The priest stands at the far end near the windows, wearing traditional robes and holding a leather Bible. To his left, Kirill’s brothers stand side by side. Demyan looks skeptical, arms crossed over his chest like he’s still not convinced this is a good idea. Matvey’s mouth is quirked like he’s trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. And beside them is a beautiful young woman who I’ve never seen before.
She can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen, wavy hair framing her heart-shaped face. She’s the only one who looks genuinely happy about this whole thing, her smile bright and hopeful. Judging by her resemblance to the brothers, same dark hair, same model-like bone structure, this must be Katya, their little sister.
Something in my chest knots seeing her here, this girl who has no idea what kind of trap her brother just orchestrated.
And then there’s Kirill.
He’s standing to the right, framed by a wall of windows with the entire city spread out behind him. His tuxedo is black and perfectly tailored, emphasizing every line of his body. His hair is styled back, showing off those harsh but beautiful sharp angles. His silver-blue eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry.
He looks like a villain from one of those forbidden romance novels I used to sneak from the library and read under my covers when I was a girl. You know he’s bad for you but you can’t stay away.
Kirill’s beautiful mouth curves into a smile meant only for me, secretive and knowing, and my heart performs a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. The cocky confidence I felt in the bedroom,drinking champagne and being fussed over by a team of beauty experts, evaporates.
This feels too real. The music, the flowers, the way he’s drinking me in like I’m light in a world of shadows. My heart trips over itself, like it doesn’t get this is all for show.
I force myself to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, until I’m standing across from him.
“You look incredible,” he murmurs when I reach him, leaning in so the words are just for me.
The priest begins in Russian, his voice filling the space with words about love and partnership and forever. Kirill takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine with easy familiarity.
This isn’t real, I remind myself while the priest talks about commitment and fidelity and forever. A mantra in my head. I can say the words and go through the motions because it means nothing, it’s not binding. I’m protected by the fiction I built around myself.
The priest’s voice rises, pulling me back to the moment.
“Do you, Kirill Baronov, take Dinara Potapova to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
The world tilts sideways.
He knows the truth. My real name. The one buried under layers of fake documents and carefully constructed lies.
If he knows my name, he has to know I work for the Belov Syndicate. Knows everything I’ve been trying to hide.
I thought I was playing him. Turns out, he's been playing me all along. And I just walked down the aisle straight into his trap.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
DINARA
Shock must be writtenall over my face because Kirill smirks, looking as smug as ever.
He leans close, his lips brushing my ear. “You did such a good job hiding your identity, solnyshko, but not good enough.”
He straightens, his gaze flicking to the priest as he responds, “I do.” His voice is steady, certain, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because this solves problems for both of us. You just don’t have the full picture yet, but you will soon.”
What the fuck does that mean?
The priest asks if I take Kirill Baronov to be my lawfully wedded husband, but I can barely process the words over the roaring in my ears.
“You tricked me,” is all I can manage to say.
“I think you’re the one who did the tricking, Dinara.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Now say ‘I do’ before I take you over my knee and force the words from your mouth with my hand on your ass.”
