“Is this appropriate?” she asks, catching my stare.
“It’s perfect.”
“You’re sure? Is there some Bratva wife dress code I should know about—”
“There isn’t. You look exactly right.” I cross to her, unable to resist touching. My hand finds her waist, feeling the warmth of her through silk. “Though I’m already regretting bringing you. Every man there is going to stare.”
“Good. Let them stare.” There’s an edge to her voice I haven’t heard before. Confidence, maybe. Or defiance dressed up as composure. “I’m not hiding.”
“No. You’re not.”
The drive to Westchester takes an hour. Janice is quiet, staring out the window while I handle last-minute business via phone. Felix sends updates—guest list confirmed, security positioned, no unexpected complications.
Yet.
“Tell me about Elena,” Janice says suddenly.
I glance up from my phone. “What about her?”
“You were supposed to marry her. She’s going to be at this event. I should know what to expect.”
Fair point.
“Elena Volkov is twenty-six, educated in Switzerland, fluent in five languages, and trained from birth to be a properBratva wife. She’s intelligent, strategic, and doesn’t forgive easily.”
“So she’s going to hate me.”
“Probably.”
“Great.” Janice exhales slowly. “Anything else I should know?”
“Don’t let her bait you. She’ll try; it’s what she does. Undermining opponents through conversation is her specialty.”
“What if I can’t avoid it?”
“Then show her exactly why I chose you instead.”
Janice turns to look at me fully. “You didn’t choose me. You forced this marriage.”
“I chose you,” I correct quietly. “The circumstances were complicated, but the choice was always mine. Remember that when Elena tries to convince you otherwise.”
***
Damien’s estate is lit up like a cathedral, all dramatic architecture and strategic lighting designed to impress. Cars line the circular drive; Mercedes, BMWs, the occasional Rolls-Royce. Money and power gathered in one place, pretending civilization.
I help Janice from the car, offering my arm. She takes it after a brief hesitation, and we walk toward the entrance together.
Eyes track us immediately.
I feel the weight of attention, the whispers starting before we even clear the door. My marriage was announced publicly—had to be, given how quickly it happened—but this is the first time most of the Bratva are seeing Janice in person.
Seeing the woman I rejected the Volkovs for.
“Breathe,” I murmur. “You’re doing fine.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
The main hall is already full—men in expensive suits, women in designer gowns, everyone performing their assigned roles. Damien holds court near the center, Oleg and Felix flanking him. He sees us enter and his expression tightens fractionally.
