Page 11 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

I reach the lip of the dais. I step onto the first rough-hewn wooden step and then I’m transferred off unceremoniously. Papa takes my hand and firmly places it in Josiah’s.

That’s when I finally raise my head.

My husband-to-be is standing opposite me in a white linen tunic. It’s shapeless and flowing and utterly spotless. His hair is clean and combed back so that the grotesque scar tissue on the right side of his face gleams in the afternoon light.

I hear a whimper behind me and I turn immediately. At long last, I catch sight of Theo in Zipporah’s arms. She’s standing off to the side, rocking him on her hip, trying to pacify him. He’s clearly upset.

“Elyssa.” Josiah’s voice is gentle but firm.

I force my eyes back to his and he gives me a nod. A reminder.There will be no escape for me after this.

Brother Rajnesh steps forward, placing himself between us.

“Elyssa Redmond, you have been honored today. You have been chosen to be the wife of the shepherd of our flock, the light in our darkness, Father Josiah.”

The crowd finally speaks. One word, spoken in unison, thundering and overwhelming: “Hail!”

“Today, you taking on the mantel of wife. Do you vow to be obedient, patient, and true?”

I look at Josiah. His features might as well be carved from desert rock. But I can see the glint of dark, swirling dominance just beneath. His fingers tighten around mine, almost painfully.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Hail!”

“Do you understand the responsibility you are taking on?”

“Yes.”

“Hail!”

“From this day forth, you are bound to Josiah Mathews. He will be your husband and your keeper. He will be your lord and master. Do you accept him as such and vow to please him for all the rest of his days?”

I bristle at the words. A shiver of anger runs up my spine.

Then I hear the sharp melancholy warble of Theo’s cry and I remember why I’m here. Why I’m doing this.

“I do so swear,” I say, repeating the words I’d heard hundreds of women before me pledge before the whole community.

“Hail! Hail! Hail!”

Silence ensues.

Then I hear something. Like a pin dropping a mile away, but one that’s meant for me and me alone. One thump. The squeak of hinges.

And then the doors I walked through just a minute ago explode inwards in a storm of burnt wooden splinters. The sound is ear-splitting. The crowd screams and ducks for cover as the deafening noise reverberates around the cathedral.

All eyes find the gaping maw where the doors once stood.

And all eyes take note of the man who strides through it.

My breath catches in my throat.It can’t be…

“I hope I didn’t miss the call for objections,” Phoenix Kovalyov snarls, stepping into the cathedral as armed Bratva men pour into the church behind him.

His eyes meet mine.

“Because I most certainly fucking object.”

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