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Loosening my hold on her, I spin her to my right, and catch her around her middle. “Move your hips, remember?”
“I remember,” she mutters.
“Good.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling. “Like riding a horse.”
God, her blush is delicious. Emily narrows her eyes, determined not to fall behind me as the steps get quicker. Others join us on the dance floor. But I don’t care about them.
The only thing that matters is Emily in my arms.
Our bodies sync up as she gets into the rhythm. Despite what she said, she’s gotten far better than last time.
“You seem pretty nimble to me,” I say.
“Maybe because I don’t want you to show me up at our wedding.”
“Our wedding?” I repeat, lifting an eyebrow.
She darts her eyes to the floor. Suddenly she catches my hands, interlocking our fingers. With a fierce glare that makes her blue eyes shimmer, she quickens her steps. Her legs weave, knees bending, and I’m hypnotized.
She’s giving this her all, because she’s trying to imprint this memory in her head.
How will she react when I tell her that thisisn’tthe end?
Will she hate me for it? Will she call me unfair?
My heart swells the longer we dance.She’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met. Everything is a game to her, and she always wants to win.Determined … argumentative … challenging … and ready to frustrate me at every turn.
I’m intrigued. Hopelessly drawn to her.
Enamored, even.
Strong people are the only ones who can lead. No one else has the courage to make the choices that matter. Hard choices … Fuck, no. Impossible ones.
Emily can do it.
She understands what it means to lead the bratva, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
She’s exactly who I want for my future.
The music becomes ear-splitting, hundreds ofpops,like someone is slapping the shaker. Somewhere, a glass shatters.
Only when someone screams do I realize that it’s no longer the beat of the music.
It’s gunfire.
“What’s happening?”Emily yells.
Whipping around with her still wrapped in my arms, I spot multiple figures rushing toward the tents. Some stop, crouching, before aiming their guns and firing again. With the sun falling low behind the sea, the flashes from the muzzles are bright as shooting stars.
“It’s the fucking Ferrata!” Sima roars, leaping to my side.
He already has his pistol drawn. He’s been carrying it since we got dressed in our suits for the wedding. Taking aim, he fires off a few quick shots.
“Get out of here, Kostya! We’ll hold them off!”
Emily shakes in my arms. “What’s happening?”
Tucking Emily tightly against me, I check for the nearest way out. The attendees are in a panic, fleeing in every direction and knocking over tables of expensive glassware.
