Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
His footsteps echo on the marble floors as he walks up the three steps to where I stand by the altar. Younger than I am by a few years, he resembles me but with a leaner build.
"She isn’t coming,” I confirm in a low whisper. His eyes, ever unreadable, flicker toward me, then back to the entrance. I gave explicit instructions for her father to send her alone. I didn’t want a ceremony, a big to-do. This was a transactional agreement, no more, no less.
Anissa fucking jilted me.
“Predictable,” he murmurs, a faint edge of disinterest in his tone. He’s always had a gift for neutrality I envied, a calmness that can unsettle even the most seasoned. His icy glare a promise of retribution. The Kopolov family will always stand as one.
I look away from him and stifle a curse. The air in the church is cold, musty, reminiscent of the catacombs I visited when I was a child. It was my favorite place to go, away from the hustle and bustle of family life. Away from my father’s cruel, relentless oppression and my mother's quiet dignity.
The church seemed bigger then. Hell, everything did, even my father.
I wonder what it would feel like standing before him now if he were still here.
I look at Semyon and hold his frigid glare. My jaw locks, every muscle in my body conditioned to control, but underneath the calm, rage claws at me like a beast ready to break free. No one fucks with the Kopolov family, and the fact that Anissa made a mockery of us will not go unpunished.
My jaw tightens, my gaze calculating, but underneath it all, turmoil churns. I stare at the empty pews in the back of the church and watch as my brothers give each other quick, anxious glances, uncertain of what to do next.
I’ll make her wish she hadn’t. I’ll make her wish she’d come like the obedient little girl she’ll learn to be.
I’ll make her regret the day she disobeyed me.
Why did she run?
How did she get away?
Only the sound of distant whispers and the faint rustle of clothing breaks the silence.
"If I can assist in any way…" the priest begins. One look from me, and the words die on his lips.
A low, dark, irreverent chuckle comes from the pews. I glance at my youngest brother. Where Semyon embodies cold precision, Rodion is the unpredictable wildfire none of us can fully control—to be honest, nor do I want to. It helps to have someone like him on my side. Leaning back with his arms spread along the back of the pew, that ever-present smirk on his lips and glint in his eyes promise me that one word is all it would take from me and he’d happily burn this church to the ground—and roast our enemies in the flames with glee—if I asked him. His loyalty borders on madness. He left his motorcycle parked outside and probably has more weapons on him than he has tats, and that’s fucking saying something.
I shake my head, give Rodion a meaningful look, and turn back to the priest. "That won’t be necessary, thank you."
The only people who will "assist" in what I have to do next are already here before me. Armed and ready.
My bride was here earlier. I saw her from a distance. I’m not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony, and even I'm not going to fuck with tradition. As my grandfather says, "Superstitions may be for children, but adults are old enough to follow them."
So I did my duty when I came here. I wouldn’t tempt fate and look at my bride before the ceremony. I turned away when I saw the flurry of white fabric and a gauzy veil, when I heard the click of heels on the marble floor in the foyer. There were only two strangers here—my fiancée and her bodyguard.
She was here though. And now she’s gone.
"Did anyone see her leave?" I say in a low voice to Semyon. I narrow my eyes on the doorway. "Is it possible that she was taken?"
Would somebody dare to take the bride I was about to marry? If anyone touched her, if anyone touched one hair on her fucking head—
"She wasn’t taken," Semyon says. "We just found video surveillance from the basement. She left on her own. Paid off her guard, ripped her dress off, and ran."
Jesus.
I look to the priest. "You didn’t tell us there was video surveillance in the basement, Father."
His heavy book falls to the floor with a clatter. He stammers as he tries to make an excuse. "I didn’t know there was," he says. "That’s not what I handle here. I’m sorry. If I knew, I would’ve told you—"
I shake my head. "Even I won’t bring down the fury of hell by harming a hair on a man of the cloth in front of an altar, Father," I say quietly. "But don’t test my patience. Or God’s."