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?"