Page 20 of His to Ruin
“No, but I’m going to do it, anyway.”
“Why?”
I could say it’s to please Antonio. That’s partly true, but that’s not the entire story.
“Because I think it could work.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” Marriage to Piotr will bring challenges, but I think given time I can work out what makes him tick and use it to my advantage.
Matteo studies me for a moment and then nods. “Okay, if you’re sure you want to do this, I’d be honored if you’d let me walk you down the aisle.”
“What about Antonio?” I assumed, as head of our family, he’d be the one to give me away. I feel a little hurt. “Doesn’t he want to do it?”
“Of course he does,” Matteo assures me. “He’d be proud to have you on his arm, but this is your day and he thinks you’d be happier with me.”
It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture from our oldest brother. He’s usually all about appearances, and it may look strange to some people if he’s not the one who walks me down the aisle. Perhaps he cares more about me than I realized.
“Okay, then. Let’s do this.”
Matteo offers me his arm, and I link mine through it. Emilia, who doesn’t look like she’s just been in the linen closet with Alessandro, and Alessia are waiting in the corridor. They help me by lifting the train of my dress as we walk down the main staircase into the entrance hall. We make our way along the corridor with pictures of my family looking down on us until we come to the library. At the door, Alessia hands me my bouquet. She gives me an encouraging smile, and then she and Emilia go in ahead of us.
“Ready?” Matteo asks.
As the harpist starts to play, I take a breath and nod to show him I am. We enter the room to find my mother and brothers waiting along with my aunts, uncles, cousins, and some of the highest-ranking men from the Volante and Reznov organizations. Apart from his uncle, I don’t know if Piotr has any family here.
The library has been transformed. The dark, austere room is filled with floral arrangements in a riot of color. Rows of white wooden chairs have been brought in. There’s an arch adorned with blush pink roses standing in place of the large mahogany desk where my father used to work whenever we came to Westport. He rarely took a real vacation. His mind was always on business.
Piotr stands in the archway, looking amazing in a gray suit with matching vest and a pink tie that’s the same shade as the peonies in my bouquet. I’m not sure how he pulled that off since we didn’t confer, but I’m impressed.
The hulking brute of a man beside him is Sev Baranov. He’s not pretty like Piotr, who’s been blessed with angelic features. His jaw is square and his nose has a distinct bump near the bridge. A silver line cuts through his lips, a scar from an injury healed long ago. His sexiness stems from his level of confidence. He carries himself like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. Reputed to be a merciless killer, he looks surprisingly warm as he smiles at me.
Piotr, by contrast, is completely devoid of expression, until I get up close and see the searing heat in his eyes. When we come to a stop next to him, Matteo kisses my cheek and steps back. I take a deep breath and turn to Piotr. The determination clear in the hard set of his jaw tells me all I need to know. There’s no escaping him now.
CHAPTER 7
Piotr
When I set a one-week deadline for our wedding to take place, I had hoped the short timescale would make it impossible to organize anything but a small, intimate gathering. I attend a lot of big events—fundraisers, corporate dinners, and such—but I’ve never really enjoyed them. Being around a lot of people poses security issues, but aside from that, I just don’t enjoy socializing outside of my small inner circle. Making polite conversation, pretending to be interested in people with whom I have little in common, wastes my time and hurts my head. Most of the guests at the wedding were invited by the Volantes and my uncle for political reasons. Apart from the men who’ll work beneath me when I become Pakhan, I don’t give a shit about any of them.
It shouldn’t have been possible to pull together such a lavish wedding in so short a time but, somehow, Olivia and the other Volante women have done it. There’s a huge marquee with ahardwood floor erected on the lawn at the back of the mansion. That alone should have taken a week to build.
The marquee is filled with more flowers than I’ve ever seen in one place. At the entrance to the space is a huge ice sculpture with the letters V and R woven together. It’s fitting for the merging of two powerful families, but I can’t help noticing the Volantes’ initial comes first. If they think I’m a junior partner in this alliance, they’re mistaken.
A string quartet will entertain the guests as they enjoy canapes that look like works of art. They’ll wash them down with the finest Prosecco because apparently the Volantes won’t betray their heritage by serving champagne at a wedding.
Tables with white cloths and huge floral centerpieces fill half of the space while the rest has been left clear for dancing. A stage at the far side of the room stands ready for the swing band Antonio told me will play later. I blame my uncle for that. He loves 1940s American music.
Here in the library, where the ceremony is to take place, there was less scope for going over the top, yet somehow they’ve done it. Flowers in every conceivable shade of pink dominate the space. This is far beyond the simple wedding I’d have organized, but it’s taught me something. I must never underestimate the woman I’m about to marry. If she can achieve all this in a week, she can do anything.
As one o’clock approaches, I feel a twinge of anger that I’ll have to rein in. Since I last saw Olivia, I learned the asshole who was in her home the other day was more than the old friend she claimed he was. Dario Maroni worked for Joey Gallo, the man who passed photos of Olivia to Grigori Balogh. I suspect Maroni’s the man in the photos. My informants tell me heboasted about how he’d fucked the Volante princess. Either he’s lying or she is, because she all but told me she’s a virgin. My men are out looking for Maroni, but tonight I intend to discover the truth from my blushing bride.
“Get off your fucking phone,” I snap at Sev. My best man has been scrolling through messages for the last couple of minutes.
“Oh, sorry.” He’s not in the least bit apologetic, but he puts his phone back in his jacket pocket all the same. “Did you need me to explain what to do on your wedding night?”
“If I needed pointers, you’re the last person I would ask,mudak.” My friend is in no position to offer advice on how to handle a woman. He fucks like an animal, laying waste to the female population of whatever city he’s in. Shattered hearts litter his past. I plan to ruin Olivia for all others. A man like Sev would decimate her. “What was so important, anyway?”
