I follow her field of vision, and that’s when I see what she does. Blood is smeared on the side of my ring finger. It’s not dried either. Fuck. It must’ve been from when I physically subdued some of the guards before I went to the building’s roof. I was careful enough to not stab anyone in order to stay clean, so how did the blood end up here?

Rai raises a questioning gaze, but I grab her hand and slide my ring all the way on.

“By the power granted to me by the church, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says. “You may kiss the bride.”

Rai attempts to give me her cheek, but I wrap an arm around her waist and slam my lips to hers. She protests at first, but the moment I move my mouth against her own, she remains as still as a board.

I dart my tongue out and lick her upper lip, then feast on her lower one. She tastes like addiction and bad decisions, and yet I would still come back for a hit every day.

Rai places a hand on my chest, letting out a protest, but I use the chance to plunge my tongue inside her mouth. Her arguments turn into a moan when I twirl my tongue against hers.

Her eyes widen at the sounds coming from her, and I wish I could freeze this moment in time so I could revisit it every day.

Who knew we would have our first kiss here?

I don’t release her, not even when murmurs break out among the crowd, or when the priest keeps clearing his throat like he has a bad cough.

Fuck them.

The only person who matters in this room is in my arms, hot, bothered, and fucking mine. Now, I need to keep my promise about the consummation part.

The church’s glass breaks and screams fill the space.

I freeze for a fraction of a second.

Well, fuck.

I was too lost in my new bride and I momentarily forgot about the mission. That’s a first.

I begrudgingly release Rai’s lips and grab her arm, pulling her behind me as everyone brings out their weapons.

Let the chaos begin.

10

Rai

Screams fill the air.

Soon after, an influx of different languages mix and rise in volume until almost none of them are intelligible.

Women squeal as leaders bark orders at their guards. Guns rise high in the air, and the sound of outside gunshots gets everyone’s attention.

It takes a second for the rest of the Vory and me to realize who could be behind this.

The Irish.

Everyone is taking refuge, including the crime family leaders and their companions.

Kyle is dragging me toward where the priest has disappeared to. I twist my hand free from his, lift my dress, and run in the direction of Sergei and Anastasia. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving my family to die while I save my own neck.

Ruslan and Katia are by my side in a second, their expressions alert and their guns in hand.

I find Granduncle covering Anastasia while Igor, Mikhail, and Kirill surround them in a circle, their guns held taut in their arms. They at least have the loyalty to protect the boss.

Damien is running straight outside, pushing people out of his way and checking his gun’s magazine on the way. His men follow after him like a storm ready to erupt.

Adrian, on the other hand, is standing with the Italians. His gun, although drawn, is hanging limply by his side as if he knows he won’t get the chance to use it.

I’m about to yell at him for not coming to protect Sergei, but the view of blood stops me. Lazlo, the leader of the Lucianos and one of the most important heads of the Camorra, has been shot.

I don’t have time to focus on that as I grab Sergei by the shoulder. Anastasia gets to her feet as well, expression fearful and skin pale, but she’s not crying like she used to do when we were young.

“Come on,” I urge. “Let’s get you out of here, Ded.”

“Like fuck you’re taking him away,” Mikhail snarls in my face, looking ready to direct his weapon at me.

“The outside isn’t safe yet,” Igor says, agreeing. “We can’t get the boss out before Damien or Vladimir return.”

“I’m not taking him away.” I motion to where the priest went. “Old churches have hiding places.” I throw a glance behind me, thinking Kyle disappeared, but a deep part of me, an irrational one, holds on to the hope that he didn’t.

“They do.” His voice comes swift and calm from beside me as he checks his gun. “Follow me.”

Mikhail grunts but complies when our guards and we form a circle around Sergei, Anastasia, and Mikhail’s and Igor’s wives, each person facing a different angle as we move in unity toward the hideout.

Kyle attempts to push me inside, but I lift my dress, retrieve my gun from the holster attached to my thigh, and jut my chin at him. He shakes his head but quits trying to push me.

We take a few turns, following his lead, and then descend old, narrow stairs that only accommodate two people at a time. The commotion from outside slowly withers away as we go down slowly.

When we reach a secluded room in the basement, Sergei is panting. His face has paled, and I know it’s because he’s holding in his cough. If he has a fit and blood comes out in front of the others, it’ll be bad.

We find the priest praying silently in a corner. I help sit Sergei down in a chair beside him without making it so noticeable. Anastasia joins him, holding on to his arm like it’s a lifeline.

Mikhail’s wife is trembling noticeably. Igor’s wife, Stella, however, seems completely in control of the situation. She stands beside her and holds her hand, whispering what I assume are soothing words. Stella has always seemed like a tough cookie who, although she shouldn’t belong in the Bratva world, has managed to fully adapt to Igor’s lifestyle.

Her husband is talking to his guards in clipped Russian, but I catch the brief moments he steals glances at her, as if making sure she’s safe and sound. Stella nods discreetly at him, and even though no words are spoken, it’s like a whole chain of communication has just happened between them.

It’s admirable to witness their connection firsthand. Dedushka always said Igor was the luckiest in his generation, but now I fully understand what that means. Dedushka, Sergei, and many others lost their wives, whether to illness or assassination, but Igor protected his with his life.

The sound of gunshots echoes above us, getting closer by the second, as if coming from inside the church.

“Stay here,” Kyle says. “Kirill and I will go see what’s going on.”

They’re not one step toward the door when they notice me joining them. Aleksander remains by his boss’s side, expression alert.

Kyle stops in his tracks and faces me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going too.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. The bastards don’t get to shoot at my family at my own wedding and expect me to stay in hiding.”

“I will take care of it,” he mutters.

“It’ll be easier if I’m around.”

“Fuck, Rai.” He grabs my shoulder and whispers against my ear, “You’re in your damn wedding dress.”

I lift it up and tie it so it’s no longer skimming the floor. “I can run in a dress.”

“Rai…” The warning in his tone doesn’t escape me, but I keep holding eye contact, refusing to budge.