Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Bronwyn slapped a hand over her mouth. “If he shows this to the cops, you’re going to jail.”
I gazed down at her, overcome. Anyone else would have been worrying about themselves: the video showed that she’d lied to the police and might even make her an accessory, but she was only worried about me. I don’t deserve this woman.
“Spartak won’t show it to the police,” said Valentin sadly. “He wants revenge. He sent us this, so we know why.”
“I’m sorry,” I told my brothers tightly.
“You couldn’t have known there was a hidden camera,” said Gennadiy. “From the angle, it’s probably in a bookshelf or something.”
“I wouldn’t have spotted it either,” said Valentin quietly.
I nodded gratefully. I was glad now that I’d insisted on being the one to do the killing. At least I would be Spartak’s prime target and not my baby brother. But if I was in danger, that meant Bronwyn was in danger, just being close to me... I pulled her against my chest and wrapped my arms around her protectively.
“Why would Borislav have a hidden camera in his apartment?” asked Bronwyn.
I thought about it, then grimaced, nauseous. “The bastard had a reputation for...doing things to women. My guess is, he had cameras set up to film it.”
Bronwyn twisted in disgust. “Eww, Jesus!”
I sighed. “We’re lucky the police didn’t find the camera when they searched the place. Spartak must have found it just today...” I rubbed my face. “Shit. He was probably clearing his dead brother’s apartment.” I felt a stab of guilt. I didn’t like Spartak, but the poor guy didn’t deserve to come across a video of his brother being murdered. No wonder he’d tried to kill me. And he’d keep trying: he wouldn’t stop now until I was dead. That’s why he wasn’t showing the video to the police, he wanted me free so he could get to me.
Gennadiy put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to The Eight. They told us to do this. They have to back us up, now that Spartak knows.”
I nodded. I just hoped he was right. We’d broken the truce by killing Spartak’s brother. The Eight were the only thing standing between us and all-out war. “What can I do?” I asked.
Gennadiy’s eyes flicked to Bronwyn and his face softened. “It’s your wedding day,” he told me. “Go be with your wife.”
I looked around at all of them. Valentin was nodding and Mikhail, too. It sunk in that they’d all heard my speech. They knew how I felt about her. And they weren’t looking at me with pity, or like they thought I was weak. They looked...happy for me. I put a hand on Valentin’s shoulder, and one on Mikhail’s, so that we were all joined, and nodded back gratefully.
Then I took Bronwyn’s hand and led her to my car. By now, almost all of the guests had left and there were more police walking around than civilians. Not the way I’d imagined our wedding ending. But we were alive, unharmed and—I squeezed Bronwyn’s hand—the night was just beginning.
Yes, Spartak wanted me dead. Yes, the violence could turn into a full-blown war between our families. But there’d be time for that tomorrow. Tonight, I needed to fuck my brand-new wife.
44
BRONWYN
We were met at Radimir’s apartment building by four serious-looking Russian men in suits toting automatic weapons. Two more were waiting for us upstairs outside the penthouse: after what happened at the wedding, Radimir clearly wasn’t taking any chances.
He opened the door but stopped me before I could go through it. “I believe there’s a tradition,” he told me firmly.
“What tra—”
I yelped as he scooped me up into his arms and carried me over the threshold. Behind us, the bodyguards took up their positions outside and quietly closed the door.
Radimir marched straight through to the bedroom and then gently set me down. I looked up at him: even in the heels I’d braved for the wedding, he was taller than me. He gazed down at me with something like wonder. “My bride,” he breathed, tracing his hands along my shoulders.
I slid my hands under the sides of his jacket and held his waist. “My husband,” I said. My stomach dropped at the words, and I took in all of him: the Bratva tattoos that showed through his white shirt, the muscled, rugged bulk of him, the sheer malevolent presence of him. I was married to a gangster. But as I thought about him carrying me when I was in pain, about him buying the building to save the bookstore, about him risking his life for me, the fear faded, and a warm glow replaced it. Yes, he was Bratva. But deep down, he was good. And yes, we were in danger now from Spartak. But I knew Radimir would keep me safe. I was married to a gangster...and it was the happiest I’d ever been.