Chapter 1
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ From Ashes, a Queen Rises. ˚ʚ♡ɞ
|Genevieve|
"I hear the last one went quickly, a real tragedy," a gruff voice whispers, "He barely lasted a month."
The words seep into my ears loud enough, curling around my patience, tempting me to turn, but I don't.
It's no use causing a scene on my wedding day and risking losing face in the presence of my potential allies or my soon-to-be husband.
My reputation is already bad as it is, with an alias I've been trying to shed off for a decade. Maintaining my smile, I tighten my jaw and look at the priest at the altar.
I fucking hate the name 'black widow.'
"We'll see how long this one lasts," a different voice says, "I hope he's not a wimp like her last three husbands."
My smile disappears as I clench my teeth. I'd have made these two old fools eat their words in a different circumstance.
Fuck. I tighten my hands around the bouquet while counting my steps impatiently as I take my place opposite my husband-to-be, Andrey Maksim.
"I think you should smile more, Malyshka," Andrey whispers in his slightly annoying Russian accent, and I shoot him a death glare.
"Or what?" I sneer in a low voice, and from the corner of my eyes, I can swear I see the priest shuddering.
Andrey doesn't look at me. Instead, he nods at the priest to carry on the ceremony, flashing his ridiculously perfect set of teeth.
Fucker. I swallow hard, trying to keep my rage to a minimum.
Playing the perfect bride isn't as easy as I thought, especially not for the arrogant boss of the Blood Brotherhood cartel.
In the past, I didn't need to. I was the price. My alliance was strategic and mutual until I became the black widow.
Enemies laid ambushes. Allies fell back, and I became isolated until Andrey proposed a deal.
"Or I will walk out of this door and, with joy, watch everything you've managed to build crumble."
Andrey Maksim is already a step closer, offering to take my hands in his as he whispers through a smirk.
With a smile, I mask my murderous instinct to kill him right here and now while placing my palm in his.
I need him; as much as it pains my insides to admit it, he's the only one who can help me get what I want.
My previous weddings were quick, less elaborate, and effective, especially for my second husband.
He was the love of my life until they killed him just as they killed my first and, much later, my third.
Sighing, I straightened my shoulders, deciding to finish this as quickly as possible.
"Today we gather here," the priest begins, "to join Genevieve Saint-Claire and Andrey Maksim in holy matrimony..."
I grit my teeth and drown his words with the raging thoughts in my head. A coldness settles in my chest —an echo of three funerals I'd rather forget.
Frustrated, I sigh, sweeping over the guests sitting to my right. I see the way some of the guests look at me: a mix of pity and a thin veil of suspicion.
"And now, please say your vows," the priest concludes, returning my attention to the man before me.
"I, Andrey Maksim, take you, Genevieve, uh—" he stops, looking at me with those cold, soulless eyes, and my jaw clenches.
Be cool. Smile. This is for the future of your empire. Give him what he wants.
I smile to ease the deafening silence around us, and Andrey continues.
"...Saint-Claire, to have and to hold, from this day forward.
Lies. I almost choke out.
The priest turns to me, and I recite mine, each word carefully placed as a blade in his guts, reminding him that he doesn't own me.
"And I, Genevieve Saint-Claire, take you, Andrey Maksim, for better, for worse... knowing that even your worst won't go unanswered."
Andrey's lips curl into a fake smile, and momentarily, I see the priest's Adam's apple bob nervously. I nearly smirked. Even he knows this is a blood pact and not a holy union.
"Now, you may kiss the bride."
My head swerves toward the stupid priest. What manner of fuckery is this? I glare at him as he flinches, glancing at Andrey.
Andrey steps forward, a creepy smile spreading on his lips as his hands settle on my waist.
"Malyshka, such blushing innocence. It's almost...touching," his breath brushes my neck as he whispers into my ears, "but our guests are waiting. Let's not keep them in suspense, shall we?"
My fingers dig painfully into my palm as I clear my throat. "Sure, let's not," I reply through gritted teeth.
"Good, a proper display of affection is needed."
With that, he leans close and takes my lips into his. I feel his hands cup my face, demanding and possessive.
He isn't just a good kisser. He is a sensual kisser.
I respond with a slight stiffening of my spine. Andrey wants to show everyone he has me, but I'm playing my game.
Giving him the satisfaction of being in control isn't part of it.
The moment he unlocks his lips from mine, I become breathless, but it is immediately replaced by disgust.
Seeing my reaction, Andrey smiles—that perfect predatory curve of his lips—sending a shiver down my spine.
"Protection," he reminds me, barely loud enough to hear, but I see the hunger in his eyes, a desire beyond my cartel's resources.
I've seen that look before in the eyes of men who think they can own me merely because I'm a woman in a world of crime built on fragile masculinity.
If I had been anyone else, it may have worked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The reception party is a buzz, with more Mafia bosses, dainty whores dressed in formal dresses, and subtly armed men sitting amongst them.
Andrey is holding a champagne flute, greeting some of his allies and my enemies, hoping to win them over.
Their laughter fills the hall, and I groan. I should be the one out there for the future of my cartel, but Andrey had insisted that I stay put.
"Hey, this will be over soon," Ingrid, my best friend/bridesmaid/bodyguard, whispers into my ears, handing me a glass of bourbon.
"Thanks," I gulp down the content of the glass at a go. "It's just that I should be the one they respect, the one doing this, not him!"
"Patience, Gen. You'll have what you want in a few days."
Ingrid places her palm on my shoulders, and for once, my body calms.
"I just wished Dad was here," I mumble, squeezing Ingrid's hands for comfort.
My father opposed my fourth marriage to Andrey. I had always followed his wishes, but this time I didn't.
And who more than to make you pay for defying him? Jonas, a.k.a Gravehand, Saint-Claire.
He withdrew his little protection, leaving me to fend for myself. Typical Mafia father of the year!
"Look at me," Ingrid taps me roughly. When will you realize that pining for your father's validation will get you nowhere?"
I sigh—Ingrid's right.
In the underworld, power knows no blood, and since I decided to form my cartel after Gravehand's claims to retire, my not-so-perfect relationship with my father has worsened.
Then, the music swells, and Andrey strides toward me, smirking. I roll my eyes and place my hands in his—not because I want to, but because I have to.
He leads me onto the floor, and the world around us quiets. All eyes are on us. Perfectly orchestrated, I think.
I keep my gaze ahead, not letting it wander to the guests who stare, waiting for a show.
"You look... stunning," Andrey leans in, just enough for only me to hear, his voice low, almost too soft.
I don't answer immediately. Instead, I lift my chin slightly, my eyes narrowing just enough for him to feel the shift. "I know."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't let go. I almost snicker. I can feel the tension in his grip, the way he's trying to pull me closer.
He wants me to react, to show a weakness—The fucker will never get that.
I tilt my head, meeting his gaze, my lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Be careful what you say, Andrey. Words carry weight, especially in front of an audience."
Andrey stiffens. Good, I need to remind him he, or any other dick-attached Mafia boss, isn't the only dangerous thing present in this hall.
I expect him to pull away, but he doesn't. "You know it's not just words I'm Interested in, Malyshka," he whispers.
A soft, quiet, controlled laugh slips my lips. "I'm sure you think you're in control, but that's the problem with men like you. You never realize that control isn't something you take but earn."
He opens his mouth to say something, but the music stops, and I follow his gaze.
Blood.
