Page 5 of Kept in the Dark
“What’s the issue?” Wesley asks.
“ABratvais like a sewer full of rats. Kill one, and the others will feast on its corpse and make more rats. It is not like killing a businessman or a billionaire—they are isolated, lonely at the top. In aBratva, there are cousins, sons, brothers, and a council of men who would step in and take Viktor’s place as soon as his body hit the floor. Killing the leader will create instability for a time, but it will not destroy the organization. And besides, he will be protected all evening. I will be lucky if he even takes a piss alone.”
“Dimitri has a point,” Wesley says. “Normally we try to take down the whole lot, but three versus an inexhaustible supply of men, guns, and money? Not sure I like those odds.”
“Well, that’s what this is for, right?” James asks, flicking the edge of the invitation and leaving a small dent in the cardstock. “Recon. We can start building our files on the top brass in the Volkevich family. Then, we’ll start picking ‘em off.”
I scratch through my short hair at the thick scar. Pick them off? He always thinks like a sniper. “So, the plan is that I will get in, find theBratvamen among the hundreds of other guests to take discreet photos, perhaps kill the most protected of them all at his own son’s wedding, and get out without being seen?”
“Sounds like fun, huh?” James’s grin will not be deterred.
I cut Wesley a look. He smirks, then shrugs. “We’ve done more with less.”
They both look to me, knowing that I will make the final decision because I will assume most of the risk. “Very well,” I agree.
“Suit up, gents. We’re crashing a wedding.”
2
Nicole
Nothing makes you feel quite as alone as the celebration of someone else’s love.
“You know you make me wanna… SHOUT!”
It’s hard not to smile as I watch a white-haired woman wave her spindly arms into the air half a beat behind everyone else. She doesn’t seem to notice or care, with her eyes closed and a huge, cheesy grin on her face. When she wobbles a bit, unsteady on her half-inch heels, her husband is right behind her with an assist.
I take a long swallow through the slim black straw to finish my Diet Coke and rattle the ice as I set it down. I resume picking at the vanilla buttercream, carefully scraping the icing off the cake into a pile to ration it perfectly with each bite.
At least Jenny has great taste in cake, even if she has terrible taste in dresses.
I know everyone says it, but this is a truly awful bridesmaid dress. It’s the most I’ve ever spent on a single item of clothing, and I’m certainly never going to wear it again, so that’s money down the drain that could have been better spent on several sets of very comfortable scrubs.
It’s shiny silk, and the cut is fine, skimming over tummy bulges and bumps with a bit of Spanx magic. But whereas the ruching on the side gives the other bridesmaids, like size-zero Olivia and runner’s-body Heather, a delicate hourglass shape, it makes my plentiful hips and breasts look more like a 24-hourglass. And this dark camel color is doingnothingfor me. Between the naturally light brown shade of my skin and sun-bleached caramel highlights in my hair, I’m all one color. I feel like a baked potato.
It’s a look, just not a great one.
We look good standing next to Jenny, though, which is really all that matters at the end of the day, I suppose. She chose tans and beiges as accent colors. And her skin tone is of the pale Eastern European variety, not half-Black like mine, so it doesn’t give the same monotone vibe.
I wish I hadn’t let myself be guilt-tripped into being a bridesmaid. Especially because I can’t even remember if we’re third cousins or second cousins once removed. I was a last-minute fill-in for a college friend who needed surgery—gotta keep those wedding parties perfectly balanced, and Matt has more family and “like a brother to me” friends than any man I’ve ever met.
One of whom is a complete douchebag.
Okay, time to press reset. I’m coming dangerously close to feeling sorry for myself.
Everything about this wedding has been perfect and beautiful andexpensive. It’s by far the biggest wedding I’ve ever been to, with 700-something guests, but somehow there’s enough room for everyone. The sprawling estate is a super cool historical building with rolling hills, a pond and manicured gardens with a giant maze made of meticulously trimmed 10-foot hedges. We’re on the outskirts of the small city of Ulysses, New Jersey, and at enough of an elevation that the city skyline is visible in the distance.
The ceremony was brief, and they couldn’t have asked for better weather or a more picture-perfect backdrop than the peachy clouds of a clear fall sky.
For dinner, we moved into the ballroom, which is decorated from floor to ceiling with florals and twinkling lights that cast a warm glow. The food was great. The cake is delicious. And I may not be takingadvantage of the open bar, but itisopen, so there are quite a few sloppy drunks on the dance floor having a good time.
If my feet weren’t killing me, I’d be on the dance floor too, because the band is great. A little bit ago, they threw open the balcony doors, letting in a cool breeze that’s heavy with the sweet scent of roses and verbena.
It’s fucking magical.
The table jostles, making the abandoned glasses clink together as my cousin Emma collapses into the chair next to me. The movement of air rustles a few of the tendrils the hairstylist had left out of my up-do to frame my face. Luckily, it’s a cool night, and they’re more wispy than frizzy. For now.
She reaches across me to grab an abandoned glass and starts drinking deeply from someone else’s water. It’s her first family event where she’s legally allowed to drink, and her cheeks are flushed with it.
