Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Eva
Asoft knock on the sounds on the closed door.
“It’s open,” I call out.
In the reflection of the mirror, I watch Nico step inside. His pantsuit is freshly pressed and pristine, no indication of worry reflecting within his expression.
None of this is what I envisioned for myself. The dress is simple, elegant, floor-length, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. White, of course—a classical symbolic gesture to the clean slate of new beginnings.
The irony is laughable, I think to myself. Clean slate. There’s more blood on the hands of the men around me than within my own veins. And here I am, a pawn within those blood-stained hands.
I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, clasping the second of my pearl earrings—one of the many things I inherited from our mother. To my surprise, my hands don’t shake. I feel calm in spite of the fact that it’s my wedding day.
Taking in the woman staring back at me in the reflection, I barely recognize myself. My dark hair is curled and pinned in an elegant updo, my dark eyes appearing nearly black in contrast to the bright white of my dress. The control and resolve present—that of someone who chose this life.
Which is far from the truth.
Nico freezes when he sees me. His mouth drops open slightly, and for a long moment, he says nothing—just stares.
“Oh quit that,” I scold, slightly embarrassed now.
“You’re the definition of radiance, dear sister. I wish our parents were here to see this. They’d be proud of you.”
I chafe at that with a soft, bitter laugh. “Of course he would be proud. I’m the dutiful daughter, doing what I was raised to do. Play the perfect pawn in a political game of wills. Whatever is expected of her, whatever the family needs.”
Nico’s expression falls slightly. He begins to open his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.
“But Mamma? No, she would be appalled. She knew I wanted a life outside of this, and she would have done anything to help me gain that freedom which she never had. You and I both know that.”
Nico swallows hard at that. His silence answers enough.
“She wanted more for her children,” I continue quietly, “And now look at us—marrying a stranger for peace and leverage and making a move against the Don.”
He shifts uncomfortably behind me. I watch him through the mirror, feeling slightly satisfied at his discomfort.
Good. There’s still a part of the real Nico in there beneath the power-hungry viper.
Running a hand through his hair, he finally speaks, clearing his throat before saying, “Yaro just called.”
“Yaro?” I ask, turning to face him.
“Tolya’s second,” he divulges with a small nod. “He says the Pakhan has arranged a small, private ceremony at one of the estates on the outskirts of town. Immediate family only—those who must bear witness for this agreement to stand. No press. No guests.”
A flood of relief consumes my mind so heavily that it makes me dizzy. Swaying slightly from the rush, I put a steadying hand to my head. Thank the Lord for small graces.
I’ve been dreading the ceremony since I agreed to it. Haunting nightmares of standing before the whole of the Chicago Bratva. Sneering, glares, assassination attempts—they’ve all played out in my mind these last few nights. I am beyond thankful to hear this news.
“Oh thank God,” I say as I sit on the velvet bench near the window, picking up my white high heels and placing them on my feet one by one. The dainty straps circling my ankles are made of delicate lace. “I’ve been picturing a sea of strangers watching me be handed off like some old world—”
“Correction. Like royalty, sister,” Nico insists, interrupting. “Not like chattel.”
I don’t respond. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to still my growing nerves. It doesn’t matter how he tries to play it off. The end result is the same.
Wed a stranger, secure my brother’s power. It doesn’t get more archaic than that in my opinion.
“How long do I have?” I finally ask.
“We need to leave in less than twenty minutes. I’ll have the car ready and waiting out front. Do you need me to take anything down for you?”
I point at the Louis Vuitton duffel bag that sits on the bed. “Just that one. The rest of my bags are already downstairs.”
With a nod, Nico moves to pick up the bag, taking it with him toward the door. He pauses before exiting, glancing back at me.
“I’ll be downstairs. Come down when you’re ready. But please, for once in your life, don’t make us late.” His eyes hold a tone of humor within them, and I playfully stick my tongue out at him.
It’s nice to have one last brother-sister moment before everything changes. The door closes firmly behind him with a click, and I stand to examine myself in the mirror one more time.
I swallow hard. I look like a bride. But I feel like a scared little girl inside.
With a deep breath, I remind myself—this may not be the wedding of my dreams. I always dreamed of marrying for love, not necessity. But it’s the only one I’m going to get. So I’d better make the best of it.
A little under an hour later, the black SUV Nico and I ride in turns onto a long, tree-lined driveway. The estate emerges from behind the trees like a phantom.
Guards are set on either side of the towering black iron gates.
The smooth marble fascia of the mansion is offset by blood-red shutters, rich crimson banners, and wrought-iron balconies.
It gives the feeling of elegant, ominous power.
There’s no mistaking that someone of great importance resides within.
My fingers clench together in my lap as the SUV pulls to a stop in front of a marble staircase.
“Ready?” Nico asks.
Not even in the slightest.
“Yes,” I manage to say.
Inside, the beautiful building is just as bold—everything is contrasting shades of white and deep red throughout. A pair of stoic men in suits meet us in the front entryway. After thoroughly checking Nico for weapons of any sort, they guide us through a maze of hallways to a private room.
“Someone will be in to get you when the ceremony is ready to start,” one of the men tells us. His Russian accent is thick and heavy.
There’s something I’ll have to get used to. I should have learned Russian years ago. No time like the present, I suppose.
Once they leave, the only sound in the room is the clicking of an antique grandfather clock against the wall. A full mirror stands beside it.
I cross to stand in front of the mirror, smoothing the front of my dress again. My hand trembles slightly. Everything suddenly feels real.
This is really happening. Pull it together, Eva.
Nico sits on a velvet couch against the opposite wall, crossing a leg over his knee and checking his watch. Cool as can be.
I draw in another breath and silently remind myself to think of this as just a job. Like any other job. Just another role to play in this life.
Be useful. Be the solution to the problem. Secure the alliance. Protect the family. Protect Nico.
It’s that last part that strikes home and finally helps to settle the flood of emotions within me. Protect Nico. I can do that. I will do that.
Within minutes, a gentle knock sounds at the door and it slowly swings open. One of the men from earlier appears behind it.
“We are ready for you now.”
My brother rises from the couch, crosses the room to me, and offers his hand, asking me in Italian, “You’re sure about this?”
I don’t miss the grim look that falls over the Russian’s face at the question. Obviously, he doesn’t like that we aren’t speaking in English and that he doesn’t understand Italian.
“Not in the slightest, but I’m going through with it,” I respond in the same tongue.
Then switching to English and offering the guard a slight smile, I say, “Of course.”
Nico squeezes my hand firmly and we step out of the room to follow the guard. We stay back far enough to speak in privacy, keeping our voices low in hushed Italian.
“I meant what I said earlier, you look beautiful. And thank you—for doing this. For us both.”
I nod.
Turning down yet another hallway—this place an utter maze—we come to a large oak door. It opens slowly as we approach, revealing a stunningly decorated room, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows on either side.
The floor is a gleaming marble white shot with odd veins of crimson throughout. A narrow aisle cuts through the center of the room, seats on each side. Everyone in attendance is dressed in a dark suit—all men—their expressions stern and unreadable.
But I barely see any of them. My eyes lock onto the man waiting for me at the end of the short aisle.
Tolya Ivanovich. My soon-to-be husband.
His bright blue eyes bore into me and I’m momentarily mesmerized by their allure.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his muscular arms pull at the seams of his jacket.
The scar across his face adds a ferocity to his appearance that is both daunting and tantalizing.
It only stands to accentuate the perfect hard lines of his cheekbones.
Oh god, he’s even sexier up close. My lips part in admiration of the fine man in front of me. No one in the Italian ranks could touch the sex appeal of this Russian stud. Perhaps I’m the lucky one in this exchange after all.
My hand twitches with the sudden urge to run my fingertips over it. His hair is brushed back and perfectly set and I wonder what it would look like mussed as I run my hand through it. My eyes narrow in on his lips, lushes and full nearly out of place set within such a perfect face.
He’s fearless. His presence alone commands attention. Unflinching in his sharply tailored black suit with a blood-red tie. His stance is confident, calm, coiled with power. And I can’t help but recognize that he is beautiful in the most dangerous sense of the word.
This man that I’m about to marry has seen things I’ve never imagined. Violence, untold horrors—and survived it. He’s probably delivered his fair share of violent acts as well. Yet, I don’t find myself fearful of him at this moment. In fact, I find that I’m more curious.
Who are you underneath it all, Tolya Ivanovich? Who am I going to find that I am bound to for life after this day?
We approach, and Nico’s hand tightens on my arm reflexively. Reaching the altar, he pauses, looking between me and then to Tolya. He offers Tolya my hand.
“Now I’ve kept my end of our bargain.” Nico’s voice is low and gravelly as he speaks in a hushed tone so that only Tolya and I can hear.
“Indeed,” he acknowledges with a dismissive nod toward my brother.
Turning to me fully, he guides me to stand evenly facing him.
I’m not ready for the thrall that his voice has over me, his accent tantalizing as he speaks directly to me for the first time.
“Eva, you are even more beautiful than I remember.”
The combination of the effect his voice has on me and the compliment itself has me blushing, heat rising within my center.
His gaze locks on me, never wavering as the officiant begins to speak. I only catch pieces of the words spoken. Something about unity, allegiance, strength, duty. All the right words to bind together two great empires.
But Tolya never takes his eyes from me. It’s both unnerving and enticing. His sharp eyes trace every inch of my face, like he’s studying me. Not just my appearance but the woman beneath the makeup, beneath the mask.
The intensity of it makes me feel exposed but still I wonder what his skin will feel like under my fingertips, what his mouth will taste like.
Knock that off, I chastise my wayward thoughts. Just because he is incredibly sexy and I am marrying him does not make me safe in his hands. Where is your self-preservation instinct, Eva, for fuck’s sake?
When the officiant finally says, “You may kiss the bride,” my entire body tenses.
Tolya steps in, drawing one strong arm behind my back and pulling me hard against him. His eyes darken visibly as he traces the side of my face with the pads of his fingers on the other hand.
Then he kisses me. With no hesitation, no polite reserve. No—this is possessive, passionate.
His mouth claims mine with purpose, his body crushing against me. My hands instinctively curl against his chest as his lips move against mine—hot, deep, unrelenting.
Desire surges through me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The reaction shocks me, but I like it. The way my skin heats and something low in my stomach twists into knots.
A soft moan escapes me, unexpectedly. The sound only acts to encourage his actions further. And for a moment the entire world around us disappears as my head grows dizzy with euphoria.
When he finally pulls back, I’m utterly breathless. Unsteadily leaning against his strong arm that holds me at my waist. The pressure of his body against mine does things to me. Curiosity peaked. I can’t help but want more, a physical burning desire within me needs more.
My heart thunders within my chest as his gaze flickers to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
“Zdravstvuy, zhena,” he murmurs. Hello, wife.