Chapter 9 The Wedding
The Wedding
A Week Later
Nikolai
“I fear for you, Brother,” Sasha says as I fashion my tie in the mirror.
“Why is that?” I ask, not paying much attention to his concerns. Most of my focus is on my soon-to-be bride.
Initially, Mira gave me a lot of shit about forcing her into marriage.
Eventually, she listened to logic and reason when she realized that marrying me was her best chance of survival.
She’d be a sitting duck without the full extent of my protection.
Forty-eight hours later, my woman was excitedly dress shopping with my mother with her unlimited budget and asking for my feedback on the reception menu.
“I fear for you because you are meeting with the Pakhan in a few minutes.”
I roll my eyes.
“Loosen up, Sasha. I’m getting married today. You should relax and enjoy the festivities.”
“How can I relax when I have to make sure a sniper doesn’t take you and Mira out?”
“You get this overzealous energy from Mama.”
“And you get your lack of common sense and self-preservation from Papa.”
No argument there.
I turn to him and hold my arms out to my side. “How do I look?”
“Like you’re wearing your funeral suit.”
I chuckle and cross the room to the bar. “That’s a good one.”
“Is she worth it, Nikki?”
He’s calling me Nikki—something he only does when he’s trying to get through to my stubborn ass.
“This doesn’t make sense to me. I think you’re mistaking lust for love. You can make this work without jeopardizing your life.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Marry the Pakhan’s daughter and keep Mira as a mistress.”
I sigh heavily and cap the bottle of vodka after I pour hefty shots. I contemplate my response before answering.
“How do you suppose that scenario would play out? Hm?” I ask, handing him a glass.
“I hear that Irina has a nasty jealous streak. Do you think she will settle for a loveless marriage while I pour my energy and love into my mistress? Heads would roll. I’d rather take my chances and hope that Dmitri is a reasonable man than marry a jealous and bitter woman. ”
“Well…when you put it like that.”
I gulp down my shot before saying, “I do not believe that Pakhan will kill me. I’m too valuable to him. No one can do what I do, and he knows that. Plus, I have a failsafe.”
“That would be wise of you.”
Knocking at the door interrupts us, and Sasha shoots me an uncertain glare.
“Get the door, child. We can’t keep the Pakhan waiting.”
“Child? You’re only three years older than me.”
“I’m three years older and thirty years wiser than you.”
“I call bullshit,” he huffs, striding quickly across the suite to open the door.
“Good afternoon, Pakhan,” Sasha greets him.
“Good afternoon,” he replies coldly.
“Please, have a seat. May I get you a drink?” Sasha offers.
“No, thank you. I won’t be long. Nikolai.”
“Dmitri.”
No one is on a first-name basis with the Pakhan of the Bratva, but when you make the man as wealthy and powerful as I have, then there are exceptions to the rules. However, from the cold look in his eyes, I have a feeling he’ll be rescinding all pleasantries.
“Is my Irina not good enough for you?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you believe she’d make a horrible wife?”
“No, sir.”
“Then explain why an American law enforcement officer will be standing at the altar, exchanging vows with you instead of Irina.”
“The answer is simple, Dmitri. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Dmitri scoffs. “Basing a marriage on love is foolish. Love never lasts, and then what happens when the marriage falls apart?”
“In that case, what keeps a marriage together? Power? Wealth? Desperation? Surely, Irina deserves better than a man who will always pine after another.”
“Don’t patronize me, boy!” he spits angrily like a viper. The older man’s face reddens, and briefly, I’m concerned he’ll suffer a stroke before the wedding commences.
That’ll be a win in my book.
“You have to marry Irina for the Bratva! I have no sons; therefore, I don’t have an heir.”
“Your logic is flawed, Dmitri. As your second, I’d assume your title. The Bratva will be in safe hands after you’re gone.”
“We can’t be too certain of that, can we? Not when you’re marrying the fucking enemy! She can sweet-talk information from you and report it to the Americans! She has the potential to take down our entire organization, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and allow that to happen.”
“I hope for everyone’s sake that isn’t a threat.”
Dmitri stands and buttons his expensive suit jacket. “Nikolai, you are putting us all at risk. I cannot tell you who to marry, but be ready to suffer the consequences if this goes south.”
“Yes, sir.”
It’s not until Dmitri is gone that Sasha lets out the anxious breath he is holding.
His relief is laughable. This perceived disrespect from Dmitri is far from over.
* * *
“Are you ready?” I ask Mira as we stand at the entrance of the moderately sized cathedral filled with my family, friends, and members of The Brotherhood.
I wished to forgo holding our wedding at a church, but Mama was insistent, and Mira wanted to respect her wishes even though she wasn’t of the faith.
“Am I ready to marry my abductor so that I may keep my head on my shoulders? Yeah…I’m ready.”
I smile at the playfulness in Mira’s voice.
I think falling in love with someone in a week is asinine, but this week with Mira has shown that love will soon find us.
She’s gorgeous, witty, funny, intelligent, and carries herself with confident grace.
I thought it would take months, if not years, for her to become accustomed to my life; however, she hit the ground running as soon as she stepped onto the tarmac.
I was equally shocked and touched when her first order of business was to ask for a tutor to teach her Russian.
After a few days, she started to get a little big for her britches and demanded that I speak to her only in Russian so she could learn quicker.
I rattled off a phrase, leaving her wholly dumbfounded as she attempted to reply in her clunky and butchered Russian. It was both laughable and endearing.
“Good, because I do not plan on taking it easy on you tonight,” I whisper as the priest blesses us and we accept lit candles from him.
I peer into Mira’s sultry brown eyes that are full of lust and desire, and pray that the wedding ceremony and reception will be brief. If anything, we can show our faces at the reception, leave, and allow everyone to enjoy the party.
I scan the crowd for threats as we walk down the aisle.
Some looks of disdain and displeasure mingle with the sea of smiling, excited faces.
My eyes land on one face in particular—Irina.
To say she isn’t pleased is an understatement; however, her bitter anger is humorous because I never gave her the time of day.
I freeze, and the crowd gasps when a man I’m not familiar with leans across the aisle and spits in Mira’s face like he was a fucking camel.
A second later, screams erupt from the crowd when I pull out a gun and shoot the man, spraying blood all over my wife and her beautiful dress.
The dead man’s body flops into the aisle at our feet.
My eyes alight, and my groin tightens when Mira doesn’t hesitate to stomp on the deceased piece of shit while fluently cursing him to Hell in Russian.
Blood and brain matter splashes onto her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
Seeking vengeance is far more critical than maintaining appearances, apparently.
Mira ends her brutal attack by spitting on what’s left of her attacker’s face.
She breathes heavily as she smooths down her dress and wipes spit and blood from her face.
She tilts her snuffed candle in my direction, and I relight hers with mine.
“Are you ready?” I ask Mira again just in case she had a change of heart.
She nods firmly.
“I’m ready.”