Page 8 of Betrayal and Vows

I raise my glass as another camera flashes, catching my good side—there’s always a “good side” when you're the daughter of a Bratva general and your engagement makes the cover of tabloids from Moscow to Milan.

"God, I love your dress," Kira yells over the thumping bass.

She's already two martinis in and shimmying like she doesn’t have a care in the world. "You look like sin wrapped in diamonds."

"Fitting," I say, smiling like I’m not dying inside. "I’m marrying the devil."

She pauses for a beat. Her smile wavers.

Then she shrugs. "At least he’s rich."

I laugh because it’s either that or cry. And tears smear mascara. I spent too much time on this face tonight to ruin it with emotion.

And I will not let anyone see me give into the fear. That’s what they want. It will give my future husband satisfaction. I’ve never been in his bed but I know he’s an evil man. I know he’s violent, and I will never know love or pleasure.

"Lena!"

My heart jumps. It’s my best friend, Anastasia. She floats into the VIP section in a beautiful navy silk dress, understated and elegant like always. A diamond glitters on her finger. She’s glowing.

That’s what happens when you have the love of a good man. A man that would walk through fire for her.

I’m so jealous and happy for her at the same time.

She used to be my sister in chaos. Now she’s a married woman with a life I envy more than I care to admit.

"You're glowing," I say, hugging her tightly. She smells like Chanel and safety.

"I’m tired," she murmurs in my ear. "But I couldn’t miss this. God knows when we’ll see each other again."

The words hit harder than I expect. I pull back, scanning her face.

"I—"

She shakes her head with a tight smile. "Let’s not ruin your night."

My night.

A flaming chariot ride to hell in six-inch heels. Can the path to hell really be lined with Beluga vodka, diamonds and designer handbags?

Yes. Yes, it can and I’ve seen the path. I stepped one little toe on the path and tried to turn away but my father practically shoved me back onto the path.

Her eyes soften. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

It’s a lie, and she knows it. Anastasia knows my future husband. Everyone does, but only Anastasia really understands.

"He won't hurt you," she says quietly. "If he tries anything?—"

"Anastasia, don’t." My voice comes out sharper than I intend. "I’m not stupid or naive. I’m not some innocent little lamb being led to slaughter. We all know what this is. Denying it solves nothing."

She flinches, but only just. “I know. I just wish…”

“I know,” I say softly. “Me too.”

I take a deep breath. I can’t be angry with her. She got a good man. I’m glad one of us did. In our world surrounded by Russian mobsters, the chances were never good. She got lucky. I didn’t.

And that’s that. Her husband texts her. She shows me the screen apologetically.