Clenching my fists, I walk up to the aisle. Every guest I pass looks uncomfortable. There is tension on everyone’s faces… everyone but Vlad. He looks overjoyed. Pleased as punch, really. We’re so close now. So close to getting what we’ve always wanted. Me, my Bratva—and that viper Petra, too.
Petra. A sadder-looking bride, I have never seen. Not even when she ran away the first time around, or when she was binging tarts in the kitchen with mascara tracks all over her face.
If possible, Yuri looks even sadder.
It’s a wretched affair, all of it. As the priest goes through his spiel, I feel like my head is underwater. When it comes to repeating after him, Petra has to kick me awake.
And when it comes to saying, “I do,” we both hesitate.
But it’s just two words. Two words and a death sent
