2

Avrora

We join the wedding party waiting for us by the entrance to the hall where the wedding will be conducted.

I walk toward my father and take his hand. His curly hair, unruly as usual, is smoothed back today. Despite the crude scar on his cheek, the look gives him a refined edge. But he still reminds me of an older Sirius Black from Harry Potter.

Dad looks like the proud man he always shows the world, but nervousness lurks in his eyes.

I understand the nerves. I'm not just his only daughter, I'm his only child.

My dad kept me wrapped in a silk cocoon before Mom died, but after her death, he tucked me away in a glass house, keeping me safe from cartels and drug lords and any guy other than Mikhail.

I give him a big smile of reassurance, letting him know I'll be okay. He leans in and kisses my forehead just like he used to do when he tucked me into bed at night.

"You look beautiful, my daughter." His voice holds heartfelt emotion he never shares with the public. As head of the enforcers in the Bratva, he would never risk showing any weakness.

"Thank you, Dad."

The grand doors open, and harp music playing The Wedding March filters out into the hallway.

Dad and I link arms then proceed into the hall.

There are over a hundred guests here who are mostly officials from the Knights, but the moment we step inside, my eyes land on Mikhail standing at the altar waiting for me. He looks so handsome and not nervous at all.

Aleksander Ivanov, leader of the Knights, is in the center ready to officiate. Because Mikhail's family is part of the elite group in the Knights, Aleksander will marry us.

Next to Mikhail are his two younger brothers, Zakh and Malik. Like the rest of the men here from the Knights, they're all wearing the black knight's tunic, which has the silver Raventhorn crest embossed on the chest.

I try to focus on how handsome and happy Mikhail looks, but seeing him in that uniform reminds me that the Knights are a secret society.

A powerful one dating back to the Viking age who now owns the Komarovski Bratva. As well as leading the Knights, Aleksander Ivanov is also the Pakhan of the Komarovski and the man we all answer to.

I never tend to think about those parts because everyone is so normal—and of course no one talks about the Knights unless behind locked doors.

I think of it now because my family have always been part of the Bratva, and me marrying Mikhail is a great honor for us. I'll be the bridge that will link my family to the Knights. The same rules and oaths that bind Mikhail will bind me, too.

On top of that, Mikhail is about to inherit his father's empire and take over his position in the Bratva, so he'll be the Pakhan's second-in-command. As his wife, a lot will be expected of me. I must be proper, obedient, and, most of all, compliant.

When we reach Mikhail, Dad gives him my hand, and we face each other.

I look into his deep brown eyes, feeling like we were always meant to be.

Aleksander starts with an Old Norse blessing, and I smile as Mikhail runs his thumb over my palm.

"Now repeat after me." Aleksander raises his hand and his voice. "I—"

The door at the back of the hall smashes into the wall.

We all turn and stare at a tall muscular man standing in the doorway. He's at least six foot four with shiny black hair cut into a sharp faux hawk and a neatly trimmed beard covering his chiseled jaw.

He's wearing a black biker jacket and leather pants, which make him look like a drifter. But the lines of muscle along his huge arms suggest he might have served in the military. Or did time in the state penitentiary.

He walks in carrying a large brown envelope, and his expression is don't-mess-with-me angry. Everything about him is rough and rugged with the potent air of danger I'm used to from the ruthless men in the mafia.

Thick raven brows lower when he gets closer and Mikhail steps in front of me.

The gesture makes the man narrow his eyes and clench his jaw like he's gearing up for a fight.

Despite his menacing vibe, there's a storybook prince thing about him that's alluring and compelling. When his striking hazel eyes meet mine, our gazes lock. And I feel a connection.

As if he read my mind, his stare intensifies, turning into something sinfully scandalous. He does a full sweep of my body, giving me an I-could-fuck-you-if-I-wanted-to look.

A spike of heat darts to my groin, and for a moment, I'm so lost, I forget where I am.

The stranger, however, doesn't even bother to hide the obvious fact that he's checking me out. Or how inappropriate he is. Surely, he can see I'm about to take my vows.

"Can I help you?" Aleksander stares the man down with raw scrutiny.

His question snaps my thoughts back to reality.

"Yes, you can, Pakhan." The man dips his head respectfully. I notice he speaks with a slight accent I can't quite place. At first, it sounds like the mixed Russian/American most of the men I know speak, but there's a difference. "I am Anatoli Scarfoni."

"Scarfoni?" Mikhail drops my hand. His whole body goes rigid. And I see surprise, then disbelief, before he shuts down.

"I object to this wedding." The man's voice sounds like thunder, sending a shockwave through my heart.

"Why?" Mikhail's voice is just as demanding, just as powerful.

"This wedding cannot continue because you are not Evgeni Scarfoni's eldest son. I am." He holds up the envelope. "As per this contract, it is me who is supposed to marry this woman. And me who is next in line to inherit all that our father owns."