“Sorry doesn’t fix what you broke,” she said. “And it sure as hell doesn’t prepare me for what Viktor’s going to do to me once he has me exactly where he wants me.”
The door slammed behind her with a finality that echoed through her bones. In three weeks, she’d be Mrs. Viktor Nikolai, and then the real punishment would begin.
Chapter 2 - Viktor
The cathedral was packed with enough firepower to level a small country. Nikolais on one side, Volkovs on the other, all of them armed to the teeth and pretending to be civilized for the sake of this farce Viktor had orchestrated. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was getting married in a house of God when what he was about to do was anything but holy.
He stood at the altar in his custom Armani tuxedo, hands clasped behind his back to hide the way they were shaking. Not from nerves. From fucking rage that had been building for four years, eating away at his insides like acid until he wasn’t sure there was anything left of the man he used to be.
“You look like you’re about to murder someone,” Kostya whispered from beside him, adjusting his tie. Viktor’s brother was playing the role of best man, though they both knew this wedding was more of a funeral than a celebration.
“Maybe I am,” Viktor muttered back, scanning the crowd. Every face was a potential threat, every smile hiding a knife. This was the world they lived in, where even weddings were battlefields disguised as ceremonies.
The organ music started, and Viktor’s spine went rigid. This was it. Four years of planning, four years of maneuvering pieces on the chessboard, all leading to this moment. The moment he finally got his hands on the woman who’d destroyed him.
Irina appeared first, walking down the aisle in some flowing blue thing that made her look like a fucking angel. Viktor’s baby sister had insisted on being Anka’s maid of honor, claiming it would help bridge the gap between their families. If only she knew the real reason behind this union. If only sheknew that her beloved brother was about to become the monster their father had always said he’d be.
She smiled at him as she took her place, and Viktor forced himself to smile back. Irina deserved happiness, even if it came at the cost of his. Even if it meant he had to become something cold and calculating to protect it.
Then the wedding march began, and every molecule of oxygen was sucked out of the cathedral.
Anka appeared at the end of the aisle on Matvei’s arm, and Viktor forgot how to breathe.
Four years. Four fucking years since he’d seen her face, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The wedding dress hugged every curve of her plus-sized figure, the same body that had driven him wild with want, the same soft skin he’d mapped with his hands and mouth until he knew every freckle, every sensitive spot that made her gasp his name.
She was fuller now than she’d been at twenty, her hips wider, her breasts more generous, and Christ help him, she was even more stunning than he remembered. The woman walking toward him wasn’t the girl who’d pretended to be a college student four years ago. This was Anka Volkov in all her glory, a Bratva princess who commanded respect with every step she took.
Her golden hair was piled high on her head, leaving her neck exposed, and Viktor had to clench his fists to keep from remembering what it felt like to press his lips to that exact spot. The way she’d arch her back and whisper his name like a prayer. The way she’d melt in his arms like she was made for him.
But that had all been a lie, hadn’t it?
As she got closer, he could see her face more clearly. The hazel eyes that used to look at him like he hung the fucking moon were carefully blank, her expression serene and pleasant. The perfect Bratva bride, playing her part to perfection.
Viktor’s chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to longing, and he ruthlessly crushed it down. This wasn’t the woman he’d fallen in love with. That woman had never existed. This was Anka Volkov, the bitch who’d played him for a fool, who’d made him believe in fairy tales and happy endings before ripping his heart out and leaving him bleeding.
She reached the altar, and Matvei placed her hand in Viktor’s with all the ceremony of a business transaction. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A merger. A strategic alliance sealed with vows and rings and the promise of shared blood.
Her skin was soft and warm, exactly like he remembered, and Viktor had to fight the urge to stroke his thumb across her knuckles. Instead, he gripped her hand tight enough to bruise, satisfaction flooding through him when he saw her wince.
The priest began his spiel about love and commitment, and ‘till death do us part,’ but Viktor wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the woman beside him, cataloging every change, every new line around her eyes, every subtle difference four years had carved into her face.
She’d lost weight in her face, he realized. The soft roundness he remembered was gone, replaced by sharper cheekbones and hollows under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and lost appetites. Good. He hoped she’d suffered even a fraction of what he had.
“Do you, Viktor Nikolai, take Anka Volkov to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
The words felt like glass in his throat. “I do.”
“Do you, Anka Volkov, take Viktor Nikolai to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
There was the slightest hesitation before she answered, so brief he might have imagined it. “I do.”
Liar. They were both fucking liars, standing in front of God and their families and promising to love and cherish each other when what they really wanted was to draw blood.
The priest said something about rings, and Kostya handed Viktor the platinum band he’d chosen specifically because it would mark her as his. He slipped it onto her finger with more force than necessary, watching her jaw tighten as the metal bit into her skin.
She returned the favor, sliding his ring into place with steady hands that betrayed nothing of whatever she was feeling inside. Her fingers were ice cold against his skin, and Viktor wondered if she was as affected by this as he was. If seeing him again was tearing her apart, looking at her was destroying him.
“You may kiss the bride.”
