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There’s a beat of silence when Kato announces me, when I lift my head to reveal my face, when he says my name.

Then voices begin to raise, one louder than the next. I can only see so far into the crowd and those who aren’t familiar with the inner workings of the syndicates look confused as to the uproar.

Actually, they look a little nervous and begin to back away, making their way to their tables or even moving to stand closer to the exits.

The tension and anxiety in the room is so fucking thick I can feel it up here like a tidal wave crashing into me over and over again.

Brix is standing so close I can feel his body heat. Kato has an arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his side. Madd stands at my back, and I don’t have to turn my head to know he’s glaring out into the crowd, daring anyone to make a move with his eyes.

It takes me a second, but I swear it feels like the crowd parts and my gaze falls directly on my father.

His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. My mother stands beside him…looking bored, or maybe she’s already drunk. Either way, she doesn’t look the least bit phased by my presence, and I’m right back to wondering what she was told about my absence and whether she gave a single flying fuck.

Staring directly at my father, I fight the burning at the backs of my eyes. I don’t know whether it’s the anxiety of the moment, the absolute satisfaction of seeing a mixture of shock and horror on his face, or the realization I’m not supposed to be standing here because of him, because the man who fathered me ordered my fucking execution.

Viktor is somewhere safe, hopefully nowhere near the building and on his way to some kind of safe house. It’s probably better if he heads out of state the way he ordered for me. My father’s reach – the reach of the Bratva – is far.

Once the moment passes, Dima Sidorov has the balls to move toward the stage. Kato’s men form a line along the front of the stage, stopping my father from getting any closer until Kato says so…untilIsay so.

Something swells in my chest, and I’m not sure whether it’s rage or satisfaction. Either way, I raise my chin, look down my nose at my father…and fucking smirk.

That’s right. I smirk at him. I want him to know he has zero power over me. I’m reveling in the fact he looks shocked I’m alive and appalled that I’m marrying Kato.

And when his eyes dip to the very obvious tattoo of my men’s initials, that smirk turns into a full-blown grin.

He tried to destroy the marks they left on me, so they found a way to make it more permanent and overly obvious. I might just wear tube tops and low-cut shirts from here on out so anyone who approaches will see exactly who I belong to.

“We need to get her out of here,” Madd mutters as the chatter grows louder and a few people begin to flee the room in a panic, as though they expect people to start pulling guns free and shooting off rounds.

I mean, not exactly out of the question, but I highly doubt anyone here wants to end up with one of the photographers or even those who are live streaming the event to catch them in the act.

If anyone decides to make an attempt on me or my men’s lives, they’ll have to be sneaky about it, and that doesn’t include taking a shot at us while there’s a literal spotlight shining on us.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, turning and threading my fingers through Brix’s, then Kato’s. If I had a third arm, I would do the same with Maddox, too. Let my father and every other person in this room see I have three men I love, three men who love me, who would burn the world to ash for me.

Brixton bends at the waist and looks directly into my eyes. “You ready?” he asks softly.

“I’m so fucking ready,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

It feels as if the moment my eyes landed on my father, the trembles stopped rattling my bones and the fear and anxiety that had built completely vanished. In their place is determination. In their place is hate and rage and the need for fucking revenge.

Kato’s eyes are hard as he sends a silent warning to his guards as Brix and Madd lead me from the stage. Huge Greek men dressed in expensive tailored suits immediately surround us and attempt to usher me back to the room where I waited.

Oh, but I have shit to do and say. I have two people specifically I want to confront.

My father stands in place, his brows furrowed, a scowl making the lines in his face appear deeper, though that could very well be from age. It looks as though the time since I last saw him wasn’t kind.

Mom doesn’t look much better. Her skin looks bad, and she’s wearing entirely too much makeup. She also looks as though she’s had a few glasses of wine since arriving.

“Hi,” I say with a smirk as I approach.

“What the fuck are you doing with these –”

“I suggest you watch the way you speak to my fiancée,” Kato warns.

Yeah, there are other members of the Bratva here, including Flora’s father, the Pakhan. But depending on what, exactly, my father told everyone, there’s a good chance he’ll be on his own.

Or this could turn into a shootout a’ la OK Corral. Only time will tell, I guess.