Page 29 of Lord of the Underworld

Vadim's out of the car and around to my side in moments, making the driver who was about to open my door step back hastily. He reaches his hand in to help me out and I stare at it. Long fingers.. A black wedding ring.

I feel like I'm about to dive into a dark sea with no idea what's swimming underneath me.

With a deep breath, I take his hand.

The reception is meant to be an extremely abbreviated version of the usual Bratva Society spectacle. Even so, the ballroom at The Carlton is bulging with guests. White dogwood trees, three feet high, are blooming in pots on each table as the centerpiece, with flowers cascading down the trunk and gathering around the base. Every flower is stark white or the palest shade of pink and enormous crystal candelabras line the ballroom, glowing with hundreds of candles.

"Do you have a fire escape route planned along with all your other tactical retreats?" I whisper to Vadim.

He doesn't reply, though his hand slides around my waist and squeezes me reassuringly, and it's better than anything he could have said.

Our parents join us in a private alcove as the room begins to fill with guests. "How are you doing?" Mariya whispers, squeezing my hand. "That was quite a getaway."

"Blame your son," I murmur back.

"You missed the peacocks," she says with a completely solemn expression.

Half a cackle manages to escape my lips and I manage to swallow the rest before Mr. Maurice catches me in an undignified moment.

Konstantin joins us, bringing a couple with him and my breath catches in my throat.

Holy Mother of God it's him.

I see now that aside from his hair color, Vadim looks exactly like a younger version of his grandfather, the legendary Angel of Death, Alexi Turgenev. As guests begin to see him, they fall silent, eyes wide. As tall as his grandson, Alexi's gaze is able to both sweep the crowd and ignore their stares from a lofty height.

"Mother and Father, I'm sorry that this is the first opportunity we've had to introduce you to our beautiful daughter-in-law," Konstantin says. "Oksana Vasilieva Turgeneva, my parents, Alexi and Lucya Turgenev."

"It is an honor, Mem and Ser," I manage a shaky greeting and sink into a curtsey before I can stop myself.

Oh, kill me now.

There's a low, raspy chuckle and Vadim’s big hand slips under my elbow, helping me rise.

"Hello, Nevestka," Alexi rumbles. "Welcome to our family." It feels like freezing air pours off him in waves and I swear the candles around us flicker.

"A pleasure to meet you, my dear," Lucya says warmly. She's as arresting as her husband, though thankfully not remotely as terrifying. She has to be close to seventy and looks maybe fifty with her glittering green eyes and dark hair. "I must tell you that the advantage of having both my husband and yours here means that the receiving line will be mercifully quick."

Casting a quick glance back over the crowd forming behind us, I give her a hugely relieved smile. "Thank you, Lucya Turgeneva, this was my mother's vision of an abbreviated reception."

"Please, call me babushka muzha. The Six Families would all flock to see this union, no matter where on the globe they might have been," she says with a cynical little smile. "I know your mother will look after you," she smiles warmly at Mother, who beams back. "And your… Father." He's throwing back a glass of vodka handed to him by an expressionless Nikolai. Her cynical smile stays intact. "At any rate, should you need rescuing from any of these gossipy creatures, nod to Mariya or me, all right?"

"You are so kind," I say, sagging a little in relief.

A waiter steps up quietly with a glass of ice water on a tray. Vadim takes it and hands it to me with another ghost of a smile.

"Thank you," I say, gulping it down gratefully. And then, the onslaught begins.

It's clear Mother and Father are taking the brunt of the questions and comments, because conversation seems to die down as they reach Konstantin and Mariya and evaporate by the time they reach Vadim and me.

No one attempts to shake his hand and most greetings are met with a nod. While he seems fine with me greeting female guests with the traditional three-cheek kiss, when the first man attempts it, we can both hear a low growl rattling through his chest. Eyes wide, the guest steps away.

"That was the U.S. Ambassador to Russia, you know," I tell him.

Another haughty quirk of his eyebrow.

"Hello, my dear." Anka's father, Viktor Volkov, gently takes my hand. "Congratulations." He gives me a conspiratorial smile. "You know the odds are running seventy/thirty."

"For?" I like Viktor, I know he adores his daughter and he's always made me feel welcome at their house.