“Bella. Listen. You have three options here.One, you run—and get caught within the hour because those men outside your house definitely have orders to stop you.Two, you cancel the wedding and lose everything—your house, your siblings’ education, probably your job, and who knows what else.”
I slump against Lila’s bed. “What’s option three?”
“You marry him.” Her voice goes softer. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But from what you’ve told me, he keeps his promises. He’s taken care of everything you asked for. Your siblings are safe. Your house is yours.”
“He’s a criminal!”
“He’s a businessman with… additional income streams.”
“He’s dangerous!”
“So are student loans, but people sign up for those every day.”
Despite everything, I snort out a laugh. “Did you just compare my mafia marriage to student debt?”
“If the crippling life choice fits…” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
Another voice calls out to her in Japanese, more insistent this time.
“Listen, I really have to go,” Elena says. “But you’re going to be fine. Just get through the wedding, enjoy the phenomenal sex you’re definitely going to have with your hot criminal husband, and try not to slap him again. At least not in public.”
“Elena!”
“I love you! You’ll survive this! Call me after the honeymoon!” And she hangs up.
I sit there on Lila’s floor, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
The sex. Oh God. Thewedding night.
How did I not think about that part before? I mean, I knew, obviously—but between the legal agreements and the logistics and the utter shock of finding out I was marrying into the Russian mafia, I somehow… didn’t process the part where I’d be sharing a bed with Konstantin Belov.
Sharing a bed with the man who looked at me tonight with murder in his eyes after I slapped him. With the man whose kiss turned my insides to liquid fire right before I hit him.
I groan and flop backward onto Lila’s carpet, covering my face with my hands.
Through the window, I hear Mrs. Gutierrez inviting Konstantin’s thug infor coffee and homemadeempanadas.
“She makes the best in the neighborhood,” I mutter to the ceiling. “You’ll love them.”
And then, because apparently, I’ve gone completely insane, I start laughing. Full-blown, hysterical laughing, tears streaming down my face as I lie on my little sister’s bedroom floor the nightbefore my mafia wedding while my neighbor feeds pastries to the men sent to make sure I don’t escape.
This is my life now.
Tomorrow, I marry Konstantin Belov.
And God help me, part of me is actually looking forward to it.
34
Konstantin
Three Hours to Wedding – ThePenthouse
Iadjust my cufflinks, examining the platinum against my crisp white shirt. Three hours. The clock on my bedroom wall ticks with military precision.
A soft knock at the door. Too gentle for Timur, too hesitant for Arseny.
“Enter,” I call, already knowing who it is.
