Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Fuck them.
And fuck Kostya too.
I was so lost in my fury, so focused on the painted ceiling above me, that I didn’t even hear the priest’s final words.
Didn’t hear him announce the one thing I swore I would never allow.
"Man and wife."
I only registered what had happened when Kostya’s arm wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me into him.
His lips slammed onto mine, claiming them in a kiss that was meant to solidify his victory.
I refused to kiss him back.
It was the last shred of defiance I had left.
But Kostya? That arrogant bastard?
He took that from me too.
With a firm grip, he swept me back into a dramatic dip, forcing my body against his. The movement caught me off guard, and when I gasped in surprise, he seized the opportunity—his tongue sliding past my lips, invading, dominating, kissing me until I gave into it.
Maybe it was the champagne.
Maybe it was the sheer force of him, the way his mouth swallowed every protest, the way his body knew mine, knew exactly how to pull a response from me even in anger.
Even through my hate, my body betrayed me.
My heart pounded.
My head swam.
And when he finally righted me, when he lifted me into his arms and carried me back up the aisle like a conquering king, the room erupted into applause.
The guests stood, clapping as if this was any other wedding, as if I had walked willingly down this aisle, as if I had chosen this life.
Kostya grinned ear to ear, his expression one of sheer triumph.
I hated him for it.
I hated that he looked happy.
That he looked…right.
I had seen him at the altar once before. I had watched him stand in this same sacred space with my sister at his side, and I had thought I understood him.
Back then, his smile had been tight, forced. I had assumed it was the crowds, the ceremony itself, the weight of it all pressing down on him.
I had been wrong.
It wasn’t the crowd.
It was Veronika.
Because he hadn’t chosen her.
But he had chosen me.
And if he had given me a choice, if he had asked instead of taken, maybe I could have shared in that excitement, in that revelry.
Instead, I lay in his arms, silent, seething, my fingers curled into the lace and silk of my dress as he carried me down the steps of the church toward the waiting limo.
He pressed his face into my neck, his breath warm as he murmured against my skin.
"We are going to live a long and happy life together, moy zaichonok."
I said nothing.
He could believe whatever he wanted.
It wasn’t going to stop me from planning my escape.
CHAPTER 41
KOSTYA
Iflexed my fingers around the pistol at my side, my patience wearing thin, the metal cold and familiar against my palm.
Two days since my wedding.
Forty-eight fucking hours, and already I was back in the middle of a war, the taste of gunpowder already replacing the champagne on my tongue.
Marina would be furious if she knew where I was.
But I didn't have the luxury of turning off my instincts. Not when the primitive part of my brain screamed danger with every heartbeat.
Solovyov had replaced Oleg too quickly, and that meant this wasn't over.
"You sure this is the spot?" Mac muttered from the driver's seat, his knuckles white against the black leather steering wheel.
I didn't bother answering. He knew better. We had picked up chatter. Solovyov's new enforcer was making moves, and this was our first real shot at seeing him in the flesh.
I slipped out of the passenger door, taking up a position in the narrow alley beside us with a clear view of the street. The brick wall scraped against my shoulder, rough and damp with evening dew. Mac would stay with the car, ready for a quick exit if needed.
This wasn't just about watching, though. No, tonight was about sending a message.
A new dog in the fight needed to be put down before he had the chance to sink his teeth into any of our operations.
A woman jogged past, her pace steady, music blasting from her earbuds. A baby stroller creaked along the pavement, pushed by a mother juggling coffee and a leash. A puppy bounced happily ahead, sniffing everything in sight.
Normal life. People who had no idea men like me existed, that their peace was a fragile illusion built on bodies buried deep.
A sleek, dark sedan rolled up across the street. No headlights. Tinted windows. The engine's low purr sent vibrations through the concrete beneath my feet.
There.
The driver didn't get out. The car sat idling, the faint glow of a cigarette ember flickering behind the glass, a small red star in the darkness.
"Two men inside," Mac said through my earpiece, the static making my ear itch. "Maybe more, but I don’t have a clear view of the back interior through the windshield."