Chapter 1
I don’t flinch. Don’t even blink as I adjust my cufflinks with the same precision I use to balance billion-dollar portfolios. “Just admiring how beautiful you look with a weapon in your hand, wife. Very bridal.” She laughs—a sound like crystal breaking—and slides the gun back into the concealed holster strapped to her thigh beneath layers of white silk. “I do love a man who appreciates my talents.” We’re standing in the marble foyer of the Cathedral of Saint Bartholomew, thirty minutes before our wedding ceremony begins. The irony isn’t lost on me that we’re about to pledge eternal devotion in God’s house while she’s armed and I’m mentally calculating how many ways I could kill her before the organist finishes the processional. This marriage is a chess move. Nothing more. But as I watch Tasha smooth her veil with manicured fingers that I know are capable of unspeakable violence, something dark and possessive stirs in my chest. She’s mine now. Completely. And I plan to remind her of that fact every single day for the rest of her very carefully monitored life. “Tell me, Nikolai,” she says, stepping closer until the scent of her perfume—something expensive and lethal, like nightshade wrapped in French vanilla—floods my senses. “How does it feel to sacrifice yourself on the altar of family loyalty?” “About the same as it feels to be used as a political pawn by your father, I imagine.” I straighten her diamond necklace with deliberate intimacy, my fingers brushing the pulse point at her throat. It’s racing despite her composed exterior. “Though I suppose you’re used to being Daddy’s little weapon by now.” Her pale blue eyes flash with something between rage and approval. “Careful, darling. I might start thinking you actually understand me.” “Oh, I understand you perfectly, Tasha.” I lean down until my lips nearly brush her ear. “You’re a beautiful, brilliant psychopath who thinks she’s playing a game she can win. What you don’t realize is that I wrote the rulebook.” She tilts her head back to meet my gaze, and for a moment, the air between us crackles with an electricity that has nothing to do with hatred and everything to do with the twisted recognition of two predators circling each other. “We’ll see about that,” she whispers. The cathedral doors swing open, and my brothers appear. Damian, in his perfectly pressed black suit, his dark eyes scanning the space with the automatic vigilance of a man who’s survived three assassination attempts this year alone. Stepan towering beside him, looking like he’d rather be breaking bones than attending a wedding—which, knowing my brother, is probably accurate. Behind them, their wives. Lara clutches Viktor’s small hand, her warm brown eyes soft with concern as they land on me. She’s never liked this arrangement, never trusted that I can handle Tasha without losing myself in the process. Kira follows, one hand resting protectively over her growing belly, her artist’s eye taking in details I’m sure she’ll paint later if we survive the next few hours. “The extended family,” Tasha murmurs, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “How... quaint.” I watch her watching them, cataloging weaknesses, potential pressure points. She’s already thinking three moves ahead, planning how to use my love for them against me. What she doesn’t know is that I’m thinking six moves ahead, and every scenario ends with her exactly where I want her. “Your father’s here,” I observe as Ioakim Ruslan enters with his usual retinue of well-dressed killers. His pale blue eyes—so much like his daughter’s—sweep the cathedral before landing on us with obvious relief. He’s gotten rid of his liability and strengthened his alliance with the Andreevs in one stroke. In his mind, this is a victory. He has no idea he’s just handed me the rest of the keys to his kingdom. “Daddy always did love a good show,” Tasha says, but there’s something brittle in her voice. For all her manipulation and scheming, she’s still a daughter seeking approval from a father who’s never seen her as anything more than a useful tool. I file that weakness away for later use. The cathedral fills quickly. Politicians, business leaders, rival Bratva families—all here to witness this union that will reshape the power structure of the underground. I recognize Senator Gracey in the third pew, her calculating smile suggesting she knows more about today’s arrangements than she should. Commissioner Walsh sits near the back, sweating despite the cathedral’s stone-cold temperature. They’re all here for different reasons. Some to show respect, others to gather intelligence, a few to witness what they hope will be my downfall. What none of them realize is that they’re watching the opening move of a game that will destroy them all. “Quite the guest list,” Tasha observes, following my gaze. “Though I notice a few conspicuous absences. Where’s Congressman Leto? I thought he’d want a front-row seat to watch the Andreev family’s golden boy bind himself to a madwoman.” Her question confirms what I suspected—she knows more about our political enemies than she’s let on. Interesting. “Leto sent his regrets,” I lie smoothly. “Something about a prior engagement with a federal investigation.” She smiles at that, genuine pleasure lighting her features for the first time today. “How deliciously inconvenient for him.” The organist begins the processional, and I offer Tasha my arm. She takes it with the grace of a queen, her fingers settling on my sleeve with possessive confidence. To anyone watching, we look like the perfect couple—powerful, beautiful, united. They have no idea they’re witnessing a declaration of war. We walk down the aisle together, and I catalog every face in the crowd. Allies, enemies, unknowns—each one a potential chess piece in the game I’m about to play. At the altar, Father Akim waits with his Bible and his carefully neutral expression. He’s married Damian to Lara, Stepan to Kira, and now he’ll bind me to the woman who tried to poison my nephew, among other attacks she orchestrated against my family. The ceremony passes in a blur of Latin phrases and sacred vows that taste like dust in my mouth. When it is time to exchange rings, Tasha’s fingers are steady as she slides the golden band onto my finger. Her touch burns, and not entirely with hatred.
