Page 131 of Vendetta Vows

The room quiets as Gregor Belov rises from his seat, champagne glass in hand. His pale blue eyes sweep across the gathering, commanding attention without saying a word. Even at seventy, he carries himself with the presence of a czar.

"Today," he begins, his voice carrying to every corner of the room, "we celebrate not just a union between man and woman, but the return of a son to his rightful place."

Murmurs ripple across the tables. Everyone knows the story of my exile.

"Ruslan Vitalyevich has proven himself worthy of leading the Dragunov bratva into a prosperous future." Gregor raises his glass higher. "A future that many of us feared was lost with the tragic deaths of his brother Lev and his nephew Mikhail."

He pauses, his gaze landing on me with uncomfortable precision.

"But prosperity requires stability, and stability requires alliances. Strong alliances." His eyes narrow meaningfully. "Alliances forged not merely through business arrangements, but through the most sacred bonds of marriage, a joining of families."

The room falls silent. His meaning is clear to anyone familiar with bratva politics. I see several old men chuckling silently to themselves, and several more turning their hungry eyes around the room, no doubt looking for Mikayla or her sisters.

You sick fucks.

Aurora leans close, her lips nearly brushing my ear. "Are the girls safe?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

I place my hand over hers beneath the table, feeling her pulse racing beneath my fingertips.

"They're in a separate wing," I whisper back. "Artyom has them under guard with my most loyal men. No one will come near them. I promise."

The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, though her eyes remain vigilant. Aurora understands the game being played, even as she's learning the rules.

Gregor continues his toast, speaking of legacies and bloodlines with the practiced ease of someone who has been arranging marriages like chess pieces for decades.

Gregor raises his glass higher, his voice carrying throughout the hall. "To Ruslan and Aurora Dragunov! May your union bring strength to your family and stability to all of us. Let no one dare challenge what God has joined today."

The guests echo his toast, though I catch several cold stares. They're calculating what my marriage to an outsider means for their own ambitions.

Let them wonder.

The orchestra begins playing the traditional waltz that signals the first dance. I rise from my seat and extend my hand to Aurora, who takes it with practiced grace.

"Ready to show these vultures how it's done?" I murmur as I lead her to the center of the floor.

Her smile is radiant but I feel the tremor in her fingers. "As ready as I'll ever be."

I place my hand at her waist, drawing her closer than custom dictates. "Just follow my lead. Remember, we just have to look convincing."

She fits against me perfectly as we begin to move, her body responding to my guidance as naturally as breathing. The hem of her wedding dress whispers across the floor as we turn.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're enjoying this charade," she whispers, her eyes locked on mine.

"Who says it's a charade?" I guide her through a sweeping turn, using the movement to scan the room.

The music swells, and I lift her in a graceful arc that draws appreciative murmurs from our audience. When she returns to my arms, her eyes are darker, heated.

"They're all watching us," she breathes.

"Let them watch. They're just jealous that they're not the ones with you in their arms."

"Ruslan Dragunov." Her fingers tighten on my shoulder. "Are you flirting with your wife?"

I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. "Is that a crime,zarechka?"

"In this room? Probably the most innocent one being committed."

I laugh, surprised by her sharp wit even now. "You're learning quickly."

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