Page 10 of The Bratva's Arranged Virgin Bride
Chapter 6 - Nat
And my family didn’t think I was capable. Ha. I had pulled out all the stops, using threats, cajoling, fake tears, and bribery. Lots and lots of bribery. Since I couldn’t exactly put my father’s credit cards to that use, I spent a good amount of time at some of the few pawn shops my family members didn’t run, selling off pieces of my favorite jewelry.
Talk about a plan coming together. I not only organized a fake emergency up in San Francisco that had Matvey and my uncles hauling ass to get up there on the morning of the wedding, but I also managed to get the drop on Masha and her guard, too.
With the help of some old prescription sleeping pills I’d gotten to help with the anger of Kolya’s betrayal that kept me up at night, Masha was out after only a few sips of her tainted water. The guard was a little stronger, but he was woozy enough that I was able to sneak into the waiting room and conk him over the head with a marble angel statue before he could call anyone for backup. I was glad I hadn’t damaged the sculpture, and after a quick examination of the guard, it looked like his skull was intact, too. They’d both be furious, but they’d live.
My own guard, who had been anxiously waiting for me outside, was really a delivery guy for one of the trucking companies my father owned, and happy to accept the huge bribe to put on a little show. He had no real clue what he was doing, but a thousand bucks for an hour’s work was too much for him to resist. He definitely looked the part, though he wasn’t well-trained with a gun based on how he balked when I shoved it into his hands. After assuring him he wouldn’t have to use it, I sent him down the aisle.
No, I didn’t feel great about involving an innocent guy in all this, and I felt like absolute garbage, leaving Masha and her guard zip-tied and unconscious in the back room. However, the crisis of conscience passed as soon as I saw the look on Kolya’s face once he recognized me.
Amazing, and worth it. He was so shocked, I thought he’d fall over. There was even an absolutely delicious flash of fear in his eyes. Then, it all turned to a look of smug delight that almost had me tripping over my feet on my march down the aisle.
Was the piece of crap actually happy to see me? When I would have taken my guard’s gun and shot him right then and there if I hadn’t been taught how to properly behave in a church? He actually had the audacity to look me up and down, the slow smile that used to make me shiver, curving his lips. I gave him a defiant appraisal in return.
Damn it, he looked as handsome as I remembered. I was really wishing I had made it all up, but his dark wavy hair was still a little bit too long, brushing the collar of his crisp white shirt. He had on a gray designer suit that molded to his muscles, all the way down. So many damn muscles. Even still, ten feet away, I could see the gleam in his dark eyes, not quite black but deeper than the strongest espresso. His smile was a grin now, getting wider as I approached. How could he possibly think he had the upper hand here?
As usual, he was infuriating me beyond rational thought. I had to keep it together. We weren’t actually getting married—well, we were, but for the sole reason to make him suffer. Suffer a lot.
I finally reached him, the familiar scent of his bespoke Italian cologne reaching my nostrils. Lemon, basil, a hint of tobacco. I was with him in the little shop in Milan when he had itmixed. He chose one for me that day, too. Roses, vetiver, amber. He had trailed the glass dropper along my wrist in the tiny shop. Back then, his touch was as intoxicating as fine wine.
Shaking the memories aside, I glared up at his smiling face when I reached him in front of the pulpit.
“Change of plans,” I said.
The smile never wavering, he took my hands. My first instinct was to lean closer, breathe him in. Right after that was the urge to yank my hands away, slap him so hard that his teeth rattled. Remembering decorum, I let them rest in his grasp, ignoring the heat of his fingers brushing against my palms.
“We’re ready when you are,” he told the priest, not at all shaken like he should have been.
Why did he look so damn pleased with himself when he should have been scared out of his wits after what he did to me? All of a sudden, it was me who was a little bit scared. More than a little.
The past few days, I was completely preoccupied with putting this insane plan together. Now that it actually succeeded, it felt like I was on stormy seas in a small boat, rudderless, no paddle.
Holy crap. I was about to marry my worst enemy.
Yes, I was about to marry him. To take him down to his lowest point, to make him suffer. The burst of terror faded as I imagined his complete and utter destruction. He would learn what it meant to mess with a Fokin. He wouldn’t just be ruined, he would beg me to kill him to put him out of his misery. That delighted smile of his had given me the key. I would start his torture by crushing his heart into a million little pieces.
Just like he did to me.
