I hang up to find my phone blowing up with texts from Viktor.

VIKTOR: What the fuck? Where are you? Ceremony's about to start!

VIKTOR: Bro-you're the fucking best man. Not to mention the goddamn pakhan. You need to be here.

VIKTOR: I can't believe you're not here after YOU forced me to marry the bitch.

Sometimes, I forget what an asshole my little brother can be. Luckily, I can always rely on him to remind me.

I ignore all his messages and turn my focus back on the quivering woman in the elevator with me. Good timing, too, because apparently, the two-minute call with Shura is all it took to completely unravel her.

She's back to being a sweaty, clammy mess, scraping at the wall padding like a cat going through withdrawals.

Real or fake? I still haven't fully made up my mind. This could be real. It could also be an attempt to distract me from the fact that she's obviously not supposed to be at this wedding at all.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Those green eyes of hers go wide and trembly. Then, without any warning, she collapses in a dead faint.

"Oh, fucking hell."

I drop to one knee beside her. I tap her face, but she doesn't so much as stir.

Her chest is heaving, though. Stuttering, almost, like the stitching in the dress where it binds across her chest is handcuffing her lungs.

It's pure survival instinct that moves me next.

Not lust. Definitely not lust.

No, I tell myself as I gather two fistfuls of the fabric. This is solely to help her breathe.

Then I rip her dress apart like tissue paper.

Her exposed skin is pale and cold to the touch. When I hover a palm over her mouth to feel her breathing, it's too still.

Only one way to go from here.

But it's not lust. It's definitely not lust.

I lower my face to the girl's. Her lips part as I get close, like she knows what's coming and she wants it.

Closer.

Closer.

Her scent is sweet and my dick has never been harder.

And then, just like that, I'm ripped back in time.

Because I've been here before. In exactly this situation, kneeling beside a cold, shivering woman and preparing to give her my breath.

I know how that ended. I feel the grief of it in the pit of my stomach every single day of my fucking life.

This kiss is to heal; that one was nothing more than a belated goodbye.

My lips seal to the girl's. I exhale to fill her lungs. Turn and feel her heartbeat. Exhale again. Check her pulse. I do it all one more time, and just when I'm wondering if I ought to be preparing last rites instead-why won't this fucking elevator move, goddammit?!-she makes a noise.

"Mmmm..."

It's a moan. There's no other word for it. It's a moan. Low and dreamy and undeniable.

And, like magic, it brings her back to life.

The emerald lastochka's eyes fly open and she shoves herself upright, just barely missing cracking her skull against mine. She scrambles backward to a hunched seat in the corner. "Oh my God." She slaps a hand over her mouth like she can shove the moan back in there. "W-what the hell...?"

Before I can explain, the elevator shudders into motion. Like it has a mind of its own, it takes us back to where we came from.

Ping. "Fifth floor."

The doors open onto the ballroom. I can see my brother standing amidst a throng of his useless, half-drunk friends. One of them spots me and claps Viktor on the back.

I feel a blur of motion at my side. In the second it takes me to signal to him that I'm coming, the little lastochka has darted out of the elevator, ducked between two security guards, and careened out of sight.

I let her go-for now.

My mind was made up as soon as I tasted her, so her quick getaway is just the nail in her coffin.

I've never met a mystery I couldn't solve.

And she's a mystery I'm determined to get to the bottom of.

3

NATALIA

"Watch where you're going!"

I stumble backwards, wilting on the spot at the murderous glance I'm getting from the six-foot-tall woman I just ran right into. She pulls her white fur stole tighter around her body and skewers me with a disdainful glare.

I follow her gaze to the ruined neckline of my dress. Is my boob hanging out? Well, would ya look at that? It sure is. Nice going, Nat. Way to be an upstanding member of polite society.

"S-sorry," I mutter awkwardly as I shove the girls back in place.

The haughty woman rolls her eyes and walks away, talking loudly enough for me to hear. "Honestly, if I'd known they'd be inviting the riff-raff, I'd have stayed home. I expect more from the Kuznetsovs."

Katya would have tackled the snobby bitch to the floor and strangled her with her own chinchilla. But all I can muster in my current state of flustered undress is a pathetic sniffle in her direction before I run off in search of a place to hide.

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. My thoughts are as much of a mess as my dress is.

Is security following me?

Is he following me?

Where the fuck is Katya?!

As though I've pulled her from thin air by the strength of my thoughts, a door opens to the side. Katya's slim arm darts out, grabs me, and hauls me in after her like Satan himself dragging me down into hell.

Where the hell have you been?" she breathes in my face. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

This is so typical of Katya. Usually, I just laugh it off.

But nothing about today is "usual." Today, I've been forced into crashing a wedding, chased by security guards, trapped in an elevator. And the cherry on top of the shit sundae? I completely and totally humiliated myself in front of the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on.

That moan will be echoing in my nightmares for the rest of eternity.

"Me?" I explode. "Me?!"

Katya takes a startled step back. Only then does she seem to notice that my clothes aren't sitting right. "Your, uh... your dress is a little torn up there, babe."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." I grab the neckline and try to pull it into place. For a moment, it obeys-but as soon as I let go, it withers right back like a dying flower.

"Okay, calm down. Let me try." She toys with it for a second, then magically produces some safety pins from a box on the shelves at our elbows and works some witchcraft that fixes it right up.

"There! Good as new." She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "You wanna tell me why you're running around half-dressed with sex hair and smudged lipstick?"

"Is my lipstick smudged?" I pivot on the spot in search of a mirror, but of course, the utility closet is fresh out of those. Just as well-I can't bear looking at myself right now.

"Only a little."

I whimper and cover my face with my hands for a three-second pity party. It's all we have time for. "We have to get the hell out of here. Now!"

Katya has the audacity to look puzzled. "But the ceremony's about to start!"

I feel insane. Am I? Or is she?

"For fuck's sake, Kat-you seriously wanna watch your ex-boyfriend get married to the woman he cheated on you with?"

"Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Call me a masochist, but I wanna see it and I can't do it alone."

"Since when?"

"Since I decided everything's more fun in twos," she explains dismissively. Like that just about settles things, she opens the door a crack. "Look at all those rich assholes... Is that Leo?"

"As in DiCaprio?"

"What other Leo matters?" she sighs as if I'm a lost cause. "Wouldn't it be just a terrible tragedy if he and I met and we fell in love and got married in a ceremony twice as expensive as this one?"

I roll my eyes. She's joking-mostly. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're almost twenty-eight now. You've aged out of Leo's dating pool."

"Have you seen my ass?" Katya counters, sticking it out for my benefit.

What I'd prefer to see instead of my insane best friend's posterior is some hope that we can get out of here unscathed.

I peek over Katya's shoulder. I don't see Leo-or anyone else on the A-, B-, C-, or D-lists, for that matter. But I do see a veritable army of security guards herding straggling guests into the main ballroom.

As the crowd filters past our little hiding spot, I pay closer attention to the guests themselves. Some of them look like important, respectable businessmen, but the vast majority look more like what I'd generously call "hardcore criminals." We're talking thick golden chains, tattoos on necks, knuckles, or both, and the kind of furtive, aggressive side-to-side glances that all but scream, I dare you to fuck with me.

I shudder.

If this is the company the Kuznetsovs keep, it was a bad idea coming here today.

"Kat... We need to leave. These are not people we want to mess with."

She snorts. "I was wondering when Nervous Nat would rear her head."

I could slap her. I truly could. I love her, but I'm this close to cold-cocking her right across the face and dragging her limp body out of here.

Before I can, she doubles down. "Playing it safe is gonna take you exactly nowhere. Come on-don't you want to have adventures to look back on in your old age? Don't you want experiences to share with your grandchildren one day?"

"That's making the assumption that I even get to old age. Which, judging by the men outside this utility closet, is a stretch."

"You need to stop being so damn scared of everything," she says firmly. It's the same tone she used when she was trying to get me to go skinny dipping in her boss's pool that summer she was house-sitting for him. "You have to stop letting one tragedy be the crutch that keeps you from living your life!"

I should've hit her when I had the chance.

Because her words are as good as a slap across the face in their own right.

Tragedy-that's a funny word for what happened. It feels too clinical, too cold. Then again, what is the right way to talk about your parents getting dragged out of the car and murdered right in front of you?

I bite my tongue to keep the tears from spilling over. There's no way I'm gonna cry in front of her. "Low blow, Kat."

She sighs and clutches my hands. "I love you, you know that. And I just... I don't want to see you stuck in the past, Natalia. Life happens here. Now. In the present."

I'm still a little tongue-tied, but the opening chords of the wedding march coming from the ballroom save me from having to figure out what to say.

Katya squeezes my hands in hers once more. "We're just gonna sneak in there, find a couple seats way in the back, and judge from afar. Okay? Nothing risky. Besides," she adds, "if we leave now, we're only gonna draw attention to ourselves. Best to just blend with the crowd until after the ceremony and then we can leave."

"You promise?"

She makes a cross over her heart with her index finger. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Oh, you will die if you don't keep that promise. I'll make sure of it."

She laughs, grabs my wrist, and pulls me out of the utility closet. We join the last exodus of people streaming through the doors and find seats tucked alongside a looming onyx vase bursting with flowers.

Everyone settles into their places. The conversations slowly dwindle.

It doesn't take me long to spot Andrey Kuznetsov. He's standing at the head of the aisle, looking impossibly huge and impossibly gorgeous. A mountain in charcoal with eyes too bright to be real. My lips tingle with the flesh memory of his lips on mine.

"Damn, is that Viktor's brother?" Katya interrupts my guilty thoughts. "Forget Leo-I'll take one of those, please."

It's weird how instantly my hackles rise. I have absolutely no claim to that man. So why do I care if Katya is attracted to him?

I don't, I tell myself firmly. I don't care one little bit.

Luckily, Katya's quickly distracted by the bride's entrance. "Oh my God, look at her dress. My freaking grandma would've encouraged her to show a little more skin. Is she the bride or a nun?"

I shoot her a glare. "Hush!"

Katya rolls her eyes, but falls silent while the bride is walked down the aisle by her short, balding father. People rise to their feet as I try to make sense of the little lump that's forming in my chest.

What the hell is that?

It's only when my fingers reach instinctively for the locket around my neck that it hits me.

I'll never have this. A father to walk me down the aisle, someone to hand me off.

Tragedy. There's that word again.

I hate it more and more every time.

The bride looks like a shrinking violet. She's pale as snow, with strawberry blonde hair styled into a tight chignon.

"We're veering into pedophile territory," Katya jeers. "She looks like she's twelve years old."

Viktor looks bored as he accepts her hand from his soon-to-be father-in-law. Then the ceremony starts. Katya chews at her nails as the officiant goes through the blandest marriage vows in recorded history.

"Is it almost over, do you think?" Katya whispers.

"I sincerely hope so."

She nods once, her blue eyes glowing a little brighter. Up on the altar, the officiant plows into the home stretch. "Do you, Viktor Kuznetsov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Another nod, like Katya is preparing herself for something. It leaves a sinking feeling in my belly.

"Kat-"

Viktor opens his mouth, "I⁠-"

"I OBJECT!"

I stare after Katya, my jaw hanging to the literal floor.

I'm not the only one. The crowd twists in their chairs.

And just like that, Katya has stolen the show.

All eyes are on her-including Viktor's.

"Katya...?" he stutters in disbelief, while his bride lists to the side as though she's in danger of fainting at any moment.

"Viktor Kuznetsov is a liar and a cheater!" Katya continues loudly. Rather than be deterred by the eyes on her, it's like the audience is giving her life. "He prowls the city at night looking for his next conquest. And trust me, he's made many!"

Andrey Kuznetsov is the only one who looks even remotely calm during this abrupt little detour the wedding has taken. His eyebrow flickers up as he regards Katya with pure, acidic disdain. Then he looks off to the left and gives a nod to someone I can't see. I'm guessing Katya has about ten seconds before she's hauled out of here like the crazy-ass intruder she is.

The thing is-and I know from experience-Katya can do a lot of damage in ten seconds. As it turns out, she doesn't even need that long.

"Viktor has a secret mistress," she cries out. "She's pregnant with his baby. And she's standing right over there!"

I blink over at Katya-who's pointing in my direction, for some inexplicable reason.

I actually glance over my shoulder to see this pregnant mistress she's apparently brought along to humiliate Viktor.

But there's nothing behind me except an onyx vase filled with calla lilies.

And that's when it hits me.

I'm supposed to be the pregnant mistress.

I'm the prop.

I'm the naive idiot who let myself get roped into Katya's revenge ploy.

Before I can jump in and correct her lie, Andrey Kuznetsov steps off the raised platform. He no longer looks disinterested or calm.

Now, he looks pissed.

Those ethereal silver eyes land directly on me and he growls three terrifying words into the microphone. "Security... grab them."

ANDREY

One of Viktor's moronic henchmen is the first to reach them. He grabs the little lastochka by her arm and even from where I'm standing on the altar, I can see how she winces in pain.

"Carefully, mudaks!" I belt from across the room.

Leif appears at my side. "How do you want me to deal with this, sir?"

"Tell those untrained gorillas to keep an eye on both women until after the reception is over. I'll deal with it then."

Leif bows and scurries off to do as I ordered. I turn to my brother and his almost-bride, both of whom look as though they have no idea what to do next. Whatever is going on with those women, I'm fairly confident it's my brother's fault.

As usual, it falls to me to clean his mess.

So I turn to the buzzing crowd and plaster a fake smile on my face. "What's a Russian wedding without a little drama?"

The crowd laughs and the tension breaks. I nod in grim satisfaction and glance over at the priest. "Father Nevsky, please continue." I lower my voice. "Quickly, though. Skip the bullshit."

As soon as the ceremony ends-without any further interruptions, thank fuck-Viktor is suddenly very interested in playing the gracious host, ignoring my attempts to make eye contact with him. He knows he's in for the ass-chewing of a lifetime once I get him in my grasp.

The crowd swarms me as we collectively drift toward the reception. People asking for favors, paying compliments, or offering gifts in the form of alliances and their daughters' hands in marriage.

It's just shit on top of shit on top of shit, all the way down. This whole day has been a fucking disaster, from Nikolai's teenage spy to the elevator debacle with the gatecrasher to my brother's ongoing attempts to lower the bar for how little I expect of him.

But that's what being pakhan of the Kuznetsov Bratva entails: dealing with nothing but shit.

So I duck gracefully past the marriage proposals, negotiate with new partners, and reconnect with old ones. I manage my empire one exhausting conversation at a time.

But an hour later, I spy Viktor skulking in the corner with a bottle of gin in hand and I decide that I won't let him evade me any longer.

I corner him by the wall frescoes and pluck the bottle from his hand.

"A little early in the marriage to be driven to drink."

He rolls his eyes, though they seem to each go in different directions. "Be thankful I wasn't drunk for the actual ceremony. That's when I really needed a bottle."

"You gonna tell me what that was about?"

His gaze is fixed on the bottle I've just confiscated from him. "I'll tell you if you hand over the gin."

I skewer him with a glare that makes him shrink back against the wall. "What makes you think this is a negotiation?"

He coughs nervously. "It's not my fault, okay?"

"It never is. Answer the question."

"The blonde's name is Katya," he says with a weary, simpering sigh. "She's no one. Just this chick I fucked for a few weeks... or, shit, maybe it was months... I can't remember now. She's just sore because I dumped her ass."

"And the brunette?"

"The who?" He shrugs as my pulse quickens. "Oh. Nat something. Natalia something? Natalie? I can't remember. She's Katya's friend, as far as I know. And she can't be pregnant with my kid because I never fucked her. Although, trust me, I tried. Even suggested the idea of a threesome to Katya, but she turned me down flat. Didn't even⁠-"

"Enough," I spit, glaring at my brother in disgust. "God, you are fucking pathetic."

He draws himself up to his full height, though he's a little wobbly on his feet. "This is who I am. It's who I've always been." Then he slumps and casts his eye miserably around at the glittering festivities that have been arranged in his honor. "I never wanted any of this."

"You should have thought of that before you set your sights on Mila Obnizov."

"I didn't set my sights on her-I just wanted to fuck her. There's a difference."

"You 'just wanted to fuck' my top smuggler's daughter, Viktor? What were you thinking? Do you not see how that is problematic?"

"She was a virgin, bro," he says, as though that's all the explanation required. "Do you know how rare it is to find one these days? It's a fucking unicorn in a sea full of donkeys. I had to have her. Just once."

"And now, you get her for a lifetime. Pozdravleniya."

"The fuck wasn't even worth it. Some unicorns just aren't worth riding." His gaze veers over to his new wife, who's sitting alone at the head table looking like she wishes she were anywhere else.

"Have you talked to Obnizov?"

Viktor nods. "Already explained to him that Katya's a crazy cunt. He seemed satisfied."

"And your bride?"

"What about my bride?"

"Did you explain the situation to her?"

He balks, derisive laughter and gin-laced spit spraying past his lips. "Why the hell would I? I have to keep her damn father happy because he's important to the Bratva. I don't have to keep her happy."

This conversation alone is enough to make me feel sorry for Mila Obniz- No, actually, she's a Kuznetsov now.

Forget congratulations; condolences are in order.

"You do have to maintain the status quo, however," I snarl. "I'm sick of cleaning up your messes."

"Hey, I married the bitch, didn't I? Just like you ordered." He steals the bottle of gin from my hand and takes a long swig that ends up dribbling down the side of his chin. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. "Looks like Otets couldn't be bothered to be here."

"What do you care if Slavik is here or not?"

"I don't care. I'm just saying."

Viktor never outgrew his desperation for our father's approval. He was never perceptive enough to realize that, by the unchangeable nature of his status as second son, he'd never mean shit to Slavik Kuznetsov. He took the lack of attention personally, having no idea he got the better end of the bargain.

I was the one who got fucked.

I have the scars to prove just how unfortunate it is when Slavik Kuznetsov takes an interest in shaping you as a man.

Meanwhile, as I was bleeding and suffering in the dirt at my father's feet, Viktor was fucking his way through half of New York, thinking that somehow qualified as an accomplishment.

And after Slavik fled the country in the middle of the night, with no warning and nothing left behind but a scrawled note and a wake of dumpster fires for me to put out, it fell to me to keep Viktor in line.

I thought he deserved a break.

I'm starting to think I've been too easy on him the last few years.

Viktor offers me the bottle, but I shake my head. "One of us needs to be sober for this thing."

"I don't see why," he says with a deranged cackle. "The only way to get through a wedding is to be drunk. Honestly, I don't know why anyone would subject themselves to this-" He breaks off, his eyes veering to me. "Well... you did."

"I never got married," I remind him gruffly.

"But you would have." He's always been braver when he's drunk. No way would he dare to bring up this topic if he were sober. "I've always been curious: what was it about Maria? Did she have some sort of golden pussy or⁠-"

In an instant, Viktor is spluttering, his eyes bulging like a toad's as I cut off his windpipe with an elbow to the throat. He keeps trying to choke out words, but I'm done listening to him talk.

"You're fucking wasted," I hiss. "It's embarrassing. If you want to keep toting around the title of Kuznetsov, then you'd better clean yourself up and start acting the part. Look around: do you see any of my men acting like a fucking joke?"

I release a tiny bit of pressure on his neck so he can breathe. A few guests have noticed the fracas, but the smart ones look away.

"I'm done making excuses for you, Viktor. You're not a boy anymore. Get your shit together."

I peel myself off of him and leave him there to lick his wounds. Anyone with an ounce of sense in their head gives me a wide berth as I stalk away.

"Boss..." Leif approaches me from around the cocktail bar with a grim expression. "I've got news. The girls that you asked Viktor's security to apprehend, they've... they've..."

"Spit it out, Leif," I rasp. "I'm not in the mood for guessing games."

"They've escaped," he finishes in a broken whisper.

"Four soldiers couldn't keep their eyes on two civilian women?"