Chapter Thirteen
In which Oksana missed the peacocks but gained some excellent in-laws.
Oksana…
Vadim leads me toward the front doors of the cathedral, already thrown open wide and showing the long line of limos waiting there. Then, he makes an abrupt left, with several of his bodyguards following us.
Behind me, I hear a massive fanfare of trumpets, meant, no doubt, for our triumphant exit as husband and wife before the sound falters. My new husband's leading me through a maze of hallways until we're at a side exit. There's a matte charcoal-colored Maserati SUV there, engine running.
One of his black-suited men splits from the others surrounding us to open the door, and Vadim quickly helps me in.
When his door shuts behind him with a resounding 'clunk!' it's clear the Maserati is more heavily armored than a Brink's truck.
"Is this a kidnapping?" I ask.
His cool blue gaze meets mine. "A more secure departure."
"Thank you for saving me from the trumpet fanfare," I say. "Also, I'd overheard something about releasing trained white peacocks and I didn't want to be there to witness that."
He arches his brow in inquiry.
"You see, white doves released would be so pedestrian, so ordinary," I explain. "I'm not sure how they could train the peacocks to fly more than a foot or two. Picture Volkhonka Street in front of the cathedral cluttered with peacocks and the traffic-" I stop myself; I'm babbling.
I swear the slightest ghost of a smile passes over his lips and is gone again.
The drive back to The Carlton is silent, but I don't mind. He's not checking his phone and ignoring me, he's watchful, eyes examining every car and pedestrian as we pass them as if gauging for threats.
We don't pull up to the front of the hotel, the driver angles around to the back and as we stop, more black-suited men materialize to surround the car.
"Thorough," I say, eyeing his army.
This time, he catches my gaze and holds it. "You are mine now. You will always be safe."
My breath catches in my throat. "What did you-"
You will always be safe…
Why is that so familiar? The words, his tone. I've heard it before. More than once.
Vadim's out of the car and around to my side in moments, making the driver who was about to open my door step back hastily. He reaches his hand in to help me out and I stare at it. Long fingers.. A black wedding ring.
I feel like I'm about to dive into a dark sea with no idea what's swimming underneath me.
With a deep breath, I take his hand.
The reception is meant to be an extremely abbreviated version of the usual Bratva Society spectacle.
Even so, the ballroom at The Carlton is bulging with guests.
White dogwood trees, three feet high, are blooming in pots on each table as the centerpiece, with flowers cascading down the trunk and gathering around the base.
Every flower is stark white or the palest shade of pink and enormous crystal candelabras line the ballroom, glowing with hundreds of candles.
"Do you have a fire escape route planned along with all your other tactical retreats?" I whisper to Vadim.
He doesn't reply, though his hand slides around my waist and squeezes me reassuringly, and it's better than anything he could have said.
Our parents join us in a private alcove as the room begins to fill with guests. "How are you doing?" Mariya whispers, squeezing my hand. "That was quite a getaway."
"Blame your son," I murmur back.
"You missed the peacocks," she says with a completely solemn expression.
Half a cackle manages to escape my lips and I manage to swallow the rest before Mr. Maurice catches me in an undignified moment.
Konstantin joins us, bringing a couple with him and my breath catches in my throat.
Holy Mother of God it's him.
I see now that aside from his hair color, Vadim looks exactly like a younger version of his grandfather, the legendary Angel of Death, Alexi Turgenev.
As guests begin to see him, they fall silent, eyes wide.
As tall as his grandson, Alexi's gaze is able to both sweep the crowd and ignore their stares from a lofty height.
"Mother and Father, I'm sorry that this is the first opportunity we've had to introduce you to our beautiful daughter-in-law," Konstantin says. "Oksana Vasilieva Turgeneva, my parents, Alexi and Lucya Turgenev."
"It is an honor, Mem and Ser," I manage a shaky greeting and sink into a curtsey before I can stop myself.
Oh, kill me now.
There's a low, raspy chuckle and Vadim’s big hand slips under my elbow, helping me rise.
"Hello, Nevestka," Alexi rumbles. "Welcome to our family." It feels like freezing air pours off him in waves and I swear the candles around us flicker.
"A pleasure to meet you, my dear," Lucya says warmly.
She's as arresting as her husband, though thankfully not remotely as terrifying.
She has to be close to seventy and looks maybe fifty with her glittering green eyes and dark hair.
"I must tell you that the advantage of having both my husband and yours here means that the receiving line will be mercifully quick. "
Casting a quick glance back over the crowd forming behind us, I give her a hugely relieved smile. "Thank you, Lucya Turgeneva, this was my mother's vision of an abbreviated reception."
"Please, call me babushka muzha. The Six Families would all flock to see this union, no matter where on the globe they might have been," she says with a cynical little smile.
"I know your mother will look after you," she smiles warmly at Mother, who beams back.
"And your… Father." He's throwing back a glass of vodka handed to him by an expressionless Nikolai.
Her cynical smile stays intact. "At any rate, should you need rescuing from any of these gossipy creatures, nod to Mariya or me, all right? "
"You are so kind," I say, sagging a little in relief.
A waiter steps up quietly with a glass of ice water on a tray. Vadim takes it and hands it to me with another ghost of a smile.
"Thank you," I say, gulping it down gratefully. And then, the onslaught begins.
It's clear Mother and Father are taking the brunt of the questions and comments, because conversation seems to die down as they reach Konstantin and Mariya and evaporate by the time they reach Vadim and me.
No one attempts to shake his hand and most greetings are met with a nod. While he seems fine with me greeting female guests with the traditional three-cheek kiss, when the first man attempts it, we can both hear a low growl rattling through his chest. Eyes wide, the guest steps away.
"That was the U.S. Ambassador to Russia, you know," I tell him.
Another haughty quirk of his eyebrow.
"Hello, my dear." Anka's father, Viktor Volkov, gently takes my hand. "Congratulations." He gives me a conspiratorial smile. "You know the odds are running seventy/thirty."
"For?" I like Viktor, I know he adores his daughter and he's always made me feel welcome at their house.
"Seventy percent of the guests believe you're pregnant and this is a race to make an honest woman of you."
I burst into a shocked little giggle. "I should have expected it. And the other thirty percent?"
"It varies," he says. "My favorite theory is that your husband-" Viktor glances at Vadim, who is looking the other way, "fell madly in love with you at first sight and could not wait another moment."
"Oh, that's sweet," I say a little wistfully. What would it be like to marry for love?
"At any rate, best wishes to you both," he says, squeezing my hands before striding away.
The night seems to speed up and slow down after that.
There is still a six-course dinner wedged into this "abbreviated" wedding reception that seems to drag on forever.
Some toasts, not nearly as ribald as usual because no one wanted to risk finding out that Vadim didn't find them amusing.
That part speeds by. When the first shouts of "Gorko!
" rise from the crowd, I glance uncertainly at Vadim, who remained silent at my side during the dinner.
He stands, towering over most of the crowd and helps me to rise from my chair. Anka trades glances with me and she mouths, 'Use some tongue!'
"Gorko!" More shouts from the braver - or drunker - guests.
Vadim looks down at me and my breath leaves me in a little wheeze.
His eyes aren't cold. Not at all.
My new husband’s gaze is blue fire and he speaks.
"The kiss makes the bitter drink sweet." His deep voice rolls over the crowd and then he sips the wine, before bending closer and putting his lips on mine.
The wine passes from his mouth to mine, and my knees sag, just a bit.
Vadim's arm tightens around me, holding me against him and his lips slant over mine, his tongue tasting the wine as I sigh into his mouth.
Then, he pulls back and embarrassingly, my lips chase his for a second before I regain any concept of self-respect.
There's a huge roar of applause as Vadim stares down at me, his arm still firmly around my waist. In this moment, I want him to hold me even tighter, pressed against his chest as he spirits me away.
An hour later…
I thought I would retire gracefully to the bridal suite to get changed out of my dress so we could leave. Instead, Vadim leaves his conversation with the Pakhan of the Kuznetsov Bratva mid-sentence to escort me himself.
Iris, Rose and Caroline are in the hall chatting and they all give me a hilariously gleeful thumbs-up as we pass by.
"I'm just changing!" I feel compelled to explain.
"Yeah, okay," Rose says. "Make good choices." Vadim turns to look at her and she shuts up.
The elevator ride up to the suite is spent in silence.
I keep my gaze fixed on the display, watching the numbers climb.
I know he's watching me, but my ability to form a complete sentence seems to have disappeared after that kiss.
I lick my lip, still feeling it throb from where he'd bit it earlier at the altar and he makes the smallest sound, like a groan.
"I'm sorry," I ask, my gaze somewhere around his left eyebrow, "did you say something?"
"Nothing important," Vadim says, his voice gravelly.
Bodyguards trail at a respectful distance behind us down the hall. Since my parents bought out the entire floor of the hotel, I'm not sure why there are two guards stationed at the door to the Bridal Suite.
"No one's been inside?" Vadim asks.
The big redheaded guard stiffens. Given Vadim's taciturn nature, I wonder if he's ever heard his boss speak before.
"Yes, Sir. Mrs. Turgeneva's friend Miss Volkova went in to pack for your wife a few minutes ago."
Vadim turns to me. I'm tall, I'm wearing heels and I still have to look up, then look up some more to meet his gaze.
"Will you be long?" He checks his watch with the look of a man who wants to get away from the four hundred "close friends and business associates" clogging the ballroom downstairs.
"Fifteen minutes." I grin. Fresh from our kiss, I'm feeling a little reckless.
He raises a brow, clearly doubting me. Before Vadim, I had no idea that a two-inch strip of hair could convey so many meanings.
"In fact, I'll be ready in ten."
Strolling into the living room of the suite, I feel stupidly giddy, spinning in a circle for a moment. The man who married me may be the Angel of Death, but he kisses like he's bringing me back to life.
The terrace door opens.
"Hey, Anka, could you help me with my zipper? It's stuck -"
My back violently hits the wall of the closet, hooks digging into my shoulder.
"You were supposed to be mine!"
I'm thrown against the wall again, my vision exploding into a thousand points of light as my head bounces off the wood, sending pain searing up my neck. The dress is tangled around my feet. I can't kick. I can't run.
My vision clears just enough to see who's hurting me and a scream rips loose from my throat before he can stop me.
Even with one hand, he manages to slam my head again, hard enough that I see two of him and I'm fighting, scrabbling at him, tearing his cheek with my fingernails.
A monster, a one-eyed skull. The single eye blazes at me as his handless forearm slams against my throat, choking me.
"He said you'd be mine, you whore bitch!" He's screaming, flecks of spit hitting my face.
Yefim. It's Yefim. He is a monster. He must have taken something incredibly powerful to keep him on his feet.
I throw up my arms, shoving at him, twisting, trying to get away and the dress, my wedding dress trips me. I land against the doorway. Yefim yanks a gun from his jacket, shoving it into my mouth.
"You were going to let him have that kiska. It's mine. They promised you to me!" He's babbling. Three of his hideous white teeth implants are gone, making his words sound mushy. "You were promised!"
His hand is shaking, but his face is twisted, greedy, petulant, a child denied his toy. The metal of the barrel is cold, clacking painfully against my teeth. There's a roaring in my ears. He's going to kill me.
A breeze blows past me and I can breathe again. The gun is out of my mouth. Yefim is gone. I slide down the wall, staring as Vadim holds up Yefim, who kicks and squirms like a worm on a hook, with one hand. My knees give out and I slide down the wall, landing on the fluffy silk bustle of my dress.
"I intended to let you live a little longer," Vadim says dispassionately.
"Then, you touched my wife." He pulls a blade from under his tux.
How did I miss it? It's a huge knife. How did I not feel it when he kissed me?
The thoughts flow by, just words in a stream and maybe it's to protect me from what is happening.
Vadim's knife is being driven into the noseless, eyeless monster's stomach. At first, he kicks harder, looking even more like a fat worm on the hook. I watch his insides become outsides. Blood sprays all over my dress.
I don't say a word.
I just sit, watching as it happens. Then, he drops. Like the useless garbage he is, like a sack of meat that no longer resembles a human being.
One word comes to my lips as Vadim looks at me. "Good." I say. "That's good." Struggling to my feet, I haul up my torn, bloody dress and kick Yefim's twitching body as my new husband raises one perfect brow, signaling surprise for the first time.
Surprised by me.
***
Nevestka - Russian for Daughter-in-Law
Kiska - Russian for pussy.
Babushka muzha - Russian for Grandmother-in-law