Page 13 of Brutal Vows

“We’ll meet again, Papa,” I choke, not getting a response. “Give Mama a hug from me when you get to the other side.”

Tears are streaming as I rush to my room, the knot in my throat suffocating me. Honestly, if I give in to the luxury of letting go of every bottled-up emotion, I’ll cry for days. Drinking numbed me enough to get through the initial shock of Ivan detaining me, but alcohol is never a solution. Not when I have to be sober when I get back to Russia, all my wits with me.

Once in my room, I cave in, leaning against the door, taking ragged breaths until my sobs subside. I force my focus to what I need to do next. Pack my few things. Help Gabriella get ready. Do her hair and make-up. She’s the pure virgin who deserves the symbolic white dress. I’m the one leaving this house in mourning.

I shoot a glance at the elegant ballroom-style gown Gabriella convinced me to get for the wedding. It’s dreamy with layers upon layer of white chiffon and lace, a cinched waist with a corset and princess-line bodice, but I’m not feeling it. This isn’t the dress a broken-hearted bride who rebels against an arranged marriage should wear. No, I have the perfect showstopper to match my dark and joyless mood.

Vera Wang. Worn once during my final exam at Juilliard, which I played in an auditorium, empty except for the jury, who I had very little eye contact with. My bodyguard waited in the wing, freedom, as always, only an illusion.

I’m a bird who has known many cages. Let’s hope the next one is easy to work with and even easier to escape.

When I walk out of my suite with Gabriella two hours later, Ivan is waiting for us in the foyer. He meets my gaze and clocks what I’m wearing, and weirdly, relief seems to flash in his eyes. He thinks I’m still raising a stink, set against this arranged marriage. Good. Let him keep thinking exactly that: the less my brother suspects, the better. He’ll be murderous once I give Luca Scalera the slip, and for half a minute, my heart tumbles around in my chest. Gabriella doesn’t deserve my deceit, but she will understand why I’m doing what I’m doing and forgive me.

Then Ivan’s gaze jumps to his bride where she’s following behind me, and the look in his eyes softens so much, it’s almost painful for my disillusioned heart. The tenderness in his gaze screams he has feelings for her, and they will only grow deeper. Ivan will never hurt her, irrespective of what Luca Scalera or Il Consiglio do to me, or if I escape and disappear forever. No, his vengeance would be with the Scalera men, and Gabriella, sweetheart that she is, will stop him from doing his worst to her brothers.

It’s all going to be okay…except, I’m not free yet. I take a deep breath as the far-off sounds of rotors come closer. Wait, what?

“There’s a helicopter?” I ask, equally surprised and annoyed. This dress is not helicopter-friendly, unlike Gabriella’s gown that allows her to walk with ease and clamber around. “Can’t stick to a plan, can you, Ivan?” I thought we were going in a vehicle convoy to the venue.

“Nope. And you know why.”

He’s referencing the past year’s coup. We’re still vulnerable. The house will forever be marred with battle scars, but the worst is the people I always took for granted who are just gone.

I say nothing, but curse under my breath. Ivan is doing his best to secure our precarious position. His sole focus is on his bride as he leads her outside to the massive patch of lawn that’s always served as a helipad.

Yuri has the girls, and they are too cute for words, bubbling with excitement over their pink daisy bouquets and white princess dresses. God knows, they will be the ones to break me—another reason why I have to get out. Ivan has everything with his daughters that I can’t have. Living like this with them, day to day, has been a whip to my back and salt rubbed into the gashes.

I’m forced to hitch up my dress several inches to tackle the high step into the helicopter. At least it’s a spacious one, and Gabriella won’t drown in her voluminous skirts. The girls are excited, and I reach over to help settle Irisha as Yuri straps Katya in.

Then I block the world out with my headset. I need peace, quiet, and to already know where I am a year from now. I wish I could be sure that everything will work out. That we’re all going to be fine and this wasn’t, in retrospect, another massive mistake. Lately I’ve been piling those up like dirty laundry.

I stare out of the window, ignoring the people who have always been closest to me, and look beyond to the ocean and the beauty of this sunshine day. No bride could have asked for better weather. It’s even warm enough to get away with this dress, as long as I’m not outside for too long.

Twenty minutes later, the estate Ivan rented for the day comes into view as the pilot descends. I groan. We could have had the wedding at home, as this mansion has the exact same vibes as the Petrov compound.

The line of vehicles parked along a quiet side street tells a different story: this isn’t normal. I bet it’s Il Consiglio’s security. Little ants in black suits checking out that we aren’t coming out with guns blazing. There’s been enough of that this past year. The Petrovs only want peace.

Once we’ve landed, Yuri helps me and the girls out, and Ivan takes Gabriella gently by the elbow. We make our way to the main house, a massive stone and glass structure with views over the ocean, where I wait with Gabi in the kitchen.

There’s a fruit platter, a cheese board with crackers, juice boxes, and a bottle of vodka. Damn Ivan. He arranged this for us. Without hesitation, I punch the straws through the boxes for the girls, then pour us each a glass from the bottle as Gabriella helps them get seated on the barstools. They are nibbling away as I push the vodka in her direction.

“Here. It will help.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. It goes to my head so fast, I’ll slur.”

What a good little Catholic, so serious about her vows and life in general. To think she took me to task about drinking too much, telling me I needed to be fit to run when the time was right, because she was used to running. Oh, yes, this one has more than one big secret. I tilt the drink to my lips, but instead of downing it, I take a tentative sip.

From the front of the house, voices sound, and we both freeze. Ivan’s, and then some other men. Strangers. The front door shuts.

Gabriella reaches for me. “Listen,” she whispers. “That’s Matteo talking…”

Saying something about this whole situation being unorthodox.

Ivan responds, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“…a word…Gabriella first…” Matteo’s voice sounds, hard to hear. “…track down.”

Her gaze locks with mine. “They’re worried about me,” she whispers. “I better show them I’m fine⁠—”