Chapter 4
Roman
I stood there, watching that tattered ivory skirt disappear around the corner. Victor, following at my signal, completely blocked her from view.
That annoyed me a little.
I didn't look away until she vanished down the hall.
I shifted my weight. My groin still throbbed—she'd landed that knee with zero mercy.
It lifted my mood slightly.
Interesting.
"Did we figure out who pulled this?" I kicked at the corpse by my feet. It rolled sideways, the mask slipping off to reveal a stranger's face and a few strands of red hair.
Danny wiped his bloodied blade on a nearby body, then slid it back into the sheath at his waist. "Hired idiots from those Irish bastards down south.
Figured they'd stage a bloodbath on our turf during the wedding—make the feds think you can't even control your own territory, prove this whole political marriage you made to appease the government is a joke. "
"Idiots." I let out a cold laugh. "Take the ringleaders alive. Drag them to the basement. I want to know which dumb fuck signed off on this. Once you get the name, skin them and ship the remains back."
"Got it. I'll handle them personally." Danny nodded, leaning against the bullet-riddled plaster wall.
Business done, his muscles relaxed. He pulled out a Cuban cigar and bit off the tip.
His gaze dropped, sweeping mockingly over my crotch.
"But seriously, Roman. For a bride you bought for three million to be your political shield, she doesn't pull her punches. "
I said nothing.
Danny struck a match and lit the cigar, taking a deep drag.
Through the curling gray smoke, he raised an eyebrow.
"Come to think of it, you agreed to this marriage way too damn fast. When that old loser Cross offered up his daughter to settle the debt, you didn't even blink.
Just swallowed that three-million-dollar bad loan whole. "
"Can't it be because I'm charitable?" I took the last cigar from his pack and lit it.
"Right. You only squeeze every last drop of value out of people who dare owe you, then dump them in Lake Michigan.
" He chuckled. "Admit it, man. You had your eye on her from the start, didn't you?
Three million for a woman who'd pull a knife on you in a dark room and leave you this roughed up—that's not the kind of losing deal you make. You've been watching her, haven't you?"
I snorted, smoke escaping. I didn't deny it.
"What, getting kicked in the balls by your fiancée—is that your new kink?" Danny struck another match to relight his cigar, his tone growing bolder through the haze.
"She's got guts, Danny. I'll give her that." I straightened my collar where she'd wrinkled it, my fingertips still holding the memory of the startling heat of her inner thigh.
"Yeah, that's good." Danny exhaled a cloud of grayish smoke. "Since... you know, since all that shit went down. You moving on, starting fresh—that's the best thing for you. This woman you're using for show, she'll help you finally forget about L—"
Before that syllable could leave his mouth, I had Danny by the throat at impossible speed, slamming him against the bullet-pocked plaster wall.
The cigar dropped from his lips, sparks scattering on the carpet.
"Watch your fucking mouth." I stared at him, veins bulging on my forearm. "You never—never—say that name. Got it?"
Danny's face flushed red as he choked, hands raised in surrender, forcing words from his throat. "My bad, Pakhan. I crossed a line. Sorry."
I glared at him for two more seconds, then released him with disgust, shoving him away.
"Clean up this mess." I straightened my jacket and turned, striding toward the main hall.
The corridor reeked of gunpowder mixed with thick, nauseating blood.
The expensive Persian rug was ruined, covered in crisscrossing dark red stains and hot brass casings.
Several riddled corpses lay scattered among shattered colored glass.
One bastard who hadn't died yet clutched his punctured abdomen in the corner, gasping raggedly.
I stepped through the sticky pool of blood and put a bullet in him. He stopped moving instantly.
I walked forward without looking, jaw clenched so tight I could almost taste blood.
Danny was an idiot, but his words had hit precisely on the weakness I'd been trying to mask with cruelty.
When Nadia ran like a headless chicken, I'd followed without thinking. I could've subdued her on the spot, or had the guards drag her back to the altar.
But when she grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward without thinking, something inside me ignited completely.
She was pulling me. She'd instinctively grabbed me in her fear. She needed me.
That loss of control made me shudder with satisfaction.
I admitted she had enough appeal to stir my long-dormant desire for conquest and twisted amusement. But that's all it was. An interesting woman.
Until Danny mentioned that person, I'd thought I had everything under control.
But I'd gotten something mixed up.
I stopped abruptly and slammed my fist into the wall.
"Fuck." I cursed under my breath.
I would not let myself make that mistake again.
The wedding continued in the temporarily cleared hall.
The air still carried the sharp smell of bleach and faint traces of blood. Nadia stood beside me, now wearing the backup wedding dress—a conservative high-necked, long-sleeved lace gown that covered every inch of skin.
But I knew how tempting the body beneath that fabric was.
My mind uncontrollably flashed to the startling heat of her skin, remembered how she'd trembled beneath my touch, how wet she'd been, even remembered that almost soul-devouring tightness when she'd clenched around me.
The fire in my belly surged downward again with barbed urgency, that savage instinct to tear off this offensive lace and strip her bare right here raging through my veins.
I had to clench my back teeth, shove my hands deep in my pockets and ball them into fists, nails digging into my palms, using near-masochistic pain to forcibly seal off this goddamn desire.
I had to be the emotionless Pakhan. I couldn't let even a hint of loss of control show toward this dangerous pawn.
I stared straight ahead.
I could feel her trembling slightly with rage. Her burning gaze stabbed at my profile like knives.
But I ignored her, staring coldly at the priest whose voice was shaking, my face expressionless.
"Roman Sokolov, do you take Nadia Cross to be your wife..."
"I do." My voice was flatter than I'd expected.
The priest asked Nadia the same question. Her breathing was rapid, and only after repeated prompting did she reluctantly speak.
At the ring exchange, I seized her cold hand without hesitation.
She tried to pull back—a silent, furious resistance.
But I wouldn't allow her even an inch of retreat.
Ignoring her struggle, I shoved the massive diamond ring brutally onto her finger, never once granting her a glance.
"You're a complete psychopath." She finally snapped, hissing through her teeth in a voice only we could hear.
I didn't even blink. I simply released her hand, turned, and gestured to Victor to move to the next step.
Let her think I was unpredictable. Let her think I was an emotionless lunatic. Let her hate me, fear me.
Anger and hatred were safe. Controllable.
Because if I turned my head now, if I looked even once more at those blue eyes burning with fury, I knew I'd tear that offensive lace apart right here and fuck her senseless on this blood-stained altar.