They said something about watching for him, then fell silent. It’s okay, I want to tell them. I know whathimthey’re talking about.
Vitaly.
If Vitaly shows up at our wedding, he’s an idiot. Security is out the wazoo. Guests brought guards, and Roman’s team layered them like wedding cake tiers. Perimeter, inner ring, floor walkers, rooftops. Cameras everywhere. The gates log everyplate. The kitchen has its own checkpoint. You can’t sneeze here without a man in an earpiece offering a tissue.
The wedding is at Roman’s family home, which is basically a small country with better lighting. He knows every blind spot because there aren’t any anymore. He had the house reworked. Paths rerouted. Sight lines cleaned up. The grounds look like a magazine, but the hedges hide sensors and the roses hide wire. Vitaly doesn’t have that map in his head. Roman does. He’s lived it longer, and he’s the one who kept upgrading it while Vitaly was busy telling people he was born to rule.
So, despite growing up here, Vitaly won’t have the advantage. He doesn’t know the code names or the sweep schedule. He doesn’t know about any of the upgrades, but I do. Roman told me about them to make me feel safe.
It worked.
A little.
Funny thing is, there was a minute when I thought I might marry Vitaly. When we started dating, he sold me a future with a crown and a house that bowed when he walked in. He said he’d be pakhan. I learned his language, his rituals, the shape of the role standing next to that title. I pictured myself as a pakhan’s wife because he told me that’s who I would be.
And here I will be. Just not his.
I don’t kid myself about the danger. But if Vitaly tries to crash this day, he won’t be the wolf at the door. He’ll be the stray who wandered into the wrong yard.
“Too much under the eyes,” my mother says. “Let them be eyes. You’re not auditioning for television.”
“I’m trying to look awake.” I dot concealer and tap it in. “They were hungry every two hours last night.”
“They’re in a new place.” She sets the comb onto the vanity and separates another section of hair with her fingers. “We all are.”
“I know.” I set the bottle down and pick up powder. I keep the strokes light. Mom’s right—I don’t need to cake it on. That’ll make it look like I’m hiding something.
My mother meets my eyes in the mirror. “You’re quiet.”
“There’s a lot to think about.” I check my liner and start again because the first line is never the line you keep. “I didn’t picture getting married in a house with guards in the hallway.” I didn’t picture getting married at all.
“Normal people don’t picture their daughter marrying a pakhan either,” she says, but her voice is even. “Do you want to talk or do you want me to tell you how to fix the left side of your eyeliner?”
“Both.” I breathe out and let the room settle back around us. “I like him, Mom.”
“I could tell the night he came to our door.” She pulls a pin from between her teeth. “I know better than to try to talk you out of liking him.”
“You always said I had a type.” I twist in my chair enough to look at her without glass between us.
“You’ve always liked the bad ones.” She shrugs. “I hate that for you.”
“I know.” I lean forward and put mascara on slow so I don’t blink it onto my lid. “Then I met Vitaly. He told me I was exciting. He told me I made him brave. He said a lot of things.”
“And you believed enough of them to keep going.” She doesn’t say it to wound. She says it because we promised we would tell each other the truth.
“The start was fun.” I put the wand down and rest my elbows on the table. “He was loud and bright and dramatic. Exciting. Dinner felt like the middle of a movie. I learned Russian dishes. Stood in rooms where I didn’t belong and made myself useful so no one would ask why I was there.” I glance at the scar. “Then he showed me who he was. It didn’t happen all at once. It arrived in pieces and excuses. I tried to end it three times. Each time he convinced me I had misunderstood the bad parts or invented them. The last time was the final straw.”
She meets my eyes again. We don’t need to say knife. We don’t need to say clinic. “I know.”
“He said no one would want me now,” I say, not whispering. “Not with what he did to my face.”
My mother’s mouth flattens. “And you proved him wrong.”
“I did.” I open the blush and add a little life back to my cheeks. “Roman.”
“That night changed everything.”
I roll lip balm over my mouth and press my lips together. “I thought it would be one night. Proof that he couldn’t own my life. Then the boys came…”
