Page 6 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

When I pull into the chapel, she’s already starting to stir, her eyes taking in the scene, settling on me. She looks confused about the venue but stays completely quiet as I round the car and open the door in front of her.

“If you run,” I warn, “I will catch you.”

She murmurs something through the gag, and I reach up, pulling it down to hear what she says. With the gag free, she shakes her head to get the loose hairs away from her face, the streetlights reflecting off the apples of her cheeks, sparkling in her eyes.

It hits me in a way it shouldn’t. She’s beautiful.

“What?” I ask, indicating that she should repeat what she said when she was gagged.

“I said—is that a promise?”

I roll my eyes and pull the gag back up into her mouth, watching as she raises her eyebrows at me. Who the hell is this Olive Allard?

We walk into the chapel, where Roman and Viktor are waiting. So, Anya didn’t want anything to do with this. I stifle the urge to call her and demand she show for my wedding—there’s no time, anyway.

“Did you set things up the way I wanted?” I ask, passing Olive to Viktor, who quickly starts to pull a white dress over her t-shirt and shorts. It almost sounds like she’s…laughing. Through the gag.

I try to ignore her and the strange looks I’m getting from my other brothers and turn my attention to the phone set on the tripod in the center of the aisle. It’s live streaming through a secure network, a video that will be delivered straight to James Allard and deleted from the device afterward. I'm giving him all the pain but none of the proof.

“Brother,” Roman says, leaning in, his eyes roaming over my face. “Did you—were you hit with pepper spray?”

“Let’s just say my little bride here is a lot more feisty than she first let on.”

Roman laughs and puts a hand to his mouth before moving across the room. He sits in the front pew with my other brothers, who all give me similar looks.

I know what I’m doing is slightly unhinged, but I need to get back at Allard. Besides, many other people in our family have found their partners through similar means. I wouldn’t be the first man to kidnap a woman and force her into marriage.

For those in the family, if you want someone who isn’t already part of the Bratva life, you likely have to force them into it at first.

As I take my place in the front of the church, I straighten my suit jacket and grin at the camera, imagining his confused face as his daughter appears in the frame. It looks like Roman and Viktor have attempted to smooth her hair down. One of them has a bruise blossoming on their right cheek, and I gaze at this woman, feeling something strange stirring in my chest at the sight of her.

Even with her lumpy dress and the maniacal look in her eye, she’s gorgeous. The kind of beauty that can’t be hidden under plain clothes but instead looks strange. Like a beautiful, hand-crafted cake on sale at a diner. Or a classic car in the junkyard.

It's no wonder she has such a large social media following and that so many people are in love with her.

There’s something especially pleasing about having taken not only Allard’s daughter—but such a shining jewel of one, at that. There are some people within the mafia space who might actually thank you for taking their troublesome, ugly daughters away from them. But Allard will definitely be missing this one.

The officiant that Bratva keeps on retainer is here. A legal notary already prepared the documents, he’s used to this kind of quick process. He stands before the podium, preparing to conduct the ceremony.

“Good afternoon, Milov family. We are here to celebrate the union of Boris Milov and…” he glances down at his papers. “Olive Allard. This union is one of power, of righteousness. Boris, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” I say, my chest filling with pride at the idea. The woman across from me is staring me down, her eyes dark and dangerous, and it’s stirring something in me that I’ve never felt before.

“And you, Olive Allard, do you take this man, Boris Milov, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Olive tries to say something through her gag, something muffled. The plan was never to let her actually speak during this part, but to my shock, it almost sounds like she says something near to I do.

My hackles raise as I look at her. Why in the world would she be going along with this? Marrying her father’s closest enemy? It doesn’t make any sense. She must know something that I don’t. I stare at her in the face, trying to figure it out.

There’s no way Allard could be this far ahead of me, right? There’s no way he could know that I planned to kidnap his daughter. And if he did, what kind of father would allow that to happen?

I think of her Instagram post, which clearly pointed to where she would be. Did Olive want to be taken? Is she some sort of double operative infiltrating the Milovs? Am I just assisting her in getting into our organization?

And, if all of this could be true, why is there something in my brain telling me that it doesn’t matter? All I can focus on is the soft curve of her jaw, the sparkle in her eye, and how she stands tall and straight, even in these most ridiculous circumstances.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says, looking from me to her. Carefully, I reach around the back of her head and undo the tie, loosening the gag so I can lower it down around her neck. She tilts her head up and raises an eyebrow at me.

A challenge.

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