Page 134 of Sadistic

The main house is a flurry of activity.

Wedding planners scurry about with clipboards, florists making final adjustments, catering staff preparing for the reception.

Everything pristine, everything perfect.

Everything except my nerves.

I'm directed to a room on the second floor to wait.

The groomsmen are already there—Mikhail as my best man, two cousins from the Irish side, a business associate who knows to smile and not ask questions.

Mikhail offers, producing a flask. "Drink?"

"Better not. Need a clear head."

"Since when has that stopped you?"

But I wave him off.

I want to remember every second of this.

Want to be completely present when Revna becomes my wife.

My phone sits silent on the dresser.

No texts from her, no last-minute negotiations or demands.

Just silence that could mean she’s accepted this, or she’s given up completely.

"It's time," someone announces.

The walk to the garden feels endless.

Guests are already seated—a careful mixture of dangerous people pretending to be civilized.

The MC members look uncomfortable in their suits, cuts on top of their jackets.

The Bratva side radiates cold elegance.

Between them, neutral parties and family friends who probably wish they'd declined the invitation.

The altar waits at the end of an aisle lined with white roses and baby's breath.

Beyond it, the private lake glimmers in the morning sun.

It's beautiful in that aggressive way that costs a fortune—every flower perfect, every ribbon precisely placed.

I take my position, Mikhail at my shoulder.

The string quartet starts warming up.

My heart pounds harder than it did during my first kill.

"Breathe," Mikhail murmurs. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." But he stays close, ready to catch me if I prove him right.

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