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“What can we do to help?” he asks.

I share a look with his wife, trying not to grin too broadly. Because she and I already know what to do.

Chapter 55

Liam

I’m getting married today. To a woman I don’t love. But she doesn’t expect me to love her, so at least there’s no guilt involved.

“You’re still in love with your ex-fiancée,” Vasilisa had said, after she’d accepted the Fabergé engagement ring I’d bought for her. There was no accusation in her voice. Merely stating a fact.

“This is what she’d want me to do,” I’d told her.

It is what Brioni wants me to do—my duty. Making an alliance for the good of my family.

I straighten my tux in the vestry’s mirror.

There was some grumbling from Vasilisa’s family about the wedding being at our South Side Irish Catholic church. She was the one to point out that our ceremony should follow the groom’s traditions.

“When my brothers get married,” she’d told her father, “the alliance ceremony will be Russian Orthodox, regardless of whom they’re marrying.”

The pakhan had glared at me. But he listened to his daughter’s reasoning. Like me, he must admire her pragmatism on some level. She navigates the stickier aspects of our alliance like a fearless captain through rocky waters. She’s clever. And brave.

In a lot of ways, she reminds me of a woman I’d dated for a couple years in my twenties. Victoria. She broke up with me after I called out Brioni’s name one too many times. Which was fair.

When I told Brioni about it, I left out that detail. I think I even phrased the breakup as my idea. What I remember clearly is that Brioni and I had been sitting on the beach.

And we’d stopped talking about Victoria.

I didn’t want to discuss Victoria anymore. I only wanted to talk about Brioni. And how much she meant to me.

“I will only love one woman in this life,” I’d told her. I’d dug my toes into the sand, wishing I could bury my feelings as easily.

Because I couldn’t be with Brioni. She didn’t come with an alliance. And it wasn’t fair.

“My only consolation is that she’s resilient,” I’d told Brioni. Coward that I was, I took refuge in the third person. “The woman I love is strong, she doesn’t need me. So I made the tough decision for both of us. And it’s better this way.”

In the vestry mirror, I finish knotting my bow tie.

“It’s better this way,” I tell my reflection.

There’s a knock on the door, and Brady and Finn step into the room. They’re both in their tuxes, though Finn’s bow tie is crooked. It matches his nose. I don’t give a shit about the wedding photos, so I say nothing. Brady’s got a smug smirk I’d like to smack off his face. And Finn’s grinning like an eejit.

“Your bride looks hot as fuck,” he says.

“We’re in a church,” I remind him. “Show some goddamn respect.”

Finn guffaws, and Brady leads us out of the room.

The nave is strangely empty. On the O’Sullivan side, there’s only Mam, Kieran, and Cora. Up by the altar, Father Naughton and Father Ryan stand beside each other without talking. Both look out at the unfilled room.

The Russians’ pews are deserted.

My stomach clenches in warning.

Old Father Naughton looks as confused as I feel. But he tells me where to stand, and Brady and Finn line up behind me. I mouth a silent question to Brady. He of all people should know what’s going on, why Vasilisa’s people aren’t here. But he only shrugs. Still smirking.

With a loud creak, the immense church door opens. The snow-harsh light from outside blinds us all, and I shield my eyes with my hand. I see only silhouettes: a man in a tux and a woman in a long white dress.