Chapter 12
KATYA
The woman staring back at me is a stranger.
I don’t typically wear makeup unless I’m onstage, and I never do my hair beyond ballet buns. So seeing myself this way is a shock. I’ve been in hair and makeup for the last hour, and I’ve been transformed.
Too bad the occasion is as somber as a funeral.
The makeup artist meticulously applied false eyelashes and gave me a natural eye palette and dewy pink lip with just a hint of blush kissing my cheekbones. The hair stylist worked my hair into loose curls that fall down my back, threading a few white roses through it to complement my veil.
“What do you think?” Teresa, the hair stylist, asks with a hopeful air as she finishes applying hold spray.
I think that it’s my wedding day, and I’m about to be married to my kidnapper, which is as messed up as it gets.
I think my life is about to change, and I’m terrified of what being married to a man like Scorpion will bring.
But I can’t say any of that. Teresa is part of the famiglia, and I don’t trust her any more than I do the swarm of people who have been surrounding me from the moment I arrived at Priest Andriani’s compound this morning.
I force a smile instead. “You did a wonderful job. Thank you so much.”
“It wasn’t difficult. Your hair is gorgeous. I’d kill for it.”
Teresa sends me a friendly grin, but I’m not sure if she’s kidding about the last part of her statement or if she’s serious. Misha is a dangerous man and the Bratva are powerful and terrifying, but I know firsthand that the Andrianis are every bit as lethal and ruthless.
“That’s sweet of you to say. I always wished I had blonde hair,” I confide, and for some reason, my mind goes back to Chiara with her perfect golden waves cascading down her back.
Does Scorpion prefer women with light hair?
The instant that stupid question rises in my mind, I obliterate it. Because I don’t care what he likes. I don’t care if he likes me. This is, like Chiara said, a business arrangement. Transactional. I marry Scorpion to keep Svetlana safe, and he marries me to pacify Misha and his don.
“We always want what we can’t have, right?” Teresa gives my hair another final spray and surveys her handiwork.
“So true,” I agree, an acute pang of sadness hitting me as I can’t keep my mind from going to the ballet career I’ve spent practically my whole life working toward.
I didn’t manage to get to where I wanted to be.
Now, I never will. It’s hard to accept that life as I knew it is over for me.
Even when I’m finally able to escape this marriage, I’ll have been gone from the ballet world for so long, it won’t matter.
I’ll be older, out of practice. And if I could somehow return on my own merit, Misha would make it impossible, one way or another.
A knock sounds at the door to the room I’ve been given for preparation.
“Katya?”
It’s Svetlana, coming to help me get into my wedding gown.
I didn’t want to involve any of my friends in this insane wedding, and she’s all I have here, aside from my brothers.
I’m not counting Misha and Dmitri since one is the reason I’m being forced to marry Andriani against my will and the other isn’t doing anything to put a stop to this farce.
“Come in,” I call to her.
“I’ll just get out of your way,” Teresa says, packing up the last of her supplies as the door opens and Svetlana comes inside.
“Lisichka,” she says, sounding choked up as she meets my gaze in the mirror. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”
I smile, feeling the sting of tears coming to my eyes. “I’m still wearing a robe.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Svetlana blinks and sniffles.
“Totally doesn’t,” Teresa adds on her way out the door. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
Husband.
Scorpion.
These two things don’t compute, even if I said them myself yesterday.
But I don’t want to let that show to Svetlana.
If she suspects this is anything other than a whirlwind romance, she’ll confront Misha.
And I don’t trust my eldest brother not to hurt her.
The thought of anything happening to her because of me is gut-wrenching. I couldn’t live with it.
The door clicks closed on Teresa, and then it’s just Svetlana and me.
She wraps me in a perfumed embrace. “Ty krasivaya.”
She’s telling me I’m beautiful again, this time in Russian. When she’s overwhelmed, she sometimes slips back into her native tongue, although it’s been many years since she left, never to return.
I hug her back, feeling equally overwhelmed and for all the wrong reasons as I thank her. “Spasibo.”
“Enough of this.” Svetlana sniffles again and then steps back, all business. “Time for your dress, da?”
The woman who raised me is a tough cookie. She rarely shows emotion. I hate that I’m lying to her, but I have no choice. It’s for her own good.
“I guess it is.” I try to keep the reluctance from my voice, but a hint shines through.
“You are nervous,” she guesses.
“Yes.” The admission slips out before I can catch myself.
All brides are on their wedding day, aren’t they? Admitting that won’t give me away.
She frowns. “You are sure you want to marry this man?”
No.
“Yes,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “It’s what I want to do.”
Swap that want for have, and I’m not lying.
“I have this sense, lisichka.” Svetlana gives me a searching look, patting her heart for emphasis. Her nails are hot pink today. “Something does not smell right. You are certain this has nothing to do with Misha?”
I hate how close she’s gotten to the truth, as much as I hate deceiving her.
“Something doesn’t smell right?” I make a show of sniffing myself to lighten the moment. “Do I need deodorant?”
Svetlana chuckles as I knew she would, but then it fades. “You didn’t answer the other part of the question.”
Her accent is heavier now, and I know she means business.
I sweep her into an impulsive embrace, needing the comfort of her familiar softness without being able to ask for it. “It may seem like we’re rushing into this, but when you know, you know. We didn’t want to wait.”
“All I want is for you to be happy. It is what your mother would have wanted for you.”
I doubt my mother would have wanted me to be forced by my brother to marry into the Mafia. But Svetlana can’t know that part. Not now, not ever.
New tears sting my eyes. “I am.”
“Then you have a dress to put on.” She withdraws from me gently, busying herself with getting the gown hanging nearby, still zipped in its garment bag.
But I saw the wet tracks down her cheeks, saw her smudged mascara. I wish I could tell her everything, but it has to be this way.
Painstakingly, we get the designer gown out of its protective shell. The gown put Misha back twenty grand, but he didn’t say a word about it to me. I obviously should have spent more, but there wasn’t time to get a custom gown made, so I rolled with the most expensive one I could find off the rack.
As Svetlana zips up the low back and I face myself in the mirror, I have to admit that it is a gorgeous choice.
Too bad it’s being wasted on a wedding that will be undone as soon as possible.
It’s a hideous waste of money, and the broke ballerina in me is appalled.
I’ve never accepted any of Misha’s financial help until this dress.
Since he’s essentially sold me to the Andrianis, he owes it to me.
But I still know his money is coated in the blood of everyone he’s killed to get to where he’s at.
“It fits perfectly,” Svetlana praises. “Oh, lisichka. You are the image of your mother.”
Her compliment fills me with pride. Like Svetlana, I wish my mother were here. But then, if she’s anything like Svetlana says she was, this sham of a wedding would have broken her heart.
Before I can say anything, there’s another knock at the door. This time, it’s Misha.
“Are you ready?” he asks sharply, sounding annoyed. “It’s time to go.”
I’ll never be ready. Not for what he’s forcing me to do. But I can’t say that.
“I’m ready,” I call back to him, amazed at the way my voice doesn’t waver.
I give Svetlana a final squeeze, and then I walk out the door to whatever is awaiting me.
Scorpion
I’m at the cigar bar on the patio at Priest’s place, glass of Macallan dangling from one hand and a premium Cuban in the other, when Dmitri Sidorov approaches the circle of Andriani and Revello capos around me.
The wedding is over.
I’m a married man.
And I trust my new brother-in-law as far as I can fucking throw him.
“Sidorov,” I greet him coldly.
It’s the first time we’ve spoken since everything went down. Once, he was my closest ally in the Bratva ranks. Until he disappeared without a word of warning. Now, he’s a wild card who’s doing his brother’s bidding. Whether out of loyalty or coercion, I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway.
“Scorpion.” His light eyes flick to the capos surrounding me. “Can I have a word?”
The air goes tense. Even if we’re at a wedding, the lines between our famiglia and the Bratva have been crystal clear all day. There’s no intermingling. The Russians are keeping to themselves on their half of the tent, and the Andrianis and Revellos are sticking to theirs.
It’s not like a gunfight is about to break out.
We’ve been meticulous when it comes to security.
That’s why Priest wanted to hold the wedding on his estate outside the city.
He’s got a top-tier security detail ringing the property and men at the gates checking every guest who comes and goes.
We’re not taking any chances. When Priest married Luna, a rival Revello faction used the opportunity to clip Luna’s father in broad daylight on their way out of the church.
Shit like that’s not going down this time.
Which is why I nod at Dmitri. “Follow me.”
I head to a gazebo a few yards from the tent and patio. It overlooks the massive pool that’s lit and filled with floating flowers. That was Luna’s doing, and I’m not going to lie, it looks incredible.
I give my cigar a meditative puff as I turn to Dmitri. “What do you want?”
Dmitri rubs an inked hand along his jaw. Like Ekaterina, he has pale-blue eyes, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s got the same blond hair as his stronzo brother, every bit as tall and hulking. I’m six foot four, and we stand eye to eye.
“I want to talk to you about Katya,” he says quietly.
There it is again, the name her family calls her. Katya. I like it. It’s short and pretty, with an edge. It suits her.
“What about my wife?” I bite out.
I may not have wanted to marry her, but she’s mine now, in every way.
“Promise me you’ll be good to her.” Something flickers in his eyes before they go blank.
“I don’t have to promise you anything.” I take another puff of my cigar. “Any understanding we had was blown up the second you planted a bomb in our restaurant.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I had nothing to do with the bomb.”
“Bullshit.”
“Think about it rationally. You have plenty of enemies. The Bratva aren’t one of them.”
Anger surges up my spine. “Correction—they weren’t one of them until Mikhail Sidorov was minted the new Pakhan. Then suddenly, our restaurants are blowing up. Don’t play games with me, Sidorov. You’re going to lose.”
His expression hardens. “You kidnapped Katya.”
“We both know why.”
He rolls his shoulders. “You should have left her out of this. She doesn’t belong in this life. She’s never been part of it.”
“She’s your fucking sister. Your blood runs through her veins. That makes her part of it.”
“You went after Misha’s only weakness. He’s going to make you pay.”
There’s a warning in his voice I don’t like, but I’m not about to let it show.
“He’s already making me pay by forcing me into this marriage,” I point out.
Dmitri casts a look around like he’s concerned he’s being watched. “There are other ways to make a man pay.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Sidorov?” Too annoyed to smoke my cigar, I snuff it out on the gazebo table and leave it. “Are you threatening me right now?”
He shrugs. “Call it what you like. But if you do anything to hurt my sister, it won’t be Misha you have to worry about. It’ll be me.”
Now I’m annoyed. “Do I look like a fucking wife-beater to you?”
“There’s more than one way to hurt someone, and not all of them involve fists.” He gives me a stern look. “Hurt her, and I hurt you.”
I’m an Andriani. I don’t take orders from him or anyone but my don. And while I appreciate that Sidorov’s being protective of his sister, it’s also too little, too late.
I look him in the eye. “If you had protected her the way you should’ve, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. I wouldn’t say another fucking word like that to me if I were you, Sidorov. You won’t like what happens.”
I brush past him, intentionally clipping his shoulder with mine, and leave him standing alone in the gazebo. The marriage from hell is off to a fantastic start.