Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"Because a family makes a pakhan stronger."
And it’s true. A family strengthens a pakhan’s position. It does not make him vulnerable. It makes him more determined, more fierce, and more capable of anything when it comes to protecting them.
I remove a photograph from my breast pocket and hand it to her. She looks at it and I see the color drain from her face.
“Nana,” she whispers.
Nana. Otherwise known as Greta Whitman. The neighbor who raised Holly after her parents died. She’s currently residing in a nursing home in Seattle.
Holly’s eyes snap up to mine, and if I thought I'd seen fire in her before, it's nothing compared to what burns there now.
This is something primal and protective. A lioness baring her teeth.
"Keep her out of this.” The words are spoken as a warning. “Whatever you want from me, fine. But you leave her alone. She has nothing to do with any of this."
"Then don't make me involve her in it." I keep my voice steady, letting the threat settle between us.
I don't elaborate. I don’t need to. I can see it written all over her face.
The realization. The hatred. The submission.
“If I go along with this sham of a marriage, do you swear she’s not in danger?”
“The only crime against Nana will be that she missed out on your happy day,” I say.
“Say you swear it,” she demands.
She looks at me with pure hatred. Like she's memorizing exactly where to place the knife when she finally gets the chance.
“If you marry me, Nana doesn’t need to know anything. She’ll be safe. You have my word.”
Holly scoffs but doesn’t bite.
So I add, “But I expect you to be more accommodating and less stubborn. Stop fighting me at every turn.”
“You expect me to be submissive, you mean.”
“Yes.”
She huffs out a breath and looks away. "Fine. But if I get out of this alive, I'm just going to have it annulled."
Holly follows me into the great room where Father Dominic waits with Dmitri and Alexei.
Father Dominic has known me since I was a boy. Before I became the man that might be beyond saving.
He approaches us, his smile gentle as always. "Nikolai Morozov," he says, his voice affectionate. "It has been quite some time since I've seen your face in church."
"I know, Father." I incline my head respectfully. "I will have to rectify that."
"Indeed." His gaze shifts to Holly, softening further. "And you, my dear, must be the future Mrs. Morozov. My congratulations.”
“Thank you, Father,” Holly says almost shyly.
“Now before we start, I must ask if you are certain about this union?"
I can feel Holly's hesitation. For a moment, I think she might refuse and force my hand into showing just how far I'm willing to go.
But she seems to soften under his gaze. "Yes, Father."
"Then let’s begin, shall we?" Father Dominic gestures for us to join him beside the fireplace.
I position myself beside Holly. She doesn't look at me. Just stares straight ahead like she's willing herself to be anywhere else.
The ceremony is brief. No family gathered. No celebration. Just two reluctant participants and the men with guns standing in the corners.
When it's time for the vows, Holly's voice is flat. She speaks each word like it's being extracted from her with pliers. But I say mine with warmth and enjoy watching Holly squirm under my gaze as I say them.
Father Dominic produces the rings. Two simple bands I had Dmitri pick up earlier. Nothing that screams romance or commitment. Just cold metal that will mark her as mine.
I slide the ring onto her finger, and I can feel the tension thrumming through her.
When it's her turn to slide the ring on my finger, her eyes finally meet mine, and the hatred I see burning there is almost beautiful in its intensity.
She's murdering me with every look. Planning my death in a thousand different ways. I've put her over a barrel and she knows it, and she hates me for it.
"By the power vested in me," Father Dominic says, "I now pronounce you husband and wife." He glances between us, and I catch the faint smile playing at his lips. "You may kiss your bride."
I turn to Holly, one eyebrow raised in question. Her jaw sets, her chin lifting in defiance.
"Not in this lifetime, king," she warns, her voice low and deadly.
I smile then, slow and measured. Let it spread across my face until I know she can see every ounce of satisfaction I'm feeling.
Father Dominic leans forward a little. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to seal it with a kiss.”
Holly's eyes widen, darting between the priest and me. "You can't be serious."
"It's tradition, my dear," he says kindly.
I watch the war playing out across her face. She knows she's trapped. That there is no point in refusing. Because I always get my way.