Chapter 8
Alina
“Are we still saying stuff like yas queen or whatever?” Kira stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “Because I’m feeling a whole lot of over-the-top stuff right now.”
“I’m feeling it too,” I whisper, smoothing the lace and silk. “Very big things.”
We stare, not speaking.
The dress is magnificent.
Better than I pictured when we went over the design. Celeste’s sketch didn’t come close to doing it justice.
Ivory silk like liquid pearl. A sweetheart neckline that flows into a torso fitted to my body like water on my skin.
Embroidery moves down across my chest and into the skirt, looking like stardust and sunshine.
Layers of tulle give me the ballgown silhouette but without being too big or gaudy.
The back is a deep V, showing off my skin.
Celeste insisted at the time and I wasn’t sure, but now I get it.
“You look so fucking good,” Kira says, sounding giddy. “Holy shit, Seamus is going to lose his mind.”
I feel my cheeks turn pink. I think about his last words to me that day. Prettiest bride in New York. Right now, in front of this mirror, with the perfect dress all thanks to him, I feel like I might actually live up to his expectations.
It’s a thrill. I’m terrified too. But wearing this, it’s like I’m in armor and I can defeat any challenger.
“Five minutes until—” Siobhan Whelan pokes her head into my little bridal suite. We’re in a small, intimate venue in the West Village. Expensive and nice, but quiet and small. Her eyes widen when she spots me. “Well, would you look at that.”
“What do you think, Mrs. Whelan?” I turn for her so she gets the full effect.
“Incredible.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “She made that in two weeks?”
“Well, Celeste and an army of helpers,” Kira adds helpfully.
“You look perfect. And please, call me Siobhan. You’re going to be my daughter in—” She checks her watch. “Four minutes.”
I love this woman. The precision. The poise. I only wish her son were half so organized. “We’ll be ready.”
She nods, looking me over one more time. “Pearls,” she says, eyebrows raising. “Why the pearl motif?”
I open my mouth. How am I supposed to explain the significance? I end up just shrugging. “I like them,” I say lamely.
Kira finishes my make-up. She’s in a dust blue bridesmaid dress and looks like a total knockout. It suits her perfectly.
“Are you ready?” she asks, trying to sound as casual as she can. “I mean, I know you’re not ready-ready, but you’re not going to pass out or run away, right?”
“I’m not passing out or running away,” I confirm, trying to sound more resolute than I feel.
“And this is totally fine, right? You’re cool with marrying this guy and there isn’t like a hidden gun trained on you the whole time, right?”
“No weapons are involved in this marriage.”
“Great. Okay. I just wanted to double-check.”
“I know you’re worried about me.” I stand and hug her tightly. “But everything’s fine. Really, it’ll be totally fine.”
The more I try to make Kira feel better, the more I sound like I’m really trying to convince myself.
But no time to keep worrying. Siobhan returns and announces that it’s time.
I follow her to the hallway outside of the reception hall where the ceremony’s happening.
Inside, around a hundred men and women, blood relatives and important members of the Whelans and the Morozovs, are waiting to see the bride.
Which happens to be me. Somehow.
Papa shows up a moment later. Siobhan gives us some last-minute instructions before peeking in through the door. Papa stands at my side and glances at me, frowning slightly, before I take his arm.
“You look nice,” he says stiffly. “Where’d the dress come from?”
“Seamus bought it for me.”
His frown deepens. “That sounds thoughtful.”
“It was, actually.”
Siobhan waves as the wedding march begins. “Move it!” She pushes open the door and practically kicks us into the aisle.
Papa walks stiffly. All eyes turn to stare. Ahead, up on the altar, Seamus stands with his younger brother, Finn, both of them obscenely handsome in their tuxedos. The priest is an older man I don’t recognize, pale and pasty.
I try to ignore all the familiar faces. Men I’ve known my whole life.
Taras up at the front. His generals and brigadiers around him.
Powerful and important people, men I’ve been told to respect and honor.
Their wives and daughters scattered among them.
Girls I’ve known forever, but never really got along with.
I’ve always been held apart, mostly because I’m the Pakhan’s daughter, and that makes me different.
“Do you see now, Alina?” Papa whispers softly to me. I walk awkwardly by his side. “How important this is to everyone?”
He’s right. I can see it in their faces.
The tension between the Morozov side and the Whelan side.
But if I stand up there and say the vows, the gap between our two organizations will blur and soften, until there’s nothing between us anymore.
That’s the goal of all this, isn’t it? To bring these two powerful families together?
It all rests on my shoulders.
Papa’s voice lowers. “Don’t fuck this up. Don’t disgrace me. Don’t embarrass me. Not just this wedding, Alina, but your marriage. Be a good, obedient wife. Follow his rules. Obey him. Give him children. Don’t fucking ruin this for me.”
My shoulders tense. I feel like someone kicked me in the guts. “I won’t, Papa,” I whisper back, fighting tears.
All my life, I pictured this moment. I saw Papa in my head, telling me I’m beautiful, giving me away to the man of my dreams.
Instead, my father glares at me like I’m a failure and dumps me at the edge of the steps before joining my brother in the front row.
I’m left to start up the steps alone. At least until Seamus comes down to meet me.
I look at him, surprised. He stares, not smiling, cold blue eyes deadly serious as he takes my hand. “I’ll help,” he whispers, the crowd slowly sitting down and settling.
“I’m fine, really, it’s okay.”
He ignores me. I make it up the steps and take my position. Kira’s already there and waiting. Her eyes are misty with tears but she smiles through them. What’s she got to cry about? I’m the one getting sold.
I hate this. I despise the way my father keeps looking at his watch as the priest drones on. It’s terrible, all these people, and none of them really know me. No friends, nobody I really care about on my side of the aisle. Respected peers, members of the bratva, but loved ones?
None in sight.
Seamus takes my hands. It’s not part of the ceremony and the priest stumbles as he reads, but Seamus doesn’t seem to care. He squeezes lightly, staring at me, holding me with his gaze. “Me and you,” he whispers. “It’ll be fine. It’s just me and you.”
I look back and realize I must’ve been tense. He noticed and he’s trying to help me relax. I take a breath and blow it out, hoping everyone in the crowd assumes it’s just normal pre-marriage jitters instead of the existential crisis boiling in my head.
Seamus’s touch helps. It shouldn’t, but it does. His eyes stray to my dress, lingering on the pearl motif around the edge of my neckline. His expression tightens, almost like he’s in pain.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, subtly shaking his head. “Even better than I dreamed.”
“You were imagining how I’d look?”
“I get bored sometimes.” That smirk returns. His trademark cocky smile. I’m starting to think it’s his version of a designer dress.
The priest loudly clears his throat, interrupting our conversation as he gets to the good part. We exchange rings and vows, my hands trembling the whole time, only making it through because Seamus seems so completely at ease. And if he’s calm, this can’t be that bad, right?
I turn toward the crowd, hoping to find a friendly face, but there’s nobody.
Only my father’s annoyed, impatient frown and my brother looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than at his own sister’s wedding.
“You may kiss the bride.”
The words hit me out of nowhere. I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m blindsided when Seamus moves forward, slightly adjusting himself so that he’s blocking my view of anyone but him. He dips down, his lips inches from mine, but not yet touching. “Me and you, princess,” he whispers.
And finally, my husband kisses me.
It’s not church appropriate. I doubt Seamus has that in him.
I’m mortified as his tongue invades my mouth and more than a few people in the audience let out an audible gasp.
He dominates me with passion, a burning kiss, his taste like whiskey and ash.
I put my hands on his chest, trying to move him away or at least trying to make him tone it down, but he doesn’t care.
I’m his to kiss. I’m his now.
And as he pulls away, the doors to the room burst open and armed men storm inside.
I stand dumbfounded, left reeling from Seamus’s lips. My husband shoves me behind him, hand going to his waist where he would probably have a gun. Except there’s nothing. Even a mobster leaves his weapon behind at his own wedding.
“What’s happening?” Kira hisses, grabbing my arm and standing close.
The men fan out. My father gets to his feet and there’s shouting all around us. Fear lances into my chest, at least until I recognize the man stalking down the aisle, looking grim.
“Who the fuck is interrupting my daughter’s wedding?” Papa shouts, glaring death at the captain of his personal guards, an old grizzled Russian named Vladislav.
“I apologize, Pakhan, but there’s a problem. I have to ensure the safety of everyone in here.”
More shouts, especially from the Whelan side.
I move back, away from the chaos, gripping onto Kira protectively.
Seamus stalks forward, wading into the yelling, shoving his way over to where my father’s standing with Vladislav and Padraig Whelan, the head of the Whelan family and Seamus’s father.
The men are speaking to each other, all of them looking grim.
“This isn’t good,” I whisper, stomach knotted. Nobody would do this, not unless it was important.
Seamus turns back to me, dark look blistering, rage burning bright on his face. He storms over and I shrink back, afraid of what he’s going to do.
“What’s happening?” I ask, voice tiny. I hate myself for the fear stabbing through my stomach. I’m supposed to stand tall and proud. But here I am, acting like a child.
Seamus takes my arm tightly. His grip’s right on the edge of painful as he drags me away from Kira. She watches helplessly, reaching out like she might say something, but what can she do?
“Wait, Seamus,” I say, struggling against him. “What are you doing?”
He seems to realize what’s happening. He stops and turns to me, leaning in close, voice like a bone saw grinding through my ribs.
“Someone’s been murdered.”