Page 73 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

I turn and see Konstantin Volkonsky rising from the end of the front pew. He looks exactly as he did when he dragged me from the penthouse, except now his expression is even harder than before.

“This wedding is invalid,” he says. “The girl was promised to Anton, and you haven’t yet signed the papers. It isn’t official.”

Roman steps forward, positioning himself between me and Konstantin. “Invalid? I don’t think so.”

Konstantin’s eyes narrow. “You’re making a mistake, Roman. A serious one.”

“I don’t think I am.”

The two men stare at each other, and I can feel the tension in the air. The congregation is frozen, no one daring to move or speak.

Konstantin crosses the distance between us in three quick strides, his hand reaching for my arm. “Come with me, Vera. This farce is over.”

Roman’s hand shoots out to catch Konstantin’s wrist before he can touch me. His grip is tight enough that his knuckles are white.

“Put a hand on her again,” Roman says, “and I’ll break your arm like I did Anton’s.”

Konstantin’s eyes flash. “You think you can defy me in my own church? Pathetic.”

“I don’t think it.” Roman’s other hand moves to his side, resting on the gun hidden beneath the priest’s robes. “I know it.”

For a moment, I think Konstantin is going to push it. Surely he’s going to call Roman’s bluff and force a confrontation that can only end in blood. His free hand twitches toward his jacket, and my breath stops.

Then Roman lets go of his wrist. Konstantin steps back and only straightens his suit jacket, laughing. “You’ve grown,” he says quietly. “Since Siberia, you’ve grown harder.”

Roman doesn’t respond. Konstantin holds his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turns away.

“Very well,” he says. “You’ve made your choice, both of you.” He turns to my father, who’s standing frozen by the pews. “Viktor, we’re leaving.”

My father looks from Konstantin to me, his expression a mixture of relief and regret. “Vera?”

“Don’t.”

My words hit him like a slap. Then he turns and follows Konstantin toward the door, his shoulders hunched.

Konstantin pauses at the doorway and looks back at Roman. His eyes are calculating, and I can see the wheels turning behind them.

“This isn’t over,” he says. “You’ve won tonight, but the game continues.”

We watch as Konstantin disappears through the door, my father trailing behind him like a scolded child.

Only when they’re gone do I let out a breath and steady myself against Roman’s side.

Roman’s hand finds mine again. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s over,” he says quietly. “For tonight, at least.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Over until the next time, which is always how it is.

He leads me down the aisle and through the heavy wooden doors. We don’t look at anybody as we go, which is just as well. Outside, the air is cool on my skin. It’s a relief after the heat of the candles, and I take a deep breath.

A car is waiting for us, its engine running. Artyom is behind the wheel, his face impassive as always.

Roman opens the back door and helps me inside, then slides in next to me. The door closes with a solid thunk, and then we’re moving. The church disappears behind us as we drive into the night.

I lean my head against Roman’s shoulder and close my eyes.

22

ROMAN