31. Mrs. Lyanov
THIRTY-ONE
MRS. LYANOV
I don’t understand why she wants none of her family here aside from Seamus, but I’m not going to push it.
Her tension is a living, breathing entity. One wrong move and it’ll blow.
Perhaps that’s why.
With family, she will allow herself to soften. To weaken. She can’t afford that yet.
The days ahead will be interesting. She’s bound to snap. It’s a matter of when, not if.
“You sure you shouldn’t ask the O’Donnellys to attend?”
“She said not to so I’m not inviting them.”
“We have more at stake here.”
“No, we don’t. Once we’re married, the ties between our families will truly be set in stone. If anything, there’s less at stake.” I rub my chin, interest split between him and the bathroom beyond where the shower’s still running. “Any news on the mole?”
“You won’t like it.”
“I like none of this situation. So, continue. Make my night.”
“It’s neither the shop assistant who handled your order nor the delivery driver who passed the package over to our men.”
“Meaning it’s someone on the inside.” I clench my teeth. “I hoped the days of the mafia being infiltrated by secret societies would be over and we’d all just be brutal criminals with money on our minds.”
“A pipe dream,” Misha mocks.
“Apparently.”
“The Veronians have grown stronger in the vacuum—”
I raise a hand. “Powerful entities come and go.”
“This one hasn’t. It has been around for centuries. Biding its time. Waiting to strike.”
My eyes roll. “You believe their lore too much.”
“Perhaps you don’t believe in it enough. Have you heard Harrington when he talks about this shit? Heard more than the answers he gives you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“These people have been around since the birth of the USA, Maxim. The scope of their plans doesn’t cover days and months, but decades and centuries.”
“And yet, the children of brothers aren’t safe?” I glance at him. “How often have you been talking to Harrington?”
“Often. You’re focused on Victoria. I’m focused on what she’ll bring to the table once she’s on board.” He spreads his hands. “I admit I underestimated her. She’ll be no pampered princess once she’s your wife.”
“About time you saw the forest for the trees.” I hide a smirk when he glowers at me. “You think she’ll get in?”
“She was a shoo-in when they gave her that damn cloak.”
“Why would they test her so thoroughly?”
“To ensure she’ll live up to the hype. Makes sense. Learning how far someone will bend until they snap is useful before you give them a position of power. Especially with her. Women are usually only inducted to encourage advantageous matches.
“Anyway, you’ve worked Harrington over so well he sings like a canary whenever you give him too much attention. The names he’s reeled off…” Misha clicks his teeth. “Their reach makes me uneasy.”
“I’m less impressed.”
“You would be. But that’s because you’re not taking into account punishments and such. If a child is allowed to be hurt, then doesn’t that mean the higher-ups sanctioned it?”
“Even we don’t target children!”
Misha snorts. “The Bratva did.”
“We don’t. The Forgotten Boys don’t.”
“Only because of Nikolai.”
“No, I wouldn’t allow it either. Not after what we went through.”
Misha heaves a sigh. “Maxim—”
I hold up a hand when the sound of the water cuts off. I’ve been half-listening to make sure she doesn’t break down into tears, but her strength has come as a surprise to me.
Her confidence has always been apparent, and her bratty ways border on reckless, but this level of fortitude is definitely news.
Never mind Misha, I underestimated her.
That won’t happen again.
“We’ll be questioning her guards over the upcoming hours,” Misha murmurs. “Shall we leave the likely suspects for you to handle?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll make sure the pig farm knows not to feed our co-conspirators any breakfast.”
“You think there’s more than one traitor?”
“It’s been a while,” he taunts, “but surely you remember our foot soldiers work in pairs?”
A nerve flicks in my eye as I accept the truth of his statement.
“Niven?”
“Just a beat cop. New to Mt. Palisades.”
“Worth cultivating?”
“Nothing special.”
“Keep an eye on him.”
“Surveillance or…?”
I think back to what Victoria shared with me.
“If he ever needs help, we owe it to him.”
Before Misha can delve into that, the bathroom door opens, and Victoria queries, “Misha?”
He dips his chin at her and, for the first time, doesn’t look at her like she’s a waste of oxygen. “Hello, Victoria.”
“Is there a reason you’re in our bedroom?”
“Your future husband wouldn’t leave your side.”
“He’s loyal like that.” A playful smile dances over her lips as she runs her knuckles along my jaw.
I grab her hand, press a kiss to those same knuckles, then bark, “Fuck off, Misha. We’ll be down in a minute.”
He graces me with a mock salute, then leaves.
I turn to her, seeing her hair’s wet, her face is scrubbed free of the grime from her incarceration, but the stirrings of the bruise Bordeau left behind are hidden with clever makeup.
Only the smallest of nicks is visible on the apple of her cheek.
She’s stunning in the simple black sheath dress she picked out from the closet earlier.
I thought she was about to have a conniption until she saw the tags and the fact that the full wardrobe was in her size.
“Your cheek?”
“A little sore. It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’m used to it. Training,” she tacks on quickly. “And Papa.”
“I begrudge your sister her kill.” I hold out my hand for her. “Are you ready, kotik?”
“Of course. The priest’s here?”
“Eating us out of house and home as well as drinking us out of it.”
“He better not be drunk!”
“I had the cook put him on a four-shot limit.” At her derisive sniff, I ask, “Still sure about Seamus being your only witness?”
“Yes. He’s here?”
“Downstairs. With the priest. Also on a four-shot limit.”
Victoria snickers. “Okay, let’s do this.”
I get to my feet and tug her into my arms. “This is less decorative than you deserve.”
“This serves a purpose. I don’t want a fancy dress or people cooing over my engagement ring while they’re stripping off your suit with their eyes. I don’t want a cake or a reception. Not right now, anyway. I just want to be yours.”
I cup her cheek. “I can deny you nothing when you seek to give me what I’ve wanted for so long.”
The smile hits her eyes. “I’m not sure I deserve you.”
“The reverse is true. Plus, that’s guilt from earlier talking and you have no need to feel any guilt at all. You are a smart woman. They fed you multiple lines that would push anyone to put two and two together, yet you refused to be swayed.”
She presses her forehead into my chest and her fatigue seems to absorb all the energy in the room. “Make me yours, Maxim.”
I kiss her temple. “Gladly.”
And I do.
I take her downstairs to the conservatory at the back of the property. Soft fairy lights, I assume at my staff’s insistence since they weren’t there before, glow as the priest struggles to stand tall at the makeshift altar.
When he sees us, he staggers over to the doorway with two lit candles in his hands.
Misha pops up with four rings in his palm. One’s hers. The other three…
The tension in her softens as she studies the titanium rings.
“I never looked up which was more durable.”
I kiss her temple. “Titanium, korovka.”
She selects the one with a beveled edge and a brushed center.
Misha pockets the others and hands me our rings.
The priest blesses them before placing each on our right hands.
As he retreats to the altar, we follow him, with Victoria shooting me an exasperated look as Misha has to snag the older man’s elbow for him to remain on a straight path.
Right in front of the altar is a piece of pale pink fabric that we both stand upon.
From the corner of my eye, I see Seamus and Misha hovering at ten til and ten past on the clock.
“Are you marrying of your own free will, Victoria and Maxim? You are not promised to another?”
I answer, just as she does, and the priest falls into a litany.
I thank God that this is the abbreviated version of the ceremony when Victoria looks like she’s having trouble staying awake as the priest places crowns on our heads while we’re treated to reading from the Epistle, litanies, brief prayers, and then we drink from a cup of wine.
We join hands and the priest proceeds to wrap his stole around them. The Gospel book sits on the makeshift altar, and we, alongside Misha and Seamus, who hold our crowns above our heads, are guided around the book in a procession.
And that’s it.
We’re married.
It has none of the pomp I imagined she’d want, none of the ceremony. But it’s raw for all that. Meaningful.
She has come into this marriage with her eyes wide open.
She is no passenger princess of her fate, but is sitting in the driver’s seat.
Victoria Vasov chose to become Victoria Lyanov.
Once we’ve signed the license I procured three days ago, I leave her to speak with Seamus, who looks at her with concern. Understanding why because her exhaustion is evident, I have to concede that he gives as much of a damn about her as she does him.
“Don’t disturb me until I message you in the morning,” are my first words as a married man to my brother.
Misha rolls his eyes. “I managed to figure out that you’d want some semblance of a wedding night, Maxim.”
I smirk. “The brains of my operation, hmm?”
He flips me the bird but caps it off with a clap to my shoulder. “The deed’s done.”
“Yeah.”
“You waited a long time for this. Hope it’s worth it.”
“With well-wishes like that, I’m sure it’ll last a lifetime.” I ignore his sheepish grin and dismiss him. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I expect answers before then.”
With that warning ringing in his ears, he departs, taking the priest with him, and leaves me to watch my wife and her friend…
Wife.
At long last…