Chapter 4

Probably because Elena was the last woman on my list of potential partners. A wayward niece of Bratva’s boss who had been too scared of the world around her to stay loyal to her own family. Wouldn’t Elena betray me and run away just like back then? Having her as my wife promised to be nothing but trouble—but it was the only way to fulfill my oath and kill the Mexicans.

As soon as my brothers heard about the deal, they stood up against it. How could we trust the Russians? How could I bring one of them into our home? The announcement made a big mess that day—but I had already made the decision and shook hands with Yuriy Pushkov.

I would marry his niece to make our families stronger than ever—or at least, that was what I told everyone else. As for my own thoughts…I still can’t quite figure them out. I mean, it’s obvious that the whole marriage is nothing more than a good deal with the Russians. But why does my mind keep coming back to Elena and the last time I saw her?

The pastel colors of sunrise and the flutter of her black dress flash before my eyes again, and I clench my fist, forcing the memories away. I thought I’d locked them deep enough to never return to that night, but ever since Elena’s name appeared in my life again, I’ve lost my control over them.

Well, it doesn’t matter. I sit up straighter in my seat, listening to our driver checking our surroundings. It doesn’t change anything, right? Whatever memories I still have of her, everything that has ever connected us remains in the past, and I plan to keep it that way.

“It’s clear, sir.”

Theo pulls into the parking lot of an old and fancy hotel, and I can’t help a whistle when I get out of the car. Every open space in and around it is full of cars, guests, or decorations, and I can’t help but wince slightly when my gaze darts over the abundance of balloons and flowers. God, Mamma really went all out for this wedding.

“Oh,” I hear Paolo sigh as well, and when I follow his voice, I notice him linger with the car door open. Paolo follows my gaze, studying the hotel with a growing smirk, before turning to me with a mischievous glint. “Do you think she did it to piss them off?”

I chuckle and shut the car door. “Absolutely.”

You see, Russians can be too serious sometimes. They have their own family gatherings and celebrations where they get drunk, loud, and cheery—I’ve never been a part of one, but I’ve spied on them plenty of times. So I know that they know how to be open and talkative. It’s just that they never show it to strangers, including us.

Instead, most of Bratva’s members look like mannequins. Blond hair, bright eyes, pale skin, and a look of complete indifference on their faces. They may smile at you or even shake your hands in a gesture of politeness, but in their eyes, you see nothing but the cold of their motherland. An exciting circle to get yourself into, huh?

“Ricco! Finally!” Louis, my cousin and best friend, spots me first and hurries over while the rest of his group respectfully lingers behind. “Aunt Emilia is waiting for you. Everyone is ready.”

“Then, it’s time to start.”

I don’t want to waste any time on preparations. I arrived late exactly to avoid that.

It doesn’t take long to gather everyone on the rows of white seats in the middle of the hotel garden. The altar bathes in the soft light of sunset, and the white flowers covering the delicate arch seem to glow from within. My gaze mindlessly drifts over them while Grandma dusts off my shoulders and murmurs old Italian curses under her breath. She isn’t happy about the marriage at all; the Russians killed her first boyfriend when she was nineteen.

“You’re getting yourself into trouble,” Grandma murmurs in Italian and shakes her head, finally looking at me. Her thin palms linger on my chest, and I carefully wrap my hands around them.

“Trust me. It’s for the best.”

She looks me in the eyes for a few seconds, and I see the reflection of Father’s eyes in hers. Would he approve of this alliance? Would he be proud of me? I hold Grandma’s gaze until she sighs and looks down at our hands, running her thumbs over my skin.

“You’re still a bebè.” But it sounds too affectionate for me to take it as anything more than a soft reprimand. I know she’s worried about me, so I lean forward to press a quick kiss to Grandma’s hair and smile when she swats my shoulder. Maybe she will understand me someday.

Paolo calls me, then gestures at the altar, and I finally notice that almost everyone has already taken their seats. The priest stands at the altar, the aisle between the seats is empty, and the musicians look around for a cue. Grandma lets go of me with a last sigh and goes to take her place next to Mamma. I meet her gaze, and she tips her head with a silent question.

Are you ready?

I take a deep breath and nod, making my way to the altar. Of course I’m ready. It’s just a formality, why would I care? Yet when I finally stand at the altar and the sound of music fills the air, I feel a buzz of something in my chest responding to it. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s my own heart following the rhythm of the music.

I try to ignore it and focus on the Mexican that Paolo and I have left in the warehouse. Why did he come into our territory? What was he looking for? But no matter how hard I try to direct my thoughts somewhere else, the jittery feeling in my chest doesn’t go away. In fact, it only grows stronger with every passing second—until I see movement from the corner of my eye and turn to look at the aisle.

A young boy walks between the rows of seats, throwing around white and pink petals with a happy smile on his face, and behind him… I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay still. Behind him, Yuriy Pushkov offers his elbow to a woman before both of them turn to face me—and the fluttering feeling rises all the way to my throat.

For the first time in nine years, I see Elena Pushkova.