by B. B. Hamel
Oisin looked awful, much worse than I expected. He was old, his hair thinning, his pale skin liver-spotted and saggy. Thick black bags hung under his eyes and his suit was like a blanket draped over a skeleton. His shoulders were hunched, but his sharp green eyes scanned around him like lasers, and though he appeared to have one foot in the grave, I knew Oisin was still in there, and still sharp as ever.
“Come on,” I said, stepping past Erick.
I strode toward Oisin and my heart felt like it might rip itself into pieces.
I’d been hunting this man for years. I hired the best soldiers, spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on the chase, and kept narrowly missing the old bastard. This moment should’ve been triumphant, and yet it felt almost wrong, like I had stepped up to take my final vow, only to learn that the terms had changed.
Oisin met my gaze and a shaky smile crept over his paper-thin lips.
“Hello, Roman.” His voice was like sandpaper.
“Oisin. Nice of you to make it.”
“I thought it might be fun. You are marrying one of my girls, after all.”
Eamon’s jaw clenched at that, but he said nothing.
I ignored Cassie’s father. He was nobody to me, only dead weight. The moment she gave the word, I’d finish him and wrap his skull in a gift box.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come, considering I’ve been trying to kill you for the past three years.”
Oisin laughed, rough and guttural. He coughed, then beamed at me. “I’m glad you brought that up. Eamon here told me I shouldn’t show, but the possibility of an alliance with you through his daughter is far too tempting to ignore.”
Exactly what I hoped.
“You’ve heard about what’s going on right now with the Liberto and the Ramos. I think if we join forces and bring the Drozdov along for the ride, we can win considerable power all along the east coast. But I’ll need concessions from you, Oisin.”
The old man held up a hand. “We’ll talk after the ceremony. There’s plenty of time for that. First, I want to see you marry the girl.”
“Then you’d better take your places.” I checked my watch. The hall was nearly empty. “We’re starting soon.”
Oisin laughed again and gestured for the bodyguard to push him forward. Eamon stared at me but followed his boss into the main hall, and the three of them took their seats.
I watched them get settled. Erick stood at my elbow.
“He’s not what I expected,” I said softly.
“The wheelchair?”
“That and he doesn’t seem afraid.” I frowned, tilted my head. “He must know I have something planned.”
“Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Clearly running and hiding from you for the past three years took a toll. Maybe he’s just done and willing to take an out, no matter how tenuous.”
“You could be right.” I squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “Is everyone in place?”
“Everyone’s ready.”
“Darren’s not here.” I was disappointed. I wanted him to challenge me, even if it would be a public spectacle.
“For the best. We’re lucky Oisin came anyway. I bet he didn’t realize Darren wouldn’t show.”
“How many men do you have looking for him right now?”
“As many as I could spare and still pull this off.”
“Good.” I ran a hand through my hair. I was nervous—and I never got nervous. This was the culmination of so much, the moment I’d planned and fought for.
And it was my wedding.
“You have the rings?” I asked.
Erick patted his jacket pocket. “I would be a shitty best man if I didn’t.”
“Good. It’s time for me to get married then.”
37
Cassie
The wedding march played, and I walked down the aisle all alone.
The venue was gorgeous. Big, rounded windows, lots of natural light. Plants bloomed along the walls with broad leaves, deep green and shimmering. The space was air-conditioned, but still humid and hot, and half the guests fanned themselves with the program.
I didn’t recognize any of them.
I knew I wouldn’t—but it was strange. This was my wedding day. I was the bride.
And I was a total stranger.
I made it halfway to the altar when I saw my father. He sat on the far side of the room on my right next to a shriveled old man in a wheelchair and a big goon with a shaved head. It took me a moment to realize the ancient, wizened creature was Oisin MacKenna. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but I remembered him as a powerful, strapping monster with a booming laugh.
Now he looked like he could barely hold himself together.
I wondered if my dad cared that he wasn’t walking with me. I doubted he ever thought about my wedding, about my future, at least beyond how it might affect his own career. I had a feeling it never occurred to him—that I was always just a tool to increase his power and prestige.
My father was nothing. He didn’t matter. I looked forward, chin held high, and stared at Roman.
My husband. He looked perfect in a custom-made tuxedo. It fit him like a wetsuit, showing off his well-muscled body. He exuded confidence and wealth, and the way he looked down at the people gathered before him was like a king surveying his subjects. I realized all over again that I was about to marry that man, that Oligarch, that beast.
And it sent a thrill through my chest, knowing that he wanted this to be more than a business arrangement.
Roza was my only bridesmaid. Erick stood next to Roman and winked at me. The priest was a middle-aged man, reed-thin and swallowed by his white and black and purple robes.
I reached the altar and stood across from Roman. He lifted my veil and smiled at me.
“You look perfect,” he whispered as the priest began the ceremony.
“Thank Roza for that.”
“No, it’s not her. You’d look incredible in anything, but god, Cassie, that dress.”
“You’re looking at me like you want to rip it off right here.”
His grin widened when the priest cleared his throat and read louder.
The room disappeared. Roman’s hands felt warm and rough on my own. He had the hands of a man that worked outside, although I didn’t know how. The strangers, my father, even Oisin, were a vague blip in the corner of my vision, and Roman filled the rest of me.
His smile, his lips, his teeth. The wrinkle between his eyebrows. The soft cleft beneath his nose. The square chin. The stubble on his cheeks.
He looked at me like I was the drink of water after a long, hard run, and it sent rays of sparking joy down my spine.
My husband.
“Do you, Roman Lenkov, take Cassie Ward to be your wife?”
“I do.” He tilted his head. “Always.”
“And do you, Cassie Ward, take Roman Lenkov to be your husband?”
“I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the church and the state, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Roman wrapped me in his arms as the crowd cheered and pressed his lips against mine—but only for a moment. “Ready?” he whispered.
“Ready.”
Then he pulled back and shoved me toward the priest. I slammed into him and grabbed a handful of his robes to pull him along as we tumbled down behind the altar just in time for the screaming to start.
38
Cassie
We landed hard on a padded mat. Roza promised it would break our fall, but I still felt it in my knees and elbows. The priest seemed worse than me—dazed and grimacing in pain. I tugged him and whispered, “We gotta move.”
Roza slammed down onto the mat after. “Oh shit,” she said. “That wasn’t soft at all.”
I glared at her.
“What are you talking about?” The priest looked around, wild and uncertain. He was one of the holes in the plan. We couldn’t tell him what would happen, but I also wouldn’t let Roman leave him up in th
e line of fire.
The gunshots started blasting through the room, overwhelming the screams of fear and surprise.
I pulled the priest and scrambled to what looked like a decorative backsplash, but was actually made of a thick, bullet-proof material. I got behind it and nudged the priest until he was curled up safely out of the way of the shooting. Roza scrambled in with us, her phone out, tapping away like she was livestreaming the whole thing.
“What’s happening?” the priest shouted, shoving his hands over his ears.
I didn’t bother answering. He wouldn’t hear me anyway.
I risked a look around the corner. Roman had men stationed on either side of the group of guests with rifles. Men and women screamed as they ran to get out of the way of the massacre, and I had no clue how many how many people were getting ripped to pieces out there—and Roman didn’t seem to care. When I’d asked him if more innocent people needed to die for his revenge, he’d only laughed and said there wasn’t a single innocent person in attendance, and I had to believe him.
I crawled toward the altar. “Cassie, wait!” Roza called after, but I didn’t stop. I should’ve stayed hidden like we planned, but I had to see what was happening. I needed to see that Roman was okay, that he wasn’t hurt—I was desperate to find him, desperate and terrified.
More screaming and panicking. One of Roman’s men fell over with a bullet to his skull, blood splattered everywhere.
People were shooting back at them. Where did they come from? I looked over the top of the platform—
A small group of men were hiding behind chairs. Most of the other guests had scattered, though some still lingering in the front of the building, and some lay dead in the aisle. Blood, so much blood everywhere, and the venue was a wreck—holes in the walls, lights blown out, glass strewn across the tiles.
The few remaining soldiers fired on Roman’s guards, trying to push them away, but they were outnumbered and outgunned.
The Irish dropped, one by one, until the room was filled with a haze of gunpowder smoke and my ears rang from the deafening slaughter.
Roman was gone. Erick crouched nearby, pressed up against the side of the altar, gun raised.
“Erick!” I hissed his name until he looked over.
His face twisted into anger. “Get back into cover.”
“Where’s Roman?”
Erick pointed—
My husband stood in the middle of the room, his suit splashed with red, thick oozing red on his hands and chest, a smoking pistol pointed toward a body on the ground at his feet, his teeth bared like an animal.
He looked crazed and wild and beautiful, all wrapped into one.
He turned, and met my gaze. For one horrible moment, there was nothing behind those eyes, until he frowned, shook his head, then looked away.
Oisin MacKenna was stuck in his chair with my father crouched behind him. They were both untouched, unhurt.
Roman strode toward them like an avenging angel floating over a battlefield.
39
Roman
It happened so fast.
My men stepped out from the shadows and opened fire. There were a lot of people caught in the crossfire, and some of them were important.
I’d pay for that later, when this was all over. Too much collateral damage. The other Oligarchs would be angry, very angry.
I didn’t give a shit.
Men lay dead at my feet. Irishmen, bodyguards that had snuck in with the other guests. That was smart—I hadn’t expected it. But it didn’t matter.
I caught them out in the open.
Oisin underestimated my desire to end his life.
He never thought I’d stoop to this. A slaughter at my wedding. Important people, members of powerful crime organizations, at least one politician, serveral wealthy businessmen, dead on the ground, all to get at him.
He had no clue what I was capable of.
How far I’d go to get what I wanted.
I looked back and saw Cassie. She crouched behind the altar, staring at me with those beautiful, plump lips hanging open. Cassie my wife, my bride, my future.
I kicked aside a corpse and waded through the overturned chairs toward Oisin.
The old man watched me with tired eyes, and he tilted his chin up in my direction as I approached. Cassie’s dad knelt with his hands behind his head, as if that would do him any good.
“So it’s come to this then,” Oisin rasped. “Killing a bunch of people just to get to me. Crude.”
“Effective.” I raised my gun and aimed at Oisin’s head. “A mirror of what you did to my father.”
“Ah, except in that case, only your father died. And here, I see several enormous problems pooling blood. You caught me, but at what cost?”
“Everything,” I whispered.
This was the moment I waited for.
Finally, Oisin was mine.
The wreckage of the world lay at my feet, and once this night was through, the real war would begin. There was no way I’d walk from this unscathed.
I’d torn apart the underworld, all to get what I wanted, and we’d all deal with the fallout.
But it was finished.
Everything else, that was an afterthought. I could deal with it. I’d pay the price, grovel if I had to, give up territory and power and money.
I’d survive, and Oisin wouldn’t.
“Where do you go from here?” Oisin asked. “You’re so much like your old man. Do you know why I killed him?”
I sucked in a breath. I hated being compared to that bastard. “He was pushing your people aside. You thought I’d be an easier target.”
“I killed him because he was a ruthless fuck. He was dangerous and someone had to make sure he couldn’t keep murdering to get what he wanted. I thought you might be a better, more able leader, but I was wrong. You’re just as cold as he was and I’m afraid I’ve created a monster.”
I shoved the still-hot gun against Oisin’s skull. He clenched his jaw and pulled back, eyes wide with fear.
“You don’t know me at all,” I said, leaning down into the old man’s face. “My father didn’t care about anything except himself.”
“And you do?” Oisin seemed genuinely curious.
“For a very long time, I didn’t. I thought about power and death and nothing else.” I glanced at Eamon, then back to Oisin. “Until I met my wife.”
“Ah, interesting. So you do care about the girl.”
“I love her. And when this is over, I’m going to put the world back together, because she deserves it.”
“I wish you luck.”
I pulled the trigger. Oisin’s blood and brains splattered out against his chair.
And it was done.
Finally, after all this—
I got my revenge. A rush of excitement rolled through my veins. I felt elated, dizzy, incredible—but it quickly dissipated, leaving me alone, deflated, and angry.
Was this all I worked for?
One dead old man that was halfway there without my help and a massacre that I’d pay for with my own blood.
I earned this kill. I orchestrated this, brought in my witnesses, made my move.
I succeeded. I dominated my foes.
So why didn’t I feel better?
I looked back and saw Cassie running toward me.
40
Cassie
Oisin slumped back, dead and gone.
I ran out from behind the altar. “Cassie!” Erick called out, but I ignored him.
Roman turned. His gun hung loosely in his hand. His eyes were fierce and burned at me like he wanted to stride across the room and take me then and there. I reached his side and grbbeda his free hand between both of mine, squeezing the fingers.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded once. “I think so.”
I chewed on my lip. “You did it.”
“I did. Oisin’s dead.”
“Does it fix anything?”
He let out a long breath. �
��No, it doesn’t.” Then he turned to my father and raised the gun.
“Wait.” I pushed his arm back down.
My father stared at me with utter fear in his expression. I’d never seen him look like that before and I wanted to savor it, but something in those pathetic eyes twisted a knife in my guts.
He was a vain, weak, selfish, power-hungry piece of garbage—
But after what happened here, we were going to need allies.
I stepped up to my dad and looked down at him.
“Do you want to stay alive?”
He nodded. “Yes. I do.”
“Will you swear loyalty to Roman?”
His eyes darted over to my husband. “Yes. I will.”
“Can you take control of the MacKenna family?”
“I believe so.” He hesitated, mentally calculating. “With Roman’s backing.”
I turned to Roman. He gazed at me with a curious expression—part rapture, part obsession. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I think he’d be useful. But are you sure? I can end him here and now. We don’t need him.”
“I’m sure.” I studied my father. He wasn’t the titan I remembered, not even close. He was diminished and weakened and broken—like I used to be. “You won’t forget this. You’re alive because I say you’re alive. But the second you’re not useful anymore, I’ll change my mind. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” He smiled tightly. “I’m proud of you.”
I turned my back on him. “Don’t speak to me ever again unless spoken to first.” Then walked toward the altar and sat down. I put my head between my knees and hugged myself, eyes squeezed shut, feeling sick and horrified.
So much death and blood.
When did it become normal?
Roman sat by my side. I leaned against him and he wrapped his massive arms around my shoulders as Erick barked orders at the remaining soldiers. They began cleaning up and taking stock of the injured and the dead. My father slipped away at some point, but he was irrelevant now.
