Page 22 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Don’t do your anything. Just get it done.”

Then I stride towards the source of “this,” who is now back to dodging chairs and congratulations while skittering around dead birds on the grass.

I make up the ground between us in a few swift strides. When I’m close enough, I snarl, “You’re coming with me.”

I don’t give her a chance to argue. I don’t give her a chance to speak.I just grab her hand, hold tight, and run.

Her eyes are huge as she drinks me in. Her throat bobs with a swallow, and I almost bark out a laugh at the ridiculousness of that. She has no problem crashing a five-hundred-person wedding filled with killers and criminals, but she pales now that it’s just her and me?

She opens her mouth to speak. I’m ready for anything—an apology, an explanation, an extortion demand. Instead, she mutters dreamily, “It really is a perfect fit…”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing! It’s just, um… the jacket. It suits you really well.”

I glance back at the tailor in disbelief. “That’s your concern?” I growl. “You justcrashed my wedding, and you’re wondering if my suit fits?”

I weave through the crowd, dragging her behind me. I can see my men forming a perimeter around us, watching both our backs. I didn’t even have to say anything—they just fell in line with theirpakhan, no questions asked.

By contrast, I can still hear Vlad barking orders to his disorderly troops at the altar.

“Should’ve added a pocket square, though,” the woman next to me mumbles.

I’m going to kill her.

We get in the elevator. It’s not a long ride to the penthouse. In fact, it would’ve been faster to take the stairs. But I wasn’t certain she could do that, what with her?—

Don’t look at her belly.

But it’s impossible. Every time my gaze darts towards her, that’s where it goes. Not her warm, hazel eyes, as wide as a doe’s. Not the spray of freckles on her cheeks, so far from innocent.

There.

This miniature hall of mirrors doesn’t help. Wherever I turn, there she is: April Flowers, now sporting an enormous baby bump.

Mybaby.

If she’s to be believed, that is.

As if reading my mind, she turns to me. “Itisyours,” she huffs. “I can prove it.”

“Can you?”

It’s ridiculous. I’ve seen pregnant women before. None of them looked likethis.She’s fucking glowing. Ethereal.

I tear my gaze away and step off the elevator. I don’t let go of her hand, though. I doubt she could escape far, but I won’t risk it. April Flowers owes me answers.

And, perhaps, something more.

“Of course I can,” she snaps. “It’s in my left pocket.”

She tries to free her still-cuffed hand from my grasp, but I don’t let her. Instead, I swipe my key card at the penthouse door,unceremoniously dragging her inside. Only with the door safely shut behind us do I finally let her go. “Speak, then.”

She glares at me. “I’ll trade you the proof for a pair of bolt cutters.”

Un-fucking-believable.“Let me make something very clear, Ms. Flowers: you don’t get to negotiate. You just crashed a very important event?—”

“A mob wedding,” she completes.

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