Throne of Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Throne Duet Book 1)
Throne of Power: Chapter 8

Today is my wedding day.

It might as well be my funeral.

I don’t know why it feels like something inside me is struggling for breath, smothering in nothingness and slowly dying. Maybe it’s been dead for a long time, but I’m only noticing it now.

During my entire life, I’ve never been the type who dreamed about fairy tales and weddings. I preferred stories about monsters and demons. I thought they were more realistic than the cheesy Prince Charming ones.

Reina believed in her white knight and her fairy tale. She secretly loved Asher since they were children, and those feelings only got stronger as they grew up. She painted her own fairy tale and didn’t stop until it finally came to its happy ending.

Well, the process wasn’t exactly fairytale-ish, but the result is what matters. They’ve been happily married for many years and even had little Gareth.

Me? I always thought that type of life was not meant for me.

But even with my lack of belief in such things, I never thought I would get married this way, like cattle for the best buyer.

I shake my head as I stare at my console mirror. I’m wearing a simple white dress that falls to my feet. Lace is buttoned to my neck in the back and the front and covers my arms.

My hair is gathered into a neat twist at the back of my head. My makeup is thick, as usual, but I opted for red lipstick, because the devil needs to look pretty to lure in her prey.

If it were up to me, I would’ve changed the color of the dress to black, but that would reflect badly on Granduncle and the brotherhood in general, so I smothered that urge and went with this look.

The face that greets me is calm, serene, almost like this is in fact my wedding day.

It isn’t. Today is the day I take the next step toward my goal.

There’s a knock on the door, and I clear my throat. “Come in.”

Sergei walks inside, his steps moderate as he tries not to put too much pressure on his stamina. His white hair is neat and well-styled, and he’s dressed in the tux he reserves for special occasions. I don’t know if I should be flattered or sad that he thinks this is a special occasion for me.

I stand up and kiss his knuckles. He places his other hand at the top of my hair, stroking gently before letting go. “Nikolai would’ve been proud of you.”

My throat closes at Dedushka’s name. Today is the worst occasion to mention him or how much I miss him or how much I wish he was standing by my side.

I bottle up my emotions and say, “If he were here, neither Anastasia nor I would have to be compromised.”

Sergei sighs, and the sound comes out a bit scratchy, like he replaces it difficult to breathe. “It would’ve eventually happened. Neither Nikolai nor I could protect you for life.”

“But you could at least protect Anastasia. You had her at forty—doesn’t she mean anything to you?”

“She means the world to me, but she was born into the brotherhood and she will follow the brotherhood’s rules.” He pauses. “As will you.”

“Yeah, yeah, because a woman can’t go so far.” I try to keep the mockery out of my voice.

“Who said she can’t?”

“You and everyone else here. That’s what I’ve been told since I was a little girl.”

“That’s because we wanted to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. People need protection from me.”

“They sure do, you troublemaker.” He smiles a little and a fit of coughing takes over him. It rises up in volume and intensity until he topples over. I rush to my console, snatch tissues, and place them in his hands. He coughs blood into them, the white color turning red.

My heart lodges in my throat as his fit continues.

“Ded…” I call him by the term I only ever used to address Dedushka. “Breathe, breathe…”

His coughing comes to an end, slowly but not elegantly. The tissues are soaked with blood as he waves a hand and throws them in the bin. He retrieves clean ones to wipe his mouth. When I try to help, he raises a hand, stopping me in place.

Even old and sick, Granduncle is still a Sokolov and the Pakhan. He doesn’t like anyone, including his family, to see his weakness.

“Are you okay?” I ask tentatively. “Should you see the doctor?”

“Doctors are useless.” He approaches me slowly, then places both hands on my shoulders, making me stare up at him. When he speaks, his voice is a bit breathy. “Those who say women can’t go far in this world are afraid of what the likes of you can do. That’s why you have to be careful and smart, because your enemies are more than you can count or see. Don’t look at this marriage as misery, look at it as an opportunity to stay in a position of power, even from the background. That’s the only way you can protect yourself and everyone you love.”

His words strike a deep chord inside me, not only because of his advice, but mainly because of the fact that he believes in me. He believes in what I’m capable of despite everything that’s thrown in my direction.

I know Granduncle wouldn’t dangle a ripe fruit in front of me. Not only would that put his position in danger and weaken him, it would also put me in a horrible spot. As it seems, I don’t like to replace my fruit easily. I prefer to hunt for it.

“Thank you, Ded.” I kiss his knuckles again, and he taps my head as a show of acceptance before he offers me his elbow.

I tap under my ample dress, making sure my gun is well strapped to my thigh.

“Ready?” he asks.

No, but I don’t say that, because I have to be ready. Pain, whether physical or emotional, is only a phase. That’s what Mom used to tell Reina and me.

“Ready.” I place my gloved hand in the crook of his arm and let him lead me out of my room.

The wedding is taking place in an orthodox church because…well, traditions, and then the reception will be held at the main brotherhood compound where we will live.

Kyle readily agreed to live with us instead of me having to move to Igor’s, which is fishy as hell. Usually, men are so eager to mark the women as their property, and that includes having a wife in his own home.

Kyle is being weird, but since I have no evidence to back up my suspicions, and would rather stay with Sergei and Ana, I’ve remained silent about it.

It’s been exactly a week since he returned from the unknown, and this whole time, all he’s done is insert himself back in the brotherhood as if he never left, as if he didn’t cut a wound open and never allowed it to heal.

Aside from that first day where he cornered me, we’ve only met twice, both times over Sergei’s breakfast table with the other leaders to talk about strategizing and the Irish threat.

Kyle hardly looked in my direction or acknowledged me, not even when I ganged up on him with Damien.

It’s not that I wanted him to, but we were to be married in such a short time. Couldn’t he, I don’t know, talk about it or something? Because if he were waiting for me to broach the subject, he’d be waiting for too long.

Sure, I could’ve delayed the wedding, but what’s the point of delaying the inevitable? Besides, Sergei wanted this to happen sooner rather than later because of the threat to all our lives.

The preparations were made for critical security measures. I wanted a small and unimportant event, but Sergei said that would be a disgrace to our family name.

He went all out and invited all the big heads from all our mafia, political, and business allies.

The air is suffocated by the endless number of guards who came to protect their bosses. Needless to say, our own men are checking everyone and everything with hawk eyes. Sergei made specific instructions that he wants everything to go perfectly today and that no mistakes are allowed.

Even Ruslan and Katia are standing diagonally to the aisle, half-camouflaged by the decorative flowers. I shake my head internally. As if anything can hide Ruslan’s frame.

Traditional classic Russian music plays as Sergei walks me down the aisle. The large space grows silent. Some women look back to stare at me. I recognize a few faces from the Camorra families, the Triads, the Yakuza, and even the Bratva’s business associates.

They didn’t come for me, though. They came for Sergei and the power he represents. Their presence means nothing to me. If Reina were here, it would be a different story. Maybe I would be less hesitant about what’s to come.

It’s for the best this way. At least she’s safe and I can protect her from afar. There was no way in hell I would bring my identical twin into the midst of all these dangerous people who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her in order to get to me.

The attendees’ faces soon become blurry as I focus ahead, my expression calm, serene even.

We pass by Kirill, who smirks, probably thinking I’m suffering right now. I ignore him, because even though that might be the case, Dedushka taught me to never show my pain to the outside world.

“If they think you’re strong, no one will dare to attack you.”

His words are my mantra and the reason why I’m able to do this. After all, no one can win if the war hasn’t started.

Damien sits beside Kirill since they’re the only two who are still single in the elite group, aside from Vlad. Damien stares at me without expression, now silent, after he openly expressed that he doesn’t think this marriage is a good idea. His jacket is wrinkled over his untucked shirt, as if he’s just rolled out of bed to be here.

Igor, Mikhail, and Adrian sit with them, too. The first two are accompanied by their wives while their sons sit behind them, but Adrian’s is absent. Vlad is backstage since he’s responsible for the security of the event.

Anastasia settles beside Adrian, on the far right, smiling joyfully at me. I told her I wanted this, and because she believes everything I say, she actually thinks this is a happy event.

That makes one of us.

At least I have Ana here, since Reina was out.

The music comes to a halt as I stand at the altar in front of the priest. He’s dressed in traditional Russian religious clothes with a hat that has a golden cross on top.

Murmurs break out in the crowd when it’s clear that the groom isn’t here yet. We’re supposed to come out at the same time because I said I didn’t like the whole bit of him waiting for me.

My lips tremble and a wave of different emotions hit me all at once: rage, hatred, betrayal, and—most of all—sadness.

He can’t possibly wound my pride for the second time in a row.

This can’t be happening.

And yet, as I stare at the crowd, the reality creeps in on me slowly and without notice.

Ruslan meets my eyes and shakes his head. He was the one who told me he saw Kyle around earlier.

Then where the hell is he now?

As Kirill snickers and Damien smiles, the realization of what’s currently happening slaps me straight in the face.

Kyle abandoned me. Again.

Only this time, he’s done it at the altar and in front of the world.