Page 26 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

Anya set down her tablet and gaped at me. “????????? ??? ????? ?? ??????”Seventy-two hours? Have you lost your fucking mind?

“Can you do it or not?”

She was quiet for a long moment, her artist’s brain probably calculating measurements and fabric requirements and the sheer impossibility of what I was asking.

“What’s her style?” she asked finally.

“I have no fucking clue.”

“Helpful.” Anya rubbed her temples like I was giving her a migraine. “I’ll need to see her. Take measurements, get a sense of what she wants.”

“Whatever you need.”

“This is insane. You know that, right? Even for you, this is completely fucking insane.”

I didn’t argue because she was right. Everything about this situation had spiraled beyond any reasonable plan. But I was too far in now to back out.

“Just make her look beautiful, Anya.”

My sister studied my face with the kind of uncomfortable intensity that came from growing up together, from knowing each other’s tells and weaknesses.

“She already is beautiful,” she said quietly. “The question is why you care.”

I left without answering because I didn’t have one she’d believe. Hell, I didn’t have one I believed myself.

The next day, the call to Zara went about as well as expected.

“You want me towhat?” Her voice crackled through the phone, sharp with disbelief.

“Attend a wedding. Eleanor specifically requested you.”

“Her wedding to the psychopath who kidnapped her? Gee, I wonder why she’d want emotional support for that.”

“One hour. That’s all I’m asking. You show up, stand with her, and leave when it’s over.”

“And if I refuse?”

This was the part I hated. The part that made me exactly the kind of monster Eleanor had called me. But I’d come too far to let conscience stop me now.

“Then you won’t see your family again. Your mother in Tucson, your brother in San Diego, that niece you’re so fond of. They’ll disappear, and you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if they’re alive or dead.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of what I’d just threatened. When she spoke again, her voice was ice.

“You’re a fucking animal.”

“I’m a man who gets what he wants. The location will be sent to you tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

I ended the call before she could respond, already hating myself for the words I’d just spoken. Threatening innocents wasn’t my style, but Eleanor had asked for her friend, and I’d promised to deliver.

***

The next morning, Rafael called.

“Heard you’re getting married,” he said without preamble. “Congratulations, I think?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you. Want to explain why I’m hearing about this from Cassandra instead of my second-in-command?”