Liar, I thought, the word a spike of sudden, sharp possession in my mind. The lack of nervousness told me she was not a passive victim. She was an active strategist.
When the time came, I reached for her left hand. I lifted the platinum band. I slid the ring onto her finger, the movement clean and final, performed with the same precision I’d load a clip. This was my claim, absolute and public.
But as I drew my hand back, my thumb did the unexpected. It lingered on the sensitive skin of her wrist, pressing lightly against the fragile, quickened beat of her pulse.
Liza’s eyes, which had been fixed on the officiant, snapped to mine. The cool mask threatened to crack just at the edges.
“What are you doing?” She whispered, her voice barely audible over the low murmur of the officiant.
“Confirming the prize,” I muttered back, my voice dark. I felt the pulse flutter violently beneath my skin. I held her gaze, letting the raw possessiveness of the man taking her hand be known, not the polished diplomat, but the dangerous one who saw her fear. “Be still. You are mine now. Completely.”
I pulled my hand away, ending the touch that was quickly becoming a dangerous distraction, and turned back to the ritual. The façade was perfect. The transaction was almost complete.
The officiant was nearing the end. I could feel the tension in the room, not from romance, but from the raw anticipation of the power shift. Liza stood rigid beside me, her creamy satin a stark contrast to my black wool. The moment my thumb left her pulse, I mentally slammed the door on the unwanted flicker of connection. I returned to my cold, calculating self.
“And by the power vested in me,” the officiant’s voice boomed, loud in the tense silence of the hall. He looked at us, his face beaming with the professional joy of a man being paid an obscene amount of money for a ten-minute service. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words were the climax of the vows. They were the final word in the merger. My heart gave a single, hard thump of success. Liza Lobanova. My leverage. My wife.
I felt myself begin to turn toward her, ready to perform the public, celebratory kiss, a calculated move for the unseen cameras watching through the high windows.
But then, crack! It was not a soft sound. It was the sharp, violent noise of a gunshot, tearing through the quiet hall.
It was immediately followed by a sickening shing as a crystal chandelier on the far side of the room exploded. Glass shattered, raining down onto the pristine white marble floor in a brutal, glittering spray.
Instinct, not strategy, took over. The guards, my men, Viktor’s men, moved as one. They didn’t scream or duck. They executed the protocol. They rushed forward, creating a seamless, dark shield of bulletproof bodies between the altar and the source of the attack.
I heard Liza gasp, a quick, sharp sound of pure tremor. I didn’t think about my empire or my strategy. I didn’t think about Arkady or the billions. I thought only that she’s mine and they will not touch her.
I yanked Liza against my chest, pulling her body flush with mine, twisting so my back faced the point of impact. The heavy satin of her cape suddenly felt cheap and useless as a shield.
“Get down!” I snarled into her hair, my voice thick with raw command.
Another crack! The second shot was closer. I felt the air shift, heard the sickening thwack as the projectile missed us by inches, splintering the marble near my left foot. I tasted gunpowder.
The entire world was reduced to the weight of the woman in my arms and the immediate, terrifying reality of death aiming for my head.
Suddenly, Viktor’s controlled fury erupted. “Konstantin! Mikhail! Perimeter!”
Konstantin didn’t even acknowledge the order. He was already low, moving like a shadow, his jacket already pulled back, revealing the silent, black gleam of the weapon drawn from his holster. His eyes were burning, locked on the attackers.Mikhail moved in the opposite direction, covering the retreat of Emilia and Isabella, his weapon held steady.
The guards engaged. The air filled with muffled shouts and the heavy thud of bodies. It was quick, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient. The specialized forces we used didn’t mess around.
Viktor signaled, a sharp, decisive gesture with his hand, and the sound of the scuffle cut out almost instantly. Within seconds, the attackers were neutralized. The deadening chaos died, replaced by a terrible, ringing silence saturated with the smell of burnt powder and crushed lilies.
I was left standing at the altar, holding Liza tight, breathing hard. The sharp, brutal efficiency of the Bratva had taken over the wedding scene, ending the threat as quickly as it had begun.
“Status,” Viktor demanded, his voice dangerously low, stepping around the hastily formed shield.
“Clear,” Stepan reported from the ruined far wall. “Two down. No penetration of the main perimeter.”
I looked down at the woman still trapped in my arms. Her breathing was fast and shallow. I tightened my grip, the sudden, raw relief of her safety making my hands shake.
“You okay?” I asked her, my voice rougher than intended.
She didn’t answer. She was too heavy, too silent. The panic I had just suppressed came roaring back.
The sudden, heavy silence that followed the gunpowder was worse than the noise. It was a vacuum, filled only with the faint smell of burned cordite and the sound of my own ragged breathing. I still had Liza crushed against my chest.
