Page 2 of Silent Ties

It’s a political wedding. A façade. A way of trying to get Marissa under control. We’ll attach ourselves to you and therefore fold everything you’ve created into our own empire.

As if Marissa would stupidly fall for it.

They’re walking into this trap. But then so am I.

The veil blurring my eyesight doesn’t manage to hide Maxim’s cold, dark eyes. A flash goes offand it’s a toss-up on where the picture ends up. On the cover of the latest bridal magazine or the nextDateline.

Even in the heels, I crane my head as I stand in front of Maxim. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and cold dark eyes that continue to bore into me.

He says nothing. There’s no attempt at a smile. No murmur to put his future wife at ease. There is no hint of amusement like his brother’s smirk. If I were a wedding guest, sitting in a pew, I’d elbow Daisy and whisper, “Do you think this guy is bored?”

If he’s not amused now just wait for it.

I’m shaking like a leaf and not because of the chilly, somber church despite the bursting bouquets of white and red flowers. Someone coughs, highlighting the quiet once the orchestra stops playing my death song.

I don’t know what will happen when Maxim lifts the veil over my head. But I know there’s only two options—he’ll either kill or marry me.

And I don’t know which is worse.

CHAPTER 2

Maxim

“Itold you so.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Roma replies to our brother.

Elijah, holding a glass of whiskey, relaxes into his chair. He tries to shroud himself in fake innocence, his eyes wide.

Even when I loosen my tie, the choking sensation doesn’t go away.

“I think it went off like a smash.” Elijah sips his liquor.

Roma pinches my cheek. “You made a dashing groom.”

I slap his hand away. My younger, identical twin is the less annoying of my two brothers, but I’m not in the mood for their shitty teasing.

It doesn’t help when Elijah points out, “You agreed to this.”

I steadily ignore Roma’s curious eyes. He told me point blank only an idiot would agree to marry because our father wished it. Now he’s just watched me marry a stranger.

And not the original stranger I agreed to marry today.

“Good for Marissa.” Elijah swirls his liquor, lifting it to his nose. “Finally got one over on us.”

“It only works if Marissa thinks she’s gotten one over us.” Our father Lev Zimin appears. Tall, and broad-shouldered, he radiates power. But the friendly voice and easygoing posture often make people second guess his intentions.

Not that he can’t be rigid. Not when it comes to his business, the bratva, and his family.

Help the family, son.That’s all he said and I folded like every other soldier does when Lev Zimin deigns to speak to them.

Roma’s pitying eyes remain on me and I hate it more than Elijah’s over-the-top goofiness.

He’s five years older than me, pushing thirty, and by all means, should’ve been the son getting married. But he laughed at our father and then laughed when I announced my engagement.

Strategic alliances aren’t unheard of. But my grandmother wrinkled her brow when she heard about this one.

She spit out some incoherent noise, waved a hand, and returned to her baking. The questions remained in her eye, though, not that she ever questioned her son about deciding to put up with Marissa, of all people.

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