Married to My Sis' Mafia Fiancé

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Natasha

The entire Kornilov Manor buzzed with chaos, preparing for Vera's wedding of the century.

I stood at the end of the second-floor hallway, coldly watching the madness below.

In the main hall, security and event planners rushed back and forth while servants hauled in boxes of roses.

My father, Nikolai, stood halfway up the spiral staircase, screaming at the butler to double the security.

Tomorrow, my elder sister Vera would marry Dante Romanov. The most powerful Russian mob boss in New York. This union would bind our two families' underground empires together permanently.

And me? I was just background noise. Expected to smile and clap on cue.

A dull ache spread through my chest, pulling at my lungs with every breath. Because the man standing at that altar tomorrow, swearing vows before God—that cold, dangerous, lethally attractive man—was the secret I'd buried in my heart for three years.

My pathetic first love would become my brother-in-law at sunrise.

I swallowed the pain and retreated two steps into the shadows, planning to slip out while no one noticed.

A gallery downtown had a new exhibit this afternoon.

I'd gotten tickets a month ago. Besides, nobody in this house gave a damn where I went.

My absence made things easier for everyone.

Might as well look at some art—maybe the colors would numb this suffocating feeling in my chest.

"Where do you think you're sneaking off to, Natasha?"

Shit. Busted.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Her voice was the recurring nightmare of my existence.

I turned stiffly. My sister Vera wore an obscenely expensive champagne silk robe, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She'd only done light makeup but still looked annoyingly gorgeous. And me? Hoodie, jeans, sneakers, hair twisted up with a pencil.

Standing together, we were some kind of cruel social experiment.

Vera crossed her arms, pale blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

I forced myself to meet her gaze calmly. "I just wanted some air. Everything's chaos down there anyway. I can't help."

Vera glided toward me in her slippers, footsteps nearly silent. "Some air? You mean that goddamn art show."

My stomach clenched.

"I don't know what art show you're talking about," I said, avoiding her eyes. "The hall just felt too crowded..."

Father hated it when I went to galleries. If he caught me, I was finished. He thought learning to be a proper lady and marrying well to boost the family's standing was all I should care about—like Vera.

Vera stopped in front of me, looking down at me with that evaluating stare. "So? Heartbreak sucks, doesn't it? Gonna stare at some shitty paintings to numb yourself?"

My brain went blank for a second.

How did she know?

For three years, I'd carefully hidden these feelings, terrified that anyone would discover my foolish fantasies about that dangerous man. But how did Vera know? And—was she mocking me?

I tried to stay calm, but my dry throat made my voice crack.

"Heartbreak? Vera, what the hell are you talking about?"

Vera tilted her head, not bothering to call out my lie yet. She leaned closer, lowering her voice.

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" She repeated it, then smiled—a smile with zero warmth. "Let me put it another way—you look at Dante like a starving dog staring at a bone it'll never reach. Three whole years, Natasha. You thought you hid it so well."

Panic flooded through me, my voice trembling. "When did you find out?"

Vera laughed dismissively. "A long, long time ago."

My face burned.

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out instinctively. I stumbled back half a step, breathing ragged. "Vera, I-I never meant to do anything. I know it's wrong, but I swear I never acted on it and I never will. Dante is yours. I swear I'll never come between you—"

I sounded like a thief caught red-handed, babbling promises to never steal again.

Vera finally turned to look at me directly, then burst out laughing, nearly doubled over, as if I'd said the stupidest thing imaginable.

"Come between us?" She repeated. "Natasha, you're still so fucking dumb."

She leaned down close to me, voice dropping to share what felt like a sisterly secret.

"You think I chose Dante myself? I went after him from the very beginning because you wanted him."

She said it so casually, like recounting some amusing trivia that had nothing to do with her.

My breath stopped for several seconds. I stared at her face, searching that beautiful mask for even a trace of guilt or hesitation. Nothing. Her eyes held only pure, undisguised pleasure.

That last shred of hope died.

Heat surged from my stomach, burning through my chest, rushing to my head.

"You're my sister." I stepped forward, tears streaming as I shouted at her. "You're my only sister, Vera."

Vera paused to admire the color draining from my face, her smile growing brighter. She cocked her head. "Thank you, little sister. Honestly, I owe you one for this, Natasha. You picked out a good man for me."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain barely kept me conscious.

I knew what kind of person Vera was. Since childhood, anything I showed the slightest interest in, she'd snatch away without hesitation. The paintbrushes I'd saved money for—she snapped them. The dress I liked—she cut it to shreds.

She'd always derived her sense of superiority by crushing me underfoot. I thought I'd gone numb to it. Not every sister gets to feel loved by her older sister. I'd accepted that fact long ago.

But this was different.

I'd always thought she just had petty malice, liked to compete. I never imagined she'd treat destroying my crush like entertainment.

"You disgust me. Does taking what's mine really make you happy?" I stared at Vera's beautiful, terrifying face, voice breaking.

Vera went quiet for two seconds.

The smile vanished, replaced by fleeting boredom.

"Ah, I thought it would make me happy too." Her tone was unnaturally flat. "But unfortunately, the second I had him, I got bored."

She laughed twice, then clapped her hands like nothing happened. "Anyway, enough of that. Business time. Natasha, go to the bridal boutique on the Upper East Side and pick up my dress. I have a full spa appointment this afternoon. Can't deal with this shit."

The words came out before I could stop them. "Fuck you. I'm not going."

Vera raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting defiance.

My voice shook uncontrollably, but I forced myself to meet her eyes. "I am absolutely not going to help you carry that wedding dress, you vicious bitch. And if your legs don't work, then just throw on whatever rags you can find tomorrow and drag yourself to the church."

The hallway air dropped to freezing. I felt afraid. Regretful. In all these years, I'd never refused one of Vera's orders. But how could she hurt me like this and still expect me to be her servant?

Vera's smile turned cold. The contempt in her eyes shifted to something vicious.

She stepped forward. I shrank back immediately, spine hitting the cold wall. "Well, look who's got an attitude all of a sudden. Seems like you really are head over heels for that man. Too bad—if you don't go, I won't keep covering for you about sneaking out to that gallery last month."

My blood went cold. "You promised. You said if I finished Katerina's birthday gift, you wouldn't tell Dad."

Katerina Romanov. Dante's mother. The one who really called the shots in the Romanov family.

In this city's underworld, nobody dared disrespect the iron-fisted matriarch, but she and I got along fairly well.

Vera was desperate to impress her future mother-in-law but couldn't think of an appropriate gift—so naturally, the task fell to me.

"But Katerina wasn't satisfied with that painting," she said with mock regret. "So I guess I'll have to tell Dad after all. How long did he lock you up last time? Two weeks?"

Three weeks. Plus only being allowed to eat at fixed times. No books. No drawing. No phone. Nikolai's methods of disciplining daughters were extremely old-fashioned—especially for me, the daughter he never really wanted.

"You don't want to get locked up again, do you?" Vera delivered the final blow.

I didn't.

During those three weeks in confinement, the only thing I could do was stare at the cracks in the ceiling and count how many branches they split into. I counted eighty-seven. That feeling—trapped in a sealed box with the air slowly running out—I couldn't go through that again.

I took the card from her hand.

When my fingertips touched the edge of the cardstock, I felt like I'd touched something incredibly sharp. Otherwise, why did my palm keep hurting?

Vera patted my shoulder with satisfaction. "Good girl."

Then she turned and left. Her velvet robe traced a perfect arc as she rounded the corner.

I stood alone at the door, gripping the pickup card in one hand and the gallery flyer in the other. Two pieces of paper. One leading to where I wanted to go. One leading to where I had to go.

Stories always went like this, didn't they?

The bridal boutique sat on a Fifth Avenue corner. "Maison élise" in white with gold lettering. Two stretch limos parked out front. When I pushed through the door, a bell chimed.

A woman in a black suit approached. She glanced at the card I handed her, then studied my face carefully.

"Miss Kornilov?"

"Yes. I'm here to pick up the dress."

"Perfect timing." She turned toward the back, gesturing for me to follow. "We've completed the final alterations, but since we made several adjustments, we'd like you to try it on to confirm the fit. After all, it's the big day. No room for error."

"That's not necessary, I'm just here to pick—"

"It won't take long." She'd already pushed open a fitting room door edged with gold filigree. Inside, soft lighting and three full-length mirrors made the space glow. "The revised version adjusted the waistline. We need to see it on to confirm. Don't worry, it won't take more than ten minutes."