I can still feel her.
That's the problem. I can still feel the weight of her body pressed against mine as I leaned against her, trapping her body against the wall. She’d trembled, but I think that was more from anger than fear. Her hair had smelled like jasmine and smoke, andwhen she'd looked up at me with angry green eyes, something in my chest had tightened in a way I didn't recognize.
I’d felt every part of her lithe body against mine. At first, it was the tight ass pressed against my crotch. Then, when I’d turned her, it was those beautiful full breasts and the long, muscular legs I could feel against mine even through the tattered wedding dress.
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away. This is exactly the kind of distraction that gets men killed in my world. Sentiment is a luxury I can't afford, especially not now. Especially not with her.
The study door is already open when I reach it, warm light spilling into the darkened hallway. Alexei sits in one of the leather chairs facing my desk, his phone pressed to his ear, his face grim. He looks up when I enter, says something quick in Russian, and ends the call.
"Dimitri." He stands, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. There's blood on his collar—not his own. "We need to talk."
"Then talk." I move to the bar cart in the corner, pulling out a bottle of Beluga Noble and two glasses. My hands are steady as I pour, but my mind is racing. "How bad is it?"
"We found two more, so the death count is up to seventeen." His voice is flat, emotionless. This is how Alexei deals with tragedy—he becomes a machine, all business, no feeling. "Including Sergei. Yuri. Anton."
I pause, the bottle hovering over the second glass. Anton. He'd been with me for seven years, saved my life twice. Had a wife and a daughter in Moscow. I finish pouring and hand Alexei his drink.
"The church?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Total loss. The fire department couldn't save it." He takes a long drink, then sets the glass down on my desk. "But that's not the worst of it."
Of course it isn't. I down my vodka in one swallow, feeling the burn all the way down. It doesn't help. "Tell me."
"It was coordinated. Professional." Alexei pulls out his tablet, swiping through what looks like preliminary reports. "At least four shooters, maybe more. They knew exactly where to position themselves for maximum casualties."
I pour myself another drink. "Inside information."
"Has to be." He looks up at me, his expression dark.
I move behind my desk, setting my glass down and pulling up the security footage on my computer. We'd had cameras positioned around the church—standard procedure for any family gathering. I find the file from today, from the ceremony, and press play.
The screen fills with the image of the church interior, the pews packed with guests in their finest clothes. I can see Sergei at the altar and me beside him, my men positioned at strategic points throughout the space. And then I see her.
Alina walks down the aisle in that white dress, her father's hand on her arm. Even through the grainy footage, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she holds herself. She looks like a woman walking to her execution, not her wedding.
I fast-forward to the moment it all went wrong. The priest is speaking, his mouth moving silently on the screen. Alina and Sergei are facing each other. And then?—
The first shot.
I watch Sergei fall. Watch the chaos erupt. The camera angle isn't great, but I can see the shooters now, positioned in the balcony, behind pillars, near the exits. They move with military precision, taking out my men with calculated efficiency.
"Rewind it," Alexei says, leaning over my shoulder. "Go back to before the shooting started."
I do, watching the footage in reverse until we're back at the beginning of the ceremony. Then I play it forward again, slower this time, studying every detail. The guests. The positioning. The timing.
"There." Alexei points at the screen. "See that man in the third pew? He checks his watch twice in thirty seconds. And that woman near the back—she leaves right before the shooting starts."
He's right. I watch as the woman slips out a side door, maybe twenty seconds before the first shot rings out. A warning? An escape?
"We need to identify everyone who was there," I say, my voice cold. "Everyone who knew about the wedding, everyone who had access to the details. I want names, backgrounds, connections. Everything."
"Already working on it." Alexei straightens, picking up his glass again. "The Popovs have always been ambitious. Viktor has been pushing for more territory, more influence. This marriage was supposed to unite our families, but what if…" He pauses, watching my reaction. "What if that was never the plan? What if this was always meant to end in blood?"
He pauses to look steadily at me. “What if Alina was in on it?”
I consider it. I have to consider it. In this world, trust is a currency more valuable than gold, and I can't afford to spend it carelessly. Viktor Popov is a snake, everyone knows that. He smiles and shakes hands while plotting your downfall. It would be just like him to offer his daughter as a bride while planning an ambush.
But then I remember Alina's face when Sergei fell. The genuine terror in her eyes. The way she'd frozen, unable to move, unable to process what was happening. I've seen people fake a lot of things in my life, but that kind of shock? That kind of raw, visceral fear? That's not something you can manufacture.
