“Not you too,” I answered, taking my eyes away from the entrance of the adjoining room. “You know what this is about.”
“Still,” he started, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. Besides, who knows what this can turn into? Bad circumstances birth good outcomes sometimes. You both might decide it’s an alliance you want to keep,” he opined before saying, “I should go handle the priest’s departure.”
Of course, he was talking about the typical alliances in the mafia world. The ones where a mafia boss married a woman for her family’s status and the potential alliances of both families. It might be unusual in the outside world, but it was the norm in my world.
So why does the idea not sound so good to me right now?
If a mafia boss wanted love, he could have that with any of his mistresses—that, too, was a norm. My brothers were some of the very few mafia bosses who ended up having real marriages. But I wouldn’t dare hope for that. While we all belonged to the same world, I belonged to a continent that was the direct opposite of theirs.
My eyes flicked to the adjoining room again.
Why do I need an excuse?
I can go wherever I please.
So I went into the adjoining room before I could think of another reason why I shouldn’t be following her. The low soundsof conversations and laughter were swallowed up in silence as I entered the room.
Alina braced herself against the window ledge at the far end of the room. She looked outside the window, like the view was something more interesting than the grass and shrubs I knew were there. For the first time, I saw a crack in her composure. It was a discovery that should make me feel good, like a winner. But it didn’t, for a reason I didn’t know. Instead, it made me keep walking until I got to her. She blinked, and I knew she was aware of my presence.
That was when I saw that her hands were trembling.
“Are you okay?”
“Being married under duress is not okay!” she lashed out.
But beneath her anger was an air of something fragile, like it was just dawning on her what she had stepped into.
Why am I thinking about whatever it is that she feels?
And why the fuck does it make me feel this uneasy?
“This is the only way to keep you alive. How many times do I have to tell you that?” I spat back bluntly. “Well, if you wish to die, let me know. All I have to do is throw you out on the streets since you’re already a wanted woman in the whole of Russia.”
Her head whipped towards me, and her eyes dilated.
“Siroc Antonov,” she declared, her eyes flashing with barely muted anger. “You don’t even remember who you killed, do you?”
Her accusation sliced through the silence like a blade. I remembered the guy now, but she was right. I had really forgotten.
I don’t keep a list of the people whose lives I have ended.
I swallowed.
“The world we live in has no innocence,” I remarked, my voice matching the coldness of my gaze.
I turned around and left, ignoring the tiny funny feeling in my chest with every step I took away from her.
“You’ll be moving upstairs,” I proclaimed over my shoulder as I approached the threshold.
“Why?” she retorted before my statement had even landed.
“Why wouldn’t you want to leave that room?” I questioned, partly baffled as I turned around to face her. “I’m sure you’re not so eager to share my room.”
“What a miracle, right?” she taunted, a bitter laugh emanating from her lips. “A woman doesn’t want to stay in the same room with the almighty, sexy Konstantin.”
I inclined my head to the side, my anger melting into something else. “Did you just call me sexy?”
She blinked repeatedly like she just realized it, too. Then she half-rolled her eyes as she answered, “No, I do not intend toevershare your room. I’m asking why I have to move since the reality of things remains the same.”
