spare a word. So far, this wedding is going exactly according to plan.
It’s what needs to happen after that I’m worried about.
Babies …
I catch sight of my grandmother. She’s difficult to ignore. The bright pink-and-green beaded dress makes her look like a parrot. The circle of men in black and gray suits around her make her stand out even more.
As I pass, her eyes drift up. The single good one spots me, the dark center black as night. She doesn’t stop speaking or smiling to her companions. But I can practically hear her voice in my head.
Put a baby in her belly. Whether she wants one or not.
I feel my fists clenching again.
I turn away from her, eyes searching for my new wife.
There!
Emily is surrounded by a crowd. A mixture of acquaintances and bootlickers, they’re crowding her as they speak. As I approach, I can hear Emily’s voice rising in the evening air as she faces everyone with a tense smile.
“I’m from Wisconsin, actually,” she replies to someone.
“How did Konstantin Yurevich meet you in the States?” a woman gapes, covering her mouth like it’s a huge scandal.
Emily shrugs. “He didn’t—it was in Italy.”
“Ah,” a man with a thick mustache says knowingly. “That makes more sense.”
“There you are, my love,” I interrupt. Everyone stares at me, but my attention is reserved for Emily alone. “It’s time for our first dance.”
She takes my offered hand without hesitation, mouthing ‘thank you’ silently to me. I pull her away from the crowd. Something hard rubs under my thumb.
The wedding ring.
I let go of Emily when we make it to the glossy platform situated on the grass. The tent still shields us, but we’re on the outer edge, the fresh air is a welcome respite. She steps back, eyeballing me with a mild frown as she mutters something I can’t hear.
“What?” I ask.
“Forget it.” She smooths her hands over her chestnut hair. It’s pinned up in an elaborate French twist that leaves her milky neck exposed. It makes her look vulnerable … and makes me want to scoop her up so I can keep every inch of her safe from the world.
When she walked down the aisle in her gown, all I could think about was how much I want to run my hand over her naked skin.
I swallow down the flash of raw desire. “Are you ready, Kitty Cat?”
Those dazzling sapphire-blue eyes are swimming in emotion. “It has to look real, right?”
I feel my heart breaking at those words. “Right.”
Nodding, I take her hands in mine and pull her close.
Just like that night in Italy.
The music starts, and the familiar riff of bachata fills the air. Emily gasps. “Is that?”
“The same band from the Amalfi Coast? Yes.”
A sad smile breaks across her face, and all I want to do is kiss it away. “Why?”
“Because this has to look real, remember? And what’s more real than the first song we ever danced to?” Crushing the unease as deep in my gut as I can, I sweep her into my arms. “I hope you remember the moves.”
“A little,” she replies. “But I don’t think I’ve gotten any nimbler on my feet since then.”
“Don’t worry, Kitty Cat.” My lips move to her ear. “Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”
Emily tenses up, her body stiff and heavy as we start. She stumbles through the first couple of steps. People gather to watch us. A few clap along to the tempo, and I hear a loud whistle from Sima. But my attention is only on Emily.
I’ve wanted this moment since I saw her again.
“Easy on the grip,” she whispers.
Loosening my hold on her, I spin her to my right, and catch her around her middle. “Move your hips, remember?”
“I remember,” she mutters.
“Good.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling. “Like riding a horse.”
God, her blush is delicious. Emily narrows her eyes, determined not to fall behind me as the steps get quicker. Others join us on the dance floor. But I don’t care about them.
The only thing that matters is Emily in my arms.
Our bodies sync up as she gets into the rhythm. Despite what she said, she’s gotten far better than last time.
“You seem pretty nimble to me,” I say.
“Maybe because I don’t want you to show me up at our wedding.”
“Our wedding?” I repeat, lifting an eyebrow.
She darts her eyes to the floor. Suddenly she catches my hands, interlocking our fingers. With a fierce glare that makes her blue eyes shimmer, she quickens her steps. Her legs weave, knees bending, and I’m hypnotized.
She’s giving this her all, because she’s trying to imprint this memory in her head.
How will she react when I tell her that this isn’t the end?
Will she hate me for it? Will she call me unfair?
My heart swells the longer we dance. She’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met. Everything is a game to her, and she always wants to win. Determined … argumentative … challenging … and ready to frustrate me at every turn.
I’m intrigued. Hopelessly drawn to her.
Enamored, even.
Strong people are the only ones who can lead. No one else has the courage to make the choices that matter. Hard choices … Fuck, no. Impossible ones.
Emily can do it.
She understands what it means to lead the bratva, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
She’s exactly who I want for my future.
The music becomes ear-splitting, hundreds of pops, like someone is slapping the shaker. Somewhere, a glass shatters.
Only when someone screams do I realize that it’s no longer the beat of the music.
It’s gunfire.
“What’s happening?” Emily yells.
Whipping around with her still wrapped in my arms, I spot multiple figures rushing toward the tents. Some stop, crouching, before aiming their guns and firing again. With the sun falling low behind the sea, the flashes from the muzzles are bright as shooting stars.
“It’s the fucking Ferrata!” Sima roars, leaping to my side.
He already has his pistol drawn. He’s been carrying it since we got dressed in our suits for the wedding. Taking aim, he fires off a few quick shots.
“Get out of here, Kostya! We’ll hold them off!”
Emily shakes in my arms. “What’s happening?”
Tucking Emily tightly against me, I check for the nearest way out. The attendees are in a panic, fleeing in every direction and knocking over tables of expensive glassware.
“Kostya!” My grandmother’s shriek draws my attention for a brief second. “Help me!”
She’s cowering behind a table. Two of her guards are already dead, and the rest are exchanging gunfire. A bullet cracks overhead and I duck, pushing Emily lower and shielding her with my body.
Suddenly, I realize that fate is compelling me to choose.
Emily, or the bratva.
I know exactly which one I will choose.
“Stay low, we need to move!” I tell Emily as I cover her body under mine, and start dragging her towards the nearest exit.
Multiple men are hurrying toward me with their guns drawn. Emily starts to scream, but I hug her to reassure her.
“They’re my boeviki . We’ll be alright.”
The first reaches me, his face grim as he waits on my every word.
“Cover us!” I order.
“Yes, pakhan!” they roar unanimously as they take aim at the attackers and let out a stream of bullets from their chattering rifles.
The gunfire is constant now, and I half-drag, half-carry Emily towards safety.
“Don’t leave me,” she whimpers into my chest.
“I won’t.” Cradling the back of her head, I glance back over my shoulder.
Sima stands atop of a table with a bottle held in his hand, a flaming napkin stuffed into its neck. He hurls the makeshift Molotov cocktail at the nearest group of Ferrata soldiers. They try to scatter, but not before the bottle explodes in a plume of fire and smoke.
“I told you, Kostya! That vodka is the good stuff!” Sima laughs maniacally, orange glow tracing over his outline as he pulls out his gun. “Now come, you Ferrata dogs! Come and die!”
As much as I want to join him, I need to get Emily out to safety. Holding her closely in my arms, I weave through the chaotic scene. People bump into me as they run away. I trip over bloody bodies dressed in expensive suits and dresses that will never be worn again.
How the fuck did the Ferrata Mafia get here already?
I expected them to react, but not this quickly.
Beneath my buzzing adrenaline comes a flicker of satisfaction. The only reason they would dare break protocol like this to attack a wedding is because I fucked up their plans.
Bullets rip apart the fabric of the tent, and moonlight streams in. A support beam snaps with an ear-splitting clank.
“Are we going to die?” Emily whispers.
“Not while I’m around, Kitty Cat.” Sprinting out the back of the tent, I look from side to side. There! Midas is tied to a post, his eyes rolling with fear from the noise. “Up you go,” I place Emily in the saddle, and climb up behind her.
Driven by a fresh desire to protect this woman who doesn’t belong in the middle of my bloody war, I take the reins as hard as I can. Midas snorts before he thunders over the grass, snorting with the staccato bursts of gunfire behind us.
By the time the gunfire fades, I spare a look back.
Alla won’t forgive me for choosing Emily over her.
But I don’t care.
The beautiful venue is ablaze. Whether it’s Sima’s doing or not doesn’t matter. Everything is will turn to blackened charcoal. By sunrise, there will only be a smoldering wreck. No evidence of my wedding night will remain in this place.
But I’m alive.
Emily is alive.
And that’s all that matters.
Tightening my embrace around her trembling body, I urge Midas forward towards safety.