Page 13 of Twisted Fate
It’s never worked out well.
I know the look on his face now. It’s the one he shows me when he wants me to remember that he saved me, that I owe him everything. That he’s the only family I have.
"I know this is different from your usual missions," he says gently. "Marriage is... intimate. Personal. More so than a simple seduction. But remember why you're doing this, Valentina. Remember what's waiting for you at the end."
I nod tightly. His words threaten to make my reservations come back to the surface, and I fight to keep them buried. I have no desire to sit here and talk to Kane about how, if I really think about it, this feels like I’m giving some piece of myself away. Like I’m giving Konstantin the one thing I might have wanted to save for someone else.
I’ve made plenty of sacrifices for my revenge. What’s one more?“I’m aware.”
“This is the last job.” He looks at me appraisingly. “I’ll keep my word, Valentina.”
“I know you will.”Or I’ll kill you myself.The thought is surprising, almost shocking. In all my years here, I’ve never once had a violent thought toward Kane. But if he were to betray me…
I know he wouldn’t think twice about it, if the roles were reversed. In our world, betrayal is the ultimate sin. My loyalty to Kane has to outstrip every other promise I make, every vow Imight say, every bond I might have. There can be no one more important to me than him.
A part of me is afraid that won’t change, even after I’m no longer killing for him.
"I'll do what needs to be done," I say, standing. "Just like I always do."
Kane’s smile turns warm and approving. "I know you will. You've never failed me yet."
His praise should please me, but as with the first meeting after I came home last, when he gave me this mission, I feel a chill of unease work its way down my spine. He stands, pushing back his chair as he crosses the room toward me, and I go very still, as if trying not to attract the attention of a particularly venomous snake.
The moments when he’s gentle always make me feel uneasy. I’m used to demands, to him pushing me, insisting on more, for me to be better, faster, stronger. Tenderness from Kane is rare, and it always feels as loaded as a gun.
“Get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing one hand to the side of my face, his blunt fingers pushing a stray piece of hair away from my forehead. His touch is as startling as his gentle tone—he’s rarely touched me since I was a child, and not very often then. “You want to be as beautiful as possible for your wedding day.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. A lump rises into my throat, and a memory flashes into my head—my father, bleeding out on the carpet of our small Miami home, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, a wire dug into the flesh of his neck.
My father, who should be the one touching my face right now, talking to me about my wedding day… to some other man, one that I would actually love.
The sudden wave of emotion threatens to make a mist of tears rise in my eyes, and I blink it away, stepping back from Kane’s touch with a smile.
“You’re right. I’m tired,” I agree. “I’m going to go lie down. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nods, retreating to his desk. He steeples his fingers, watching me with a measured expression. “Good night, then, Valentina.”
I take a breath, breathing in the scent of leather and whiskey and ink, and manage to keep the smile on my lips. “Good night, Kane.”
—
My wedding daydawns bright and hot and beautiful, the perfect picture of what every woman would want. The air is humid and thick as we head to the ceremony in Kane’s Mercedes town car, making me glad I chose the light silk gown and not something heavier and more embellished. I hold my bouquet in my lap—a spray of pink and white and blue that the florist put together with very little input from me—and look down at my bare left hand. Konstantin didn’t bother with an engagement ring, and I appreciate his practicality, although it makes me worried that he’s not as enamored of me as I’d like him to be. But then again, we’ve only seen each other once since the dinner, to sign the betrothal contract.
That was done at the St. Vladimir Russian Orthodox Church, the same place where we’ll be married today. It was witnessed by his father and his father’s second, Damien, and was all very formal—but I didn’t fail to see the gleam of heat in Konstantin’s eyes when he caught sight of me.
I’d dressed strategically, of course—modest enough for the church setting, in a green silk gown that dusted my knees with the ruffled hem—but I made sure to put seduction in my eyes, in my movements, in the casual way I brushed Konstantin’s arm or hand with my own. I knew he was affected by it—he’d have had to be dead not to be. But he did his best to hide it, avoiding touching me whenever possible. It could have just been out of propriety, with his father there, but I think it was something else.
Konstantin doesn’twantto desire me. His defenses are more than just physical—they’re psychological and emotional too, things that Kane didn’t and couldn’t have prepared me for. But I’ll find a way, regardless. All men have their weaknesses, and Konstantin won’t be able to withstand me for long.
The church is a riot of white roses and greenery, the pews filled with Miami's criminal elite—Bratva members in tailored suits, their wives dripping in diamonds, representatives from the Italian and Cuban syndicates, politicians and lawyers who owe their careers to Victor Abramov's influence and money. I stand at the back, my arm linked with Kane's, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I’m getting married. I’m going to marry Konstantin Abramov, and it’s all a lie.
I’ll never have this day again—not for the first time.
A mist of tears threatens to spring to my eyes, and I blink them away.
"Nervous?" Kane murmurs, patting my hand.
