Page 18 of Bound Vows (Empire City Syndicate #3)
Maya
Standing in the designated bridal suite of the Volkov estate while three stylists fuss over my wedding dress feels like preparing for my execution, except executioners usually have the decency to make it quick.
“The train needs to be perfect,” Katarina declares as she adjusts the cathedral-length silk for the dozenth time. “Every photographer will capture this moment, and the images will be sent to families across the country.”
“How thoughtful. Nothing says ‘romantic wedding’ like ensuring my subjugation is properly documented.” I watch her reflection in the full-length mirror and note how her jaw ticks at my sarcasm. “Tell me, Katarina, does it hurt to plan your dead sister’s husband’s second wedding?”
“My personal feelings are irrelevant to today’s success,” she replies while smoothing invisible wrinkles from the ivory silk. “This ceremony represents a political alliance that will reshape organized crime for decades.”
“Such a lovely way to describe kidnapping and forced marriage.” I adjust the bodice of the dress, which fits like it was designed specifically for me. It probably was, considering Andrei’s attention to detail. “I suppose ‘hostage bride’ didn’t sound as dignified on the wedding announcements.”
The dress itself is stunning—ivory silk that flows like liquid moonlight, with delicate beadwork that catches the afternoon sun streaming through the estate’s windows.
The off-shoulder design showcases my collarbones while the fitted bodice emphasizes my waist before flowing into a full skirt that requires three people to manage.
A family heirloom tiara that probably belonged to Andrei’s mother completes the ensemble, transforming me into the perfect image of a Russian princess.
“You look beautiful,” one of the stylists offers as she applies the final touches to my makeup. “Like a fairytale bride.”
“Thank you. Though this particular fairytale involves significantly more bloodshed than the Disney versions.” I study my reflection and barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The Maya Mastroni who killed three men in a restaurant not so long ago has been replaced by someone who looks like she belongs in a museum painting.
“Is the groom ready to claim his prize?”
“Mr. Volkov is greeting guests in the garden,” Katarina informs me before checking her watch. “Representatives from fourteen families have already arrived, including your brother and Vincent Russo.”
My stomach drops to my stilettos at the mention of Max’s arrival. Seeing him at this ceremony will either provide comfort or make everything exponentially worse, depending on what he’s planning. “How does my brother seem?”
“It’s difficult to say. He’s positioned himself near the exit with clear sightlines to the altar.
Vincent has kept his hand near his jacket pocket since he arrived, though our security has already identified and noted every weapon on the property.
We asked for none, but we understand that your brothers will expect…
certain privileges. We’re willing to abide so long as they keep them holstered. ”
I take a steadying breath while the stylists make final adjustments to my veil. “Anything else I should know about the guest list?”
“Frankie Benedetti brought his entire family, including the grandchildren you charmed at dinner. I’m sure they won’t recognize you outside of your disguise.
The Torrino organization sent its new leadership after the recent…
restructuring. Chicago and Philadelphia families are represented, along with several Russian organizations that have pledged loyalty to your husband. ”
The way she says “your husband” makes my skin crawl, but I swallow it down. Today requires the performance of my life, and showing weakness now could endanger everyone I care about.
I stand and let the stylists arrange my train. “Magnificent. A gathering of killers and criminals to witness my matrimonial sacrifice. Shall we proceed to the slaughter?”
“The ceremony,” Katarina corrects icily. “This is your wedding day, Maya. Try to look happy.”
“I’ll try to contain my overwhelming joy.”
The walk from the bridal suite to the estate’s formal gardens feels like a funeral march, though the setting is undeniably beautiful.
White roses and lilies create elegant arrangements throughout the area, and string lights suspended between ancient oak trees provide romantic ambiance that would be perfect if this were a love story instead of a criminal power grab.
Two hundred guests rise as the processional music begins, and I catch sight of faces I recognize from surveillance photos and other gatherings. These are the most dangerous people in organized crime, and they’re all here to witness my transformation from Mastroni princess to Volkov bride.
Max stands near the back with Vincent at his side, and the rage in my brother’s eyes fills my chest with dread. My brother-in-law looks equally dangerous, though he maintains better control over his emotions.
“Beautiful ceremony,” Vincent comments as I pass their row, though he makes no effort to smile.
“Thank you for coming,” I reply, maintaining my forward momentum. “Your presence means everything.”
Max says nothing, but his stare burns into my back as I continue toward the altar where Andrei waits in a black tuxedo that makes him look like a prince from some dark fairytale.
Father Bianchi stands beside him with a leather-bound Bible, ready to perform the ceremony that will legally bind me to my captor.
“You look stunning, Piccola,” Andrei breathes as I take my place beside him. “Though I can see the murder in your eyes behind that beautiful smile.”
“Just practicing for the honeymoon,” I reply sweetly while Father Bianchi begins the traditional ceremony.
The priest’s voice carries across the garden as he speaks about love, commitment, and the sacred nature of marriage. Every word feels like mockery, but I keep up the performance while internally counting the exits and assessing which guests might be sympathetic to my situation.
“Do you, Andrei Volkov, take Maya Mastroni to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?”
“I do.” Andrei’s voice carries conviction as he slides a platinum wedding band onto my finger. The ring is beautiful and looks as though it costs a fortune, but it feels like a shackle.
“Do you, Maya Mastroni, take Andrei Volkov to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, until death do you part?”
I look into Andrei’s eyes and see satisfaction blending with a backend affection I catch there every so often. The man I should hate but also can’t seem to stop wanting smirks at me, waiting for my response.
“I do,” I choke out before slipping his wedding ring into place.
“By the power vested in me by God and the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Father Bianchi closes his Bible and smiles at us. “You may kiss the bride.”
Andrei frames my face with his hands and kisses me with surprising gentleness, though the gesture is as much about claiming ownership as expressing sentiment. When we break apart, applause erupts from the assembled guests who’ve just witnessed the political marriage of the century.
“Mrs. Volkov,” Andrei muses against my ear, and his voice carries a possessive edge that makes my stomach flutter despite my resentment.
“Mr. Volkov,” I reply, maintaining my smile for the photographers who capture every moment. “I hope you’re prepared for everything that comes with being my husband.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
As we turn to face our guests, I catch Max’s eye across the garden and see him nod once in what might be approval or acknowledgment.
Whatever he’s planning, my brother has just watched his sister marry the enemy without interfering, which means either he’s accepted defeat or he’s preparing something that requires me to be legally bound to Andrei first.
The receiving line forms quickly as family representatives approach to offer congratulations and assess the new power dynamic this marriage has created.
Frankie Benedetti kisses my cheek and whispers something about family loyalty, while the Torrino heir makes vague comments about future cooperation.
“Congratulations, Maya,” Max manages when he reaches us, but I can make out the fury underneath. “You make a beautiful bride.”
I blink back tears as I say, “Thank you for coming, Max. It means everything to have family here. I hope you’ll stay for the reception.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Max turns to Andrei and extends his hand. “Congratulations, Volkov. You’ve married into a family that takes loyalty very seriously.”
“As has Maya,” Andrei replies as he accepts the handshake. “I look forward to working with the Mastroni organization in our new capacity as family.”
Max grunts and replies, “I’m sure you do. Though family relationships can be… complicated.”
Vincent approaches next and offers his congratulations, though his hand doesn’t move far from his jacket pocket. “Beautiful ceremony, Maya.”
“Thank you, Vincent.” I lean in to kiss his cheek and whisper, “Be careful.”
“Always am. Congratulations, Volkov. Maya’s a remarkable woman.”
“She is indeed,” Andrei agrees. “I consider myself fortunate to have won her hand.”
The rest of the receiving line runs together as family after family offers congratulations that feel more like condolences. By the time we’ve greeted everyone, my face hurts from smiling, and my feet ache from standing in heels designed more for appearance than comfort.
“Ready for the reception, Mrs. Volkov?” Andrei offers his arm.
“As ready as one can be for celebrating one’s captivity,” I reply while accepting his escort. “Though I suppose calling it captivity is inaccurate now that it’s legal.”
He tilts his head and chuckles. “Now it’s marriage, which is a different kind of captivity. Though I intend to make it as pleasant as possible.”
As we walk toward the reception tent, I catch my reflection in the estate’s windows and see a woman who looks like she belongs in this world of violence and luxury. Mrs. Andrei Volkov, wife of one of the most dangerous men in the Bravata, legitimate partner in an empire built on blood and fear.
Maya Mastroni died the moment I said, “I do,” but whoever takes her place will not be the submissive little wife everyone expects. This marriage might be legal now, but it’s still a strategic move rather than surrender, regardless of how my traitorous body responds to my new husband’s touch.