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Wedding Bells
Last Updated:
2024-10-07 01:11:00
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EleniI twist the ribbon around my deep purple bouquet and look out over the reception. The wives rented a massive ballroom in a hotel close enough to the church that we all walked over when the ceremony ended, and if you’d asked me to guess what Nicky thought a wedding reception should look like, I would’ve described exactly this. There’s nowhere in this place I can look without being confronted by something that sparkles or bears the exact “eggplant” and “pine forest” that are apparently our colors.Above every table, something that looks like a baby mobile made out of twinkle lights and strings of crystals hang. On the purple and green tablecloths sit the most ridiculous place settings I’ve ever seen. The gilt-edged china sports crossed flowers, a dusty green spring of something that looks more like leaves to me but which she said grow around the Acropolis and a sprig of Italian lilac, both also lined in gold. Apparently, they symbolize the joining of our houses. But what really ma
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EleniI slam my hands down on my desk on the second floor of the Staten Island house, the long sleeves of my wedding dress dulling the thud. “What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know?”Amando, the man I’ve begun considering my capo, loosens his purple tie and shrugs. “Nobody knows who the fuck they are. I’ve got a couple reports they were at the church. The guard at the door said he never saw them come in. They’re feds, obviously, but did you see the names on the badges?”“No, I fucking didn’t, because I was in the process of having my husband arrested at my wedding!” I suck in a deep breath and run my hands through my hair. I took it down sometime on the ride from the ballroom to here, but a few pins still plink onto the floor around my feet.I’m losing it. The house is a swarm of activity—wives, trying to get everybody fed; capos, trying to figure this out; guests, just trying to figure out how a wedding went so wrong—and they need a goddamn leader. They need me.No, they need the
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DanteMy wrists burn from twisting them against the zip cuffs, my ankles chafe from the same treatment around the legs of the chair, my shoulders ache from how far my arms have been pulled back, my faces throbs from how many times these goddamn bruisers have hit me, but all I can think about is El.I should be home in bed with her right now, fighting with whatever fiddly little fixtures they put on her wedding dress. She should be screaming my name. I should be screaming hers.Instead, I’m sitting in a musty-ass basement, bound to a metal chair under one flickering light like these assholes got their set-up right out of an ‘80s mafia movie. I spit blood on the concrete floor and look up at the man who “arrested” me in the middle of my goddamn wedding.“So tell me,” I say, “how do you go from Coppola to the Russians?”That, of course, earns me another punch to the face. I grit my teeth and take it.“Cuteness isn’t going to get you far,” Jace growls. “I’m here to get answers, and I’m ha
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EleniI sit in the passenger seat of a black, bulletproof sedan, watching the blinking dot of the tracker on my phone. “Left here.”Tony turns smoothly. The engine is nearly silent, which seems almost pointless in the noisy, New York City night, but I’m not giving up any advantage here. It took me embarrassingly long to remember the tracker—or, more accurately, to hope the feds hadn’t bothered to take it off of him. I was halfway through hacking the city’s FBI base when I looked down at my own hand and the rings caught the light.“And…that’s the last precinct turnoff I know of,” Mikey says from the back seat, where he’s sliding together piece after piece of a sniper rifle, just in case. “Bronx cops don’t bother with spots this far out.”“Me either,” Tony says. “Maybe they took him to one of those fucking black sites.”Distantly, I note a chill of worry would touch me at those words, if I weren’t already frozen.“You’re sure you don’t remember the names on any of the badges?” I ask. “T
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EleniTony hits the ground running in front of me, already yanking his gun out of his holster. Mikey fumbles with the door a second, but he’s out immediately after that, the carefully laid plan of the sniper rifle abandoned behind him. I slam down the pavement, thankful I abandoned my usual heels in favor of a pair of sneakers Gianna offered me silently before we left. Different windows of the apartment block light in bright bursts. Muzzle flashes, I know. The attendant pop of the gunfire follows on their heels, like thunder after lighting. People scatter out of our way. I grip my gun at my side. No sweat makes it slip. The leather warms in my palm as I run through scenarios.If they’re keeping Dante at the top, we’ll have to fight our way up. But that also means they’re vulnerable to attacks from above, if we had the time to set that up. I told someone to call in all the allies we have, but that doesn’t make a difference. It’s not like Cal or the triads are about to loan us a helicop
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DanteJace is glaring at me sullenly from the other side of the room they’re keeping me in when the first gunshots ring out.“What the fuck?” he says.I grin. El’s here. Hopefully with the cavalry in tow. I scrape the stone in my ring over the plastic faster and faster. I’m almost through, and now, I have nothing to lose in Jace seeing me.“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” He leaps to his feet.Out of time. Better hope I sawed enough. I tense my arms and yank.One of the cuffs snaps just as Jace throws himself at me, his baton raised for another strike. Idiot. I use the momentum of the cuffs breaking to swing my right fist forward, directly into his cheek. The blow knocks him off balance just enough that I can drive my elbow into the meat of his bicep—not impressive-looking, but it makes him whimper—and that exposes his right side. Where the fucking moron still has his service weapon holstered. I snatch it out and fire two shots point-blank into his chest.Before he even hits the f
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EleniI close my eyes on the floor in Dante’s arms and open them again somewhere warm and tan and lonely. Distantly, I can hear voices. My stomach aches.My stomach! I shoot up, yank up the “I Heart NYC” shirt covering my abdomen for some reason, and probe the skin there. I was shot. Someone—Fyodor, judging by how much nicer his suit was—shot me in the stomach, like he knew exactly who I was. But there’s no gaping bullet hole, not even a careful line of black stitches.Because I wore the stupid bulletproof vest, I’ve got a welt, a bruise so dark it’s almost black, and a hell of a headache from the bullet knocking me on my ass, and nothing more.The voices raise slightly, and a door I hadn’t noticed yet opens. Dante steps in wearing a matching T-shirt with his arm in a sling. Behind him, Dr. Domino frowns.“You’re up,” Dante says breathlessly.Everything hits me at once. He’s here. I’m here. We’re both alive. And I don’t think he’d be looking at me with that sunrise light in his eyes i
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EleniDante surges up into my mouth, then grunts in pain. I pull back immediately.“And what if your husband just got the shit kicked out of him?” He smiles sheepishly and gestures to the sling on his arm.Even when he was shot, he didn’t ask for anything. He really is a different man now.“Doesn’t change a thing.” I climb slowly on top of him. My side aches, and my head spins a little. I brace my arms on either side of his head and lean down to kiss him again.His mouth slots perfectly into mine. I know the taste of his lips, the half-gasp that precedes his cock stiffening underneath me, the flutter of his fingers over my bruise. I’ve spent so much time thinking about how well Dante knows me that I never even realized how well I know him. My hips begin moving against him of their own accord in a slow, undulating rhythm.He groans against my lips.“Fuck these shirts.” I try to yank his shirt over his head, but the sleeve gets caught on his sling, and I begin laughing.“What?” He runs
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*Angelo*This goddamn woman is not only beautiful but also clever as fuck. She definitely knows how to use her appearance and charm to her advantage, blinking those beautiful eyes at me. Even in a T-shirt and jeans, she looks sexy as hell. She doesn’t need to wear anything seductive or whisper dirty words in my ear. Just being under her gaze is enough for my dick to start twitching inside my pants. Fuck!I don’t know why the hell I fell for that, believing she actually needed to go to the bathroom. Maybe, deep down, there’s still some good left in my corroded heart. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe that she’d be able to trick me. But she almost broke free from me, which would’ve been fucking embarrassing when the guys outside had to bring her back to me, seeing me rolling around on the floor with my smashed up cock in one hand. Needless to say, the pain she caused me made my blood boil. But even so, I can’t force myself to strike her. Not yet. Instead, I pinned her to the floo
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*Tatiana*Okay, fuck, that does sound like a genuine threat. He’s definitely not new to any of this, and he’s used to stubborn people like me. He’s probably faced worse in his years in the mafia, assuming he’s from another syndicate. Judging by the way his eyes are hungry for information, I doubt he’s just a normal person Oleg owes money to or had a bad business deal with.Lev taught me how to hold on during an interrogation as long as I could in several of our lessons in the past, but he never really tortured me while doing so. How am I supposed to act when the real deal is actually happening? I thought I was prepared for this, but maybe I’m not?Am I ready for this man to cut my skin, hold my head under water, pull my nails out of my fingers, and all the dreadful things these people are known for doing? How long until I break?Panic creeps through me again, and I realize I need a plan B before I lose the grip on my self-control and have to start pleading for my life. I don’t wanna
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*Tatiana*I feel like I must’ve gotten run over by a truck. My head is pounding so hard, I feel like vomiting, but even so, I force my eyes to open. There’s no light here except for a dim stream coming through a tiny window near the top of the wall in front of me, so it’s difficult for my eyes to adapt.There are strands of hair in front of my eyes and face, and when I lift my hand to push them aside, I realize my wrists are tied behind my back in what feels like a very thick, tight rope. My legs are also strapped to the chair, both my ankles tied. I can barely move.Panic starts creeping through me as I realize what’s going on. Images of the recent events flash through my mind, making me remember how I ended up here, wherever I am.I look from one side to the other, taking in my surroundings. Even though it’s dark and humid here, I spot some tools and boxes that make me think this has to be a basement. The place is quiet, and there seems to be no one around, although I doubt they’d l
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*Tatiana*Getting someone to help me proves to be an almost impossible task, even once I wander into a populated area of New York City.I know literally no one in this city, and it’s not like I can trust anyone. While I’m fairly certain my adoptive parents had allies here, I have no fucking idea who they are or how to find them. Oleg must have eyes and ears everywhere, so it makes me hesitant to approach anyone.But in this dress, I’m an easy target for anyone who might be helping him. New York is a crazy place, but I’m probably the only woman in a bloody, ripped-up wedding gown on the streets today. If the mob doesn’t get to me, the police certainly will.My stomach is beginning to ache from the knot that formed in there weeks ago, but I force myself to take deep breaths. At least I’m able to hold back my tears–for now. My whole life turned upside down in a blink of an eye, and having to suppress my feelings so I don’t show my weakness to Oleg and Yakov has taken its toll on me.Pic
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TatianaHow the hell am I supposed to escape this place when I have no fucking idea where I am? Running toward the back of the chapel seemed to make the most sense to me since the fighting is all happening at the front–at least for now–so I sprint toward the door the priest likely used and pray it’s unlocked.Thankfully, it is. I slam through it, looking around to ascertain if there’s any danger here. I see the priest huddled in the corner and almost roll my eyes. Hiking my skirt up, I take off toward a door I believe has to be an exit.“You shouldn’t go that!” he shouts. “They’re out there, too!”But my momentum carries me through the door before I can think, and I nearly run into a couple of Oleg’s men who are defending the back entryway against what appears to be another syndicate, one of the many groups of enemies Oleg has accumulated over the years, no doubt.“How the fuck did they find us?” one of the men in front of me shouts to the other in a thick Russian accent. I just have
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*Tatiana*A tacky, overly poofy white gown hangs on the back of the bathroom door next to the full-length mirror. I take a deep breath and drag a hand down my face. How the fuck am I getting out of this?I hoped I’d have more time to escape, but this day has come more quickly than anticipated, and now, here I am. The fuckers got me to the church on time.“What do you think?” one of the maids who will be helping me get dressed asks, a timid smile on her face.Arching an eyebrow, I say, “I think I’d be better suited to black.”She laughs nervously and pulls the fancy frock down off the hanger. I have to assume this contraption cost thousands of dollars and was designed by one of New York’s biggest names in fashion.It’s a death trap to me.It would look so much better with a spray of vomit across the front.Telling myself I need to focus, I listen to the maids prattle on about how they’re going to do my hair and makeup and other such bullshit I couldn’t care less about.“This dress is m
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*Tatiana*I spend most of my time in “my” room. Images of my parents bleeding out fill my mind, whether I’m awake or asleep. Even sitting by the window, staring out at the serene garden behind the mansion, I can’t shake the overwhelming sadness and revulsion that fills my body with every shuddering breath I inhale.No one comes into my room except for the maids–and that’s a good thing. When I have to see Oleg again, it will be all I can do to keep from lunging at him and trying to take him out right now. I will kill him–but I can’t be impulsive, or I’ll spoil my chance. Something tells me he won’t hesitate to kill me if he feels it’s necessary, regardless of all of his plans for me.No, I need to bide my time. Lie in wait. Strike when the timing is right.When I’m not picturing my parents’ pale bodies sitting in those chairs, I imagine what it will be like to kill him. That’s the only time I allow myself a bit of happiness, a small smile, when I think about what it will be like to hav
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*Tatiana*As soon as the plane touches down at JFK airport, a wave of anxiety washes over me. This is my first time leaving my home country of Russia. I’ve spent my entire life looking over my shoulder, waiting for my asshole uncle, Oleg Romina, to show up and finish the job he started twenty years ago when he murdered my parents in cold blood. Now, he’s summoned the only parents I’ve ever known, Lev and Ilya Ivanov, to return to America. I insisted they bring me along, but as we deboard the plane, a sense of unease settles into my chest.My biological father, Petr Romina, used to be the boss of the Romina Empire, a smaller Russian mob that has territory in several countries, including New York where Oleg resides. When I was old enough to understand the kind of life our family used to have, Lev and Illya told me the truth about my parents’ deaths. My mother was my dad’s mistress, and when Oleg learned that they were planning on getting married, his greed made him murder both of them,
