Page 12 of Emerald Malice

“Katya…?” he stutters in disbelief, while his bride lists to the side as though she’s in danger of fainting at any moment.

“Viktor Kuznetsov is a liar and a cheater!” Katya continues loudly. Rather than be deterred by the eyes on her, it’s like the audience is giving her life. “He prowls the city at night looking for his next conquest. And trust me, he’s made many!”

Andrey Kuznetsov is the only one who looks even remotely calm during this abrupt little detour the wedding has taken. His eyebrow flickers up as he regards Katya with pure, acidic disdain. Then he looks off to the left and gives a nod to someone I can’t see. I’m guessing Katya has about ten seconds before she’s hauled out of here like the crazy-ass intruder she is.

The thing is—and I know from experience—Katya can do a lot of damage in ten seconds. As it turns out, she doesn’t even need that long.

“Viktor has a secret mistress,” she cries out. “She’s pregnant with his baby. And she’s standing right over there!”

I blink over at Katya—who’s pointing in my direction, for some inexplicable reason.

I actually glance over my shoulder to see this pregnant mistress she’s apparently brought along to humiliate Viktor.

But there’s nothing behind me except an onyx vase filled with calla lilies.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’m supposed to be the pregnant mistress.

I’m the prop.

I’m the naive idiot who let myself get roped into Katya’s revenge ploy.

Before I can jump in and correct her lie, Andrey Kuznetsov steps off the raised platform. He no longer looks disinterested or calm.

Now, he looks pissed.

Those ethereal silver eyes land directly on me and he growls three terrifying words into the microphone. “Security… grab them.”

4

ANDREY

One of Viktor’s moronic henchmen is the first to reach them. He grabs the little lastochka by her arm and even from where I’m standing on the altar, I can see how she winces in pain.

“Carefully, mudaks!” I belt from across the room.

Leif appears at my side. “How do you want me to deal with this, sir?”

“Tell those untrained gorillas to keep an eye on both women until after the reception is over. I’ll deal with it then.”

Leif bows and scurries off to do as I ordered. I turn to my brother and his almost-bride, both of whom look as though they have no idea what to do next. Whatever is going on with those women, I’m fairly confident it’s my brother’s fault.

As usual, it falls to me to clean his mess.

So I turn to the buzzing crowd and plaster a fake smile on my face. “What’s a Russian wedding without a little drama?”

The crowd laughs and the tension breaks. I nod in grim satisfaction and glance over at the priest. “Father Nevsky, please continue.” I lower my voice. “Quickly, though. Skip the bullshit.”

As soon as the ceremony ends—without any further interruptions, thank fuck—Viktor is suddenly very interested in playing the gracious host, ignoring my attempts to make eye contact with him. He knows he’s in for the ass-chewing of a lifetime once I get him in my grasp.

The crowd swarms me as we collectively drift toward the reception. People asking for favors, paying compliments, or offering gifts in the form of alliances and their daughters’ hands in marriage.

It’s just shit on top of shit on top of shit, all the way down. This whole day has been a fucking disaster, from Nikolai’s teenage spy to the elevator debacle with the gatecrasher to my brother’s ongoing attempts to lower the bar for how little I expect of him.

But that’s what being pakhan of the Kuznetsov Bratva entails: dealing with nothing but shit.

So I duck gracefully past the marriage proposals, negotiate with new partners, and reconnect with old ones. I manage my empire one exhausting conversation at a time.

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