Chapter 1
Thirty Minutes Earlier
“No,” I shout as Aleksy, my older brother and ruthless boss of the Morozova Bratva stares me down.
I shake my head, voice trembling. “I won’t marry that monster.”
He steps forward, invading my space. “Then tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know!” I throw my arms up in frustration.
He thinks I’m covering for my sister, Dasha.
His jaw clenches. “Put on your sister’s wedding dress, Liliya. You’re the bride now.” He curses Dasha under his breath before storming out and slamming the door behind him.
“Liliya,” my mother mutters before sighing. “We don’t have a choice. Let’s get you in that gown.”
I rush to the trash can, ready to vomit the bile rising up my throat.
“I won’t do it.” I hold out my arms like a barrier to stop her from coming closer. “Over my dead body—”
“It’ll be all of our dead bodies,” she hisses, struggling to keep her voice low. “Stop being selfish. This isn’t about your feelings. It’s about saving this family.” She swats my arms away. “Your sister ran. Now, you have to take her place.”
Dasha climbed out of the bridal suite while I was in the bathroom.
I wish she’d told me about her plan. I’d gone with her.
She was smart to run.
Marrying Emilio Lastro is a death sentence.
He’s a murderer, a capo in the Lombardi Mafia family, and a man who discards people who no longer hold value to him. The dark rumors about him are endless.
But worst of them all? He betrayed his own family, killing his father in cold blood.
“He’ll know I’m the wrong bride,” I say, more to myself than her.
She shoves the gown into my arms. “Quit thinking negatively.”
I catch the dress before it hits the floor and scoff bitterly.
“He barely even looked at Dasha at the engagement party.” She gives me an optimistic pat on the shoulder.
“He isn’t stupid.” I narrow my eyes at her. “He’ll put a bullet through my head.”
She says nothing, doesn’t even flinch.
I splay the dress across the couch before kicking off my shoes and unbuckling my jeans. “I didn’t wake up today thinking I’d be the sacrificial lamb.”
All the pressure is on me.
Our lives now lie in my hands.
If we break this contract with the Lombardis, they’ll kill us.
As I slip the dress over my head, it feels like a chain weighing me down.
Thankfully, Dasha chose a simple dress with a high neckline, dainty lace sleeves, with a flare at the bottom. While simple, it’s tight and uncomfortable, clinging to my waist and chest.
I stare at myself in the mirror, fighting the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.
“You look beautiful, honey,” my mother says softly, stepping behind me to settle her hands on my shoulders before smoothing a hand over my arm.
I look away, refusing to meet her eyes.
As much as I want to kick her out of the room and be alone in my misery, I don’t.
Being alone right now would be worse.
Dasha had no bridesmaids. I was supposed to be the maid of honor.
I don’t even have one of those.
It’s just little old me, about to stand at the altar with a heartless mobster, praying he doesn’t kill me when he lifts the veil and finds the wrong bride.