Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
A few moments earlier
AXEL
The room was cold and dimly lit, but I ignored the discomfort as I changed. My face was an absolute mess. I was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of my tuxedo, when someone knocked.
“Come in.”
Grisha opened the door, but he didn’t step in. He just stood in the doorway. “The men who jumped you were Volkov. They were just muscle. It’s been handled.”
We made eye contact in the mirror. “Who handled it?”
“I let Sergei do it.”
Grisha was using this as an opportunity to send a message back to the Volkov family, and it wouldn’t be pretty. “Thanks.”
The priest appeared behind him. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
I followed the priest out the side door and took my place at the front of the church. Beside me was the best man that Lena had chosen for me. I wasn’t even sure of his name, but in this case, it seemed fitting.
I looked over the church. Most of the guests had been sitting and waiting for over an hour in the cold, drafty cathedral, and they now sat huddled quietly in the pews, wearing their spring coats. A small string quartet played softly.
The music shifted, and all the guests turned to look at the back of the church.
I watched with dispassionate interest as Mila’s lone bridesmaid walked down the aisle toward the front of the church.
Then the music changed again, and, on cue, all the guests stood up, signaling the arrival of my bride.
Mila stood in the doorway, looking soft, ethereal and feminine in her puffy white dress and carrying her trailing bouquet of pink roses.
My breath caught in my throat, and something that felt oddly like emotion slammed into me.
Maybe it was the disparity between her soft innocence and the ruthlessness of the world I lived in.
She deserved to be more than a pawn married off for the gain of others, including my own.
Yet here she was, floating toward me in a puff of white.
Instead of stepping away, I stood there, unable to tear my eyes off her.
Her eyes widened as she took in the extent of my battered face.
I told her the truth when she reached me. “You look stunning.”
She whispered, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
Her gaze stayed on my face until I reassured her a second time. “I’m good. Sorry I was late.”
The priest cleared his throat, obviously ready to start the service.
It wasn’t strictly a Russian Orthodox wedding. Mila had added her own Western influence, but the ceremony was as long and as boring as most weddings I’d attended, an endless playlist of songs, psalms, prayers and blessings with wine.
As I stood in the cold chapel, my body started to ache.
After getting jumped, Grisha had forced me to get checked out by his doctor.
Luckily I hadn’t fractured any ribs, and the knife wound in my shoulder was surface at best. It had required three stitches, but it could have been a lot worse.
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and my body was starting to stiffen up, I felt every punch and kick.
I groaned slightly when we were asked to kneel on the mats in front of the steps and I caught Mila looking up at me with concern.
We weren’t required to speak at all during the ceremony, but we did sign our certificates, witnessed by the guests.
“Congratulations,” the priest said quietly, shaking our hands.
Mila busied herself with her bouquet, and didn’t meet my gaze.
We were ushered directly into a waiting car for the short drive over to Grisha’s house for the reception. The wind had picked up, and it blew cold, whipping Mila’s veil around her face. I had to help her stuff her billowing skirt into the car.
We sat together in the back seat, and for the first time we were alone.
She looked over at me. “Are we married?”
It hurt to smile, but I did it anyway. “Yes, I believe we are.”
She looked critically at my face. “Did Grisha do this to you?”
That caught me off guard. “No.”
She looked down at her hands. “I thought maybe you had tried to escape.”
“I got mugged.”
Her head swung back up. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“So Grisha didn’t have anything to do with this?”
It shouldn’t have been funny that she thought her uncle needed violence to get me to the church, but for some reason I was amused. “I fought to get to our wedding. Not the other way around.”
She lifted her chin but didn’t respond. I realized then that my delay had cost her something, even though I wasn’t sure what. And for once, I did something I rarely did. I apologized.
“I’m sorry I made you wait.”
She looked out the window, but my words relaxed something in her slight shoulders, as if she was letting out some tension. “It’s not your fault.”
When we got back to the house, the wedding planner ushered us to the library so they could do our wedding photos.
While they got set up, I joked lightly to Mila, “Will you even want photos to remember this day?”
Her entire body stiffened. “Would it be okay if I got a photo of me wearing my mom’s dress while my hair and makeup are done?”
Her request humbled me. I had considered this day to be little more than an inconvenience.
I knew that Mila didn’t want this marriage either, but the wedding day was stealing something from her.
We had replaced something that was supposed to be meaningful and authentic with a charade.
She was trying to salvage the day by paying homage to her late mom with photos.
I let the photographer take multiple shots of us as a bridal party, but when he told us that he was done, I could see the crushing disappointment in Mila’s eyes.
I stepped forward to speak to him privately. “I want you to take photos of my bride. I want you to give us the most beautiful pictures of her and her dress.”
His eyes widened. “Those aren’t the instructions I got.”
“Who gave you these instructions?”
“Lena.”
“Change of plans.”
“I can do that.” Then he dedicated the several minutes to taking perfect bridal shots of Mila.
I stood to the side watching, pretending not to notice how beautiful she looked.
“Give me a couple more with just the bride and groom,” the photographer encouraged at the end. “I can Photoshop your black eye.”
He posed us and moved back to his camera to fiddle with the flash.
Mila spoke quietly from beside me. “Thank you.”
I felt like telling her that she should never thank me for something so basic and small, but then I realized that’s all she’d ever gotten from me and probably all she could expect.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but her gratitude pissed me off. I couldn’t say why.
The photographer lifted his head from his camera and looked at me. “Maybe don’t look so angry.”
I worked to fix my face into a semblance of a smile.
“Show me the love,” he said, as he took picture after picture. “Keep those happy smiles going. You made it. You’re finally married.”
He lifted his face from the camera. “Mila, where did your smile go?”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
The reception never seemed to end, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t drink due to the pain medication I was on. Beside me, Mila pushed her food around her plate and listened impassively to the many long speeches about Grisha.
The line of people who wanted to kiss Grisha’s ass never seemed to end. Our plates had been cleared, dessert had been served, and only then did the last speech end to a smattering of applause.
“I’m just going to go freshen up.” Mila stood.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“I’ve got this.” Her bridesmaid muscled in beside me.
I watched as they walked away and then caught Grisha motioning for me to join him at the cigar table.
“What a beautiful reception,” he said, beaming, slapping my shoulder. “Those speeches were some of the best I’ve heard.”
I managed to smile, even though it felt like my lip would split. “I agree.”
He made a face. “We got some bad news, though. Demetrius was murdered last night in Vancouver.”
Demetrius was the man I was supposed to replace. “How?”
“A car bomb, a signature of the Volkov family. They flattened his car and two others in the explosion. I mean, who else could it be? They always go overboard with their explosives. This means I need you in Vancouver. Immediately. I’ve booked your flights already.”
“Both of us?”
He seemed unconcerned about how he played chess with everyone else’s lives. “Yes. I guess your honeymoon is in Canada.”
“When are we leaving?”
He checked his watch. “You’ll need to be at the airport in about three hours. Maksim will get you sorted out when you arrive in Vancouver.”
We were interrupted by screams and yelling from the other side of the room. I watched four masked men waltz into the room, pretending to leer at the crowds and act threatening. One of their masks slipped, and I immediately identified the men as being part of Sergei’s crew.
“I see they’re here to kidnap your bride.” Grisha grinned. “I hope you can pay.”
This was the infamous wedding game where the bride often got kidnapped and the groom was required to pay a ransom, usually something silly or playful. At most weddings, it was a lighthearted game among friends.
Except these men weren’t anyone’s friends. They were Sergei’s men, and there was no way in hell I was letting him be alone with her for a second. Not while she was married to me.
I located Mila making her way across the empty dance floor toward me. The four men reached her before I could, and they were making a dramatic show of grabbing her.
I moved toward the guy who had his hands on her arms and stood directly in front of him.
“Where are you going with my wife?” I asked casually.
“You have to pay a ransom, or we’re leaving with her,” he cackled for the benefit of the crowd.
I unholstered my weapon and before he could even react, I had the barrel of my Glock pressed to his forehead. “I’m not playing this game.”
He dropped his hold on her and, holding his arms up in the air, took a tentative step back, but he yelled to the crowd, “This groom thinks we won’t steal her.”
“Piss off,” I snarled.
The entire room listened with bated breath. A second passed, and then he bolted, along with the others.
The only sound in the room was Grisha’s belly laugh behind us.
“Are you okay?” I looked down at Mila’s scared expression.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“Just some stupid game.”
Behind us, Grisha yelled at the crowd. “Let’s get this party going. Come on, I want to see some dancing!”
As if on cue, the music started up and people obediently walked onto the dance floor.
“Drink, eat,” Grisha commanded in a booming voice. “I want to see everyone doing shots.”
I looked down at Mila’s tired face. She was pale, and there were faint smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes.
I spoke with some regret, knowing what this would cost her. “We need to leave right now.”
She looked bewildered. “But we haven’t cut the cake yet.”
“There’s an emergency in Vancouver. We have a flight to catch.”
“We’re leaving tonight? For Canada?”
“Yes.”
To my surprise, a faint smile appeared. “Okay.”
“How soon can you pack?”
“I’m mostly packed. I just need someone to help me get out of this dress.”
In a world where she got to marry someone she loved, that would be my job. “I’ll see if Katrina can help you. Can you be ready in an hour?”
“I’ll try.”
Exactly an hour later, Mila came down the stairs, carrying a large trumpet case. A staff member carried an oversized suitcase down the stairs behind her.
My eyes landed on the trumpet case.
“It’s my dad’s,” she said, with some defiance in her eyes.
“How did the packing go?”
“I’m taking one bag with me, and some other things will be shipped.”
I tried, but she wouldn’t give me the trumpet. “Ready to go?”
She worked to hide her relief. “Ready.”