Page 9 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

Not polished pretty. Dangerous pretty. The kind of man women ruin their lives over.

And he’s still looking directly at me.

Not at my body.

Not at the dress.

At me.

Like he sees every crack I’m trying to hide. I hate that my survival instincts have apparently chosen this moment to become idiots.

Father Bogdan begins speaking in Russian, his voice echoing through incense and candle smoke. The words slide past me, meaningless.

The entire ceremony feels obscene suddenly. Sacred vows, gold crowns, ancient blessings—all of it draped over what is, at its core, a hostage exchange performed in front of God.

Aleksander keeps watching me.

“You’re angry,” he says quietly.

“You’re observant.”

One corner of his mouth lifts.

“And you’re not nearly as obedient as your father implied you’d be.”

A bitter laugh almost escapes me.

“You should ask for a refund.”

Father Bogdan drones on about sanctity and union while Aleksander studies me with unnerving calm.

“What are you getting out of this?” I ask quietly.

His gaze sharpens. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a Sokolov.” I keep my smile fixed for the audience. “Men like you don’t marry strangers unless the price is right.”

He lets the question stand, weighing how much to give me. “Alliance,” he says finally. “Access to ports.”

Honest enough to sound real.

“And? You think it will be worth it?”

“I’m starting to think so.”

I look away, focusing on a candle flame over his shoulder. On keeping my breathing even. On not letting anyone in this room see that his answer shook me.

The rings appear. The priest blesses them first, his voice low and unhurried, as if nothing in this cathedral is being done under threat. Then he slides Aleksander’s ring onto the ring finger of my right hand. My ring goes onto Aleksander’s.

We exchange them once. Twice. Three times. When it is finished, his ring sits on his hand and mine on mine. Then the priest turns to Aleksander.

“Do you, Aleksander Dimitrovich Sokolov, have a good, free, and unconstrained will and a firm intention to take this woman, Tamara Davidovna Kalinina, as your wife?”

“I have, Reverend Father.”

No hesitation.

The certainty in his voice unsettles me more than doubt would have.