Page 10 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“You’re leaving?” he asks Tolya. Though it isn’t really a question—his tone is more accusatory.

“Da. We will not stay here,” Tolya answers, sounding annoyed.

Nico scowls. “Tradition calls for a reception, with the bride and groom present. A celebration of the joining of the families. Not just your men.”

“Your tradition,” Tolya says coolly. “Not mine. She’s Russian now. She will have to learn to respect our ways, and do things by our traditions.”

“She is my sister,” Nico growls, taking a step closer, nostrils flaring.

The tension grows between the two powerful men, thickening the air around them as they stare each other down.

“And now she is my wife,” Tolya replies evenly, his voice gravelly but sharp. “We do not parade our women around after a wedding like trophies. She is coming with me. We are going to my penthouse, to consummate this marriage in seclusion. As is my custom.”

This is all news to me. In the little research I’ve done on Russian wedding traditions, I haven’t run across seclusion. Breaking glass, bride-napping and ransoming, voting on the gender of the first born—all of those things I’d been prepared for. Not a full retreat.

All conversation within the room seems to cease as everyone stops to watch the exchange.

I see the glow in Nico’s eyes—that shift, that dangerous flicker, the flex of his hand. My brother is about to throw the first blow and make one hell of a scene. A movement that would undo everything he’s worked so hard toward.

Everything except my marriage.

Swallowing hard, I act before he can. Stepping forward, standing beside Tolya, I reach out and place a gentle hand on Nico’s arm.

“Nico,” I say softly, drawing his attention. “It’s fine.”

He looks down on me, his chest rising and falling, still seething.

“I’m fine,” I push, my voice soft but firm. “You should go back to the estate,” I glance around, drawing his attention to the Bratva soldiers that surround us, “where it’s safe.”

“It’s not right, Eva,” he protests.

I look around once more—at the stone-faced men that surround us, the room, and my husband. Who hasn’t once looked surprised by the exchange. Then back at my brother.

“You’ve done your part, Nico. I belong here now. Tolya’s right—I’m married into the Russian family, and I need to learn to abide by their traditions now if this is going to work.” I try to sound confident as I speak.

I can tell he doesn’t like it, but the calm and cool side of his brain is beginning to take over. His jaw is still clenched, his eyes glossy with guilt, but he takes a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair. A habit I realize I’m going to miss.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is… please…” I plead quietly, squeezing his arm.

There’s a long pause, and then he reaches out and pulls me into his arms in a hug. Slipping a phone into my hand as he does so. I use the cover of his body to slip the burner into the bodice of my dress before anyone is able to see it.

“If you need anything, you call me. I don’t care where you are—I’ll come get you,” he says before pulling back and straightening his jacket as he glares at Tolya once more.

My husband’s lip lifts in a crooked grin, his eyes nearly glowing with victory. He’s unapologetically won this round, and I’ve taken his side against my own flesh and blood.

Castling. He moved the king and rook all at once, improving the king’s stance. A classic chess move. A damn good one too.

I nod subtly, my throat too tight to speak.

“If anything happens to her, I’m holding you personally responsible,” he tells my husband, his voice that of molten steel.

Then turning to me, he leans down and places a kiss on my cheek. “Be smart.”

Turning away he glides from the room without another look back.

Tolya offers me his hand and leads me from the reception hall. The car ride is quiet. Too quiet. Riding in the backseat, I watch out the window as the estates disappear and the skyscrapers replace them. The smell of saltwater air drifts in through cracked windows.

Beside me, Tolya sits with one arm casually draped along the back of the seat behind my head. His muscular frame takes up much of the space and no matter how I shift I find that I can’t help but touch him.