Page 17 of Heritage of Fire

“That might not be such a bad thing.”

I take the ring and tuck it into my pocket, annoyed. I don’t know if there will be a ring for me, but even if there is, I doubt I’ll be putting it on.

I take a few steps across the room, then turn and pace back. The movement does nothing to calm my nerves, but I continue anyway, using it as a distraction.

“How is security? I feel odd not having a hand in this, Luka.” Security is what I live and breathe. It’s how I contribute tothe Bratva. Knowing Igor is handling it all today is eroding my peace.

“It’s all set, Nik. Both organizations are allowed ten low-level guards on their respective sides of the sanctuary, and the reception is taking place at a neutral country club. Same terms apply.” Luka sounds calm and collected, but I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.

“Tell Igor to have my car at the reception. I’m going home as soon as my obligations are over.” I mumble my words and Luka gives me a nod, making his way to the door.

He pauses before leaving. “Last chance, Nikolai. You know I’d go to war with the Cosa Nostra if you decided you wanted out of this.”

He regards me openly, a definite warning laced in his tone. Luka would. He would put an end to this immediately if I said the word. But that’s exactly why I’m doing this. Because it isn’t just about my loyalty to the Bratva—it’s Luka’s loyalty to me.

“I know, brother.” I sigh. “We move forward.”

It isn’t long after Luka leaves that the wedding planner is ushering me out to the altar. I snort at the irony as I take in the expansive church infiltrated by money and power.

I let my gaze wander to the Cosa Nostra side of the aisle. A middle-aged woman and a young girl sit in the front pew. Both have dark hair and olive-toned skin. The woman’s eyes are scanning my body, and I grimace at her wicked smirk. The teenager next to her is on her phone.

What a joke this charade is.

Whispers on the Italian’s side float to the front where I’ve been instructed to stand.

“Look how handsome he is.”

“Did you see the pakhan and his new fiancée?”

“I can’t believe we’re aligning with these Russian assholes.”

I tune out the rest. On the Bratva side, most faces are solemn and pitying. Kate lifts her arm a fraction to offer me a quick wave. I give her a wink, and the whispers on the other side get louder.

Idiots.

The priest comes to stand next to me and extends his hand. We shake, and he opens a book in front of him. My nerves jump into my stomach, flipping and dipping to the point where I may lose my breakfast. This shit is getting real. I need it to be over with.

An organ starts to play, and the guests rise. The doors at the end of the aisle open, and my eyes snap to the woman about to become my?—

Ah, hell.

Rich tawny eyes meet mine, and I forget to breathe. She quickly glances around the sanctuary before her gaze finds the floor. Thick brown hair spills around her olive tan shoulders, and lush, full lips open and close on a steady rhythm—she’s taking small, deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. With each exhalation, her dainty button nose flares.

My eyes skirt down to her dress and—nyet. I fight the urge to bury my face in my hands. A fitted bodice with a plunging neckline flares into flowing lace, the see-through fabric giving me a glimpse of toned legs extending from curvy hips. Luna Buscetta is beautiful, and I’m pissed.

I glance at Luka and Kate in the front row. Kate is beaming at me with wide eyes, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. While Luka—well, he just grimaces as my eyes plead with him.

Her steps are slow, and I’m irritated I can’t see her better. The urge to go take her hand and escort her down the aisle myself assaults me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I finally notice Salvatore Buscetta next to her, a smug smile on his face, and I want to punch my father-in-law already. Luna clutches his forearm, and I notice her whole hand is shaking. Her eyes are still trained on the ground when they stop before the altar, and I miss everything the priest is saying while I will her face to lift.

Heart racing, I call on all my training to steel my face and glower at Salvatore as he hands Luna over like property to be bartered. I reach out, grabbing the delicate hand Buscetta is extending for his daughter.

A shock of electricity invades my body. The sudden rush of adrenaline accelerates my heartbeat, and I jolt, barely keeping hold of her hand, which is cold as ice and still quivering.

As soon as she’s across from me, she drops my hand, and wipes her palm on the front of her dress. Slowly, her eyes rove up my body, going wider as they climb. When she reaches my face, she blinks, a small flush creeping up her neck.

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