Page 7 of Bound Vows (Empire City Syndicate #3)

Maya

Expensive vodka and territorial smiles make for interesting introductions when you're already having the worst week of your life.

I stand in Andrei’s pristine white living room, eyeing the woman who just appeared with a smile that could freeze vodka.

She’s beautiful in that ice-princess way that Russian women seem to perfect—platinum blonde hair swept into a flawless chignon, porcelain skin that’s never seen a blemish, and blue eyes cold enough to give hypothermia.

“Maya Mastroni.” She says my name like she’s tasting something unpleasant. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope.” I keep my voice pleasant while I zero in on every detail about this woman.

She moves through Andrei’s home with proprietary familiarity, and she touches objects like she owns them as she does.

She’s important to Andrei, or rather, Andrei is important to her.

I can tell that much by the territorial gleam in her arctic gaze when she looks at me.

“Of course.” Her laughter sounds like breaking glass. “Andrei speaks of you… frequently.”

The pause before “frequently” tells me everything I need to know about what she thinks of those conversations. She’s wearing a charcoal business suit that probably requires a trust fund to afford, but something in her posture screams danger despite the professional outfit.

“How lovely. I’m sure he has nothing but wonderful things to say about his kidnapping victim-turned reluctant bride.”

The woman’s smile falters for just a moment before it snaps back into place. “Kidnapping is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as… expedited courtship.”

“Expedited courtship.” I roll the phrase around on my tongue before spitting out. “That’s one way to describe drugging someone at a charity gala.”

“Andrei has always been decisive when he sees something he wants.” She moves to the bar cart and pours herself what looks like premium vodka without bothering to offer me anything. “It’s one of his most admirable qualities.”

There’s hero worship wrapped in the way she says “admirable”, along with something deeper and more possessive. And that’s when it hits me. This woman doesn’t just respect Andrei; she’s in love with him.

“And you are?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

“Katarina Sokolov. Elena’s younger sister.” She takes a delicate sip of vodka as she watches me over the rim of her crystal tumbler. “Which makes me family, in a way.”

“Elena?”

“Andrei’s wife. Well, his late wife.” Katarina’s voice takes on a softer quality, though whether from genuine grief or practiced performance, I can’t tell. “She died several years ago.”

Andrei’s dead wife. Well, this is news to me.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offer, because even in my current situation, basic human decency applies.

“Thank you. Elena was… special. Irreplaceable, really.” Katarina sets down her glass and picks up a leather portfolio from the coffee table. “But life continues, doesn’t it? And Andrei has responsibilities that require attention.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you, apparently.” Katarina opens the portfolio and spreads several documents across the table between us. “Wedding arrangements, primarily. Andrei has asked me to brief you on your new role in the organization.”

I approach the coffee table cautiously, noting how Katarina positions herself to block my access to the nearest exit. Professional paranoia or good instincts, this woman is dangerous either way.

The documents laid out before me reveal the scope of Andrei’s empire in incredible detail.

Shipping manifests show regular cargo runs from ports in Miami to Boston, with stops in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York.

The quantities listed tell a story of operations that dwarf anything my family has ever attempted: thousands of containers moving through legitimate shipping companies that Andrei owns or controls.

“Impressive.” I scan a financial summary that makes my head spin. Numbers with too many zeros to count easily and profit margins that would make Fortune 500 companies green with envy. “Though I have to ask… where do I fit into this corporate structure?”

“That depends on your willingness to embrace your new circumstances. Andrei believes you could be… useful… in certain capacities.”

I sit down, taking care to keep my hands visible and my body relaxed despite every instinct screaming at me to stay ready for violence.

The organizational charts spread in front of me show a hierarchy that makes the military look like a backwoods militia.

Territory maps reveal that Andrei’s influence stretches from Canada to Florida, with particularly strong footholds in major cities along the Eastern seaboard.

“Useful how?”

“Your reputation precedes you, Maya Mastroni. Twelve confirmed kills, specialist in close-quarters combat, particular expertise with bladed weapons.” Katarina recites my statistics like she’s reading a resume. “Those skills could prove valuable in our expanding operations.”

“You want me to be your enforcer. Andrei has explained that much.”

“When the situation calls for it, certainly.” Katarina pulls out another set of documents—personnel files with photographs attached. “But we have operations that require someone with your particular background. Delicate situations where a woman’s touch might prove… persuasive.”

The files show faces I don’t recognize, but the locations listed beside their names tell a story of international scope. Miami, Boston, Chicago, Las Vegas—Andrei’s reach extends far beyond New York’s five boroughs.

“This is significantly larger than what my family operates,” I admit as I peruse through reports that detail drug distribution networks, money laundering operations, and legitimate businesses that serve as fronts.

“The Mastroni family controls perhaps five percent of New York’s criminal activity,” Katarina says with obvious satisfaction. “Andrei controls thirty percent of the Eastern seaboard. The comparison isn’t even close.”

She’s not wrong, which makes this conversation even more disturbing.

The financial documents spread across the table represent a wealth and influence my family has been working toward for generations.

Andrei built this empire in sixteen years, starting from nothing but rage and a chip on his shoulder.

“And if I refuse to play my assigned role?”

“Then you’ll discover how thoroughly Andrei can dismantle everything you hold dear.” Katarina’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes turn arctic. “He’s very good at taking things apart, piece by piece, until nothing remains but memories and regret.”

The threat is delivered so casually that it takes me a moment to catch the malice behind it. Katarina isn’t just warning me about Andrei’s capabilities; she’s telling me what she’ll recommend if I step out of line.

“How reassuring. And what about you, Katarina? What’s your role in this organization?”

“Intelligence. Strategy. Ensuring that Andrei’s interests are protected from all threats, internal and external.” She gathers the documents into neat piles and adds, “I’ve been his most trusted advisor since Elena’s death. That relationship won’t change simply because he’s acquiring a new wife.”

There it is. The real source of Katarina’s hostility isn’t just that she’s protective of her boss; it’s jealousy. I suspect she’s spent years positioning herself as Andrei’s closest confidante with a particular goal in mind, and my presence threatens that carefully constructed dynamic.

“I see. And does Andrei know about your feelings for him?”

Katarina’s hands freeze in the middle of organizing papers, and her mask slips away for just an instant. The naked longing that crosses her face answers my question more clearly than words ever could.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She recovers quickly, but the damage is done.

“Of course you don’t.” I lean back in my chair and cross one leg over the other. “Tell me, how long have you been in love with your dead sister’s husband?”

“Careful, Maya.” Katarina’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “You’re walking on very thin ice.”

“Am I? Because from where I sit, it looks like you’ve been playing the grieving sister-in-law while harboring fantasies about taking Elena’s place.”

The accusation hits home. I can see it in the way Katarina’s knuckles go white where she holds the portfolio. She’s been carrying this torch for years, probably since before Elena died, and now some Italian interloper is threatening to steal what she considers rightfully hers.

“Elena was everything to him,” Katarina declares through gritted teeth. “Beautiful, gentle, perfect in every way. You could never replace what he lost.”

“I’m not trying to replace anyone. I’m trying to survive being kidnapped by a madman.”

“Survive?” Katarina throws her head back and laughs. “You have no idea how good you have it. Do you know what Andrei does to people who betray him? I’ve seen him peel skin from living men until they begged for death. I’ve watched him destroy entire families because someone dared to cross him.”

She leans forward as her eyes blaze with fanatic devotion. “And yet, he treats you like precious cargo. Comfortable rooms, excellent food, freedom to roam his home. You’re living better than most people dream of, and you have the audacity to complain.”

Before I can respond, Katarina is on her feet, and her chair scrapes against the hardwood floor. For a moment, I think she might attack me, but then the living room door opens, and Andrei enters with someone I never expected to see again.

“Father Bianchi,” I breathe when I recognize the elderly priest who baptized me twenty-five years ago, the priest at my family’s church.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Maya, my child.” Father Bianchi’s weathered face creases into a genuine smile as he walks toward me with arms outstretched. “How unexpected to see you here.”

I stand and accept his embrace as I inhale the familiar scent of incense and old books that always surrounded him during my childhood.

Father Bianchi officiated at family christenings, confirmations, and funerals for as long as I can remember.

Seeing him in Andrei’s penthouse feels like worlds colliding in impossible ways.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

“I asked him to come,” Andrei announces. “We need someone to perform the blessing ceremony for our upcoming marriage.”

“And I was delighted to accept,” Father Bianchi adds, though his eyes study my face with the kind of concern that suggests he understands more about my situation than his pleasant demeanor indicates. “Though I must admit, I was surprised to learn of your engagement.”

“Surprised doesn’t begin to cover it,” I reply dryly.

Katarina excuses herself with barely concealed irritation as she gathers her portfolio and promises to finalize wedding arrangements by the end of the week. She kisses Andrei’s cheek before leaving, and I note how the gesture lingers just long enough to mark territory.

“Charming woman,” I comment once she’s gone.

“Katarina has been invaluable since Elena’s death,” Andrei says. “She handles many aspects of our operations that require… delicate attention.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see Katarina out and rejoin you in a moment.”

As Andrei leaves, Father Bianchi settles into the chair Katarina vacated and folds his rheumatic hands in his lap. “Perhaps we could discuss the blessing ceremony? Though I must say, Maya, you seem somewhat… reluctant… about these proceedings.”

“Reluctant is one word for it.” I glance at Andrei’s retreating back. It’s probably best I play this right, for my family’s sake. “Though I suppose we all have our obligations.”

“Indeed, we do.” Father Bianchi reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a small, unremarkable cell phone.

“Speaking of obligations, I wanted to give you this. It’s programmed with only one number—mine.

Should you ever need spiritual guidance or…

counsel… please don’t hesitate to call. It’s probably best if we keep this between us, yes? ”

The priest’s eyes meet mine as he places the phone in my hand, and I understand the subtext immediately. He’s giving me a lifeline to the outside world.

“Thank you, Father. I’m sure I’ll find it very… comforting.”

“Wonderful.” Father Bianchi claps his hands and asks, “Now then, shall we discuss the ceremony details? I have several traditional blessings that might be appropriate for such a… unique… union.”

When Andrei returns, he and the priest begin planning my wedding blessing, and I discreetly slip the phone into my pocket while listening to them talk. As the conversation continues, I learn that Father Bianchi helped Andrei escape captivity years ago.

It seems the priest who taught me about mercy and forgiveness was also the man who cut Andrei’s restraints in some warehouse sixteen years ago.

The same hands that blessed my infant head also picked locks to free a half-dead teenager bent on revenge.

Father Bianchi gave Andrei the freedom to build this empire of violence.

The man who preached about redemption helped create the monster who’s now forcing me into marriage. Every Sunday sermon about turning the other cheek, every lesson about compassion and grace, was delivered by someone who actively participated in unleashing Andrei Volkov on the world.

I’m sitting between two men who’ve spent decades perfecting the art of making terrible things sound holy.