Page 4 of Owned By her Enemy
“If you really need an unpaid lackey to plan a wedding, we can accommodate you.” My father continues eating, a snooty expression on his face.
The Bratva kingpin reaches into his inner suit jacket pocket and tosses a matte black credit card onto the table before me. “Any questions?”
With shaking hands, I draw the card to me. It’s in my name.
Yes. Yes, I have a million questions. Firstly, I can’t believe it. I’m going to leave Tottenham Tower. Something expands in my chest. Excitement maybe? With at least six guards, since there’s no way my father will allow Edmonton men to outnumber Tottenham, so zero chance of escape. But still. I’ll breathe fresh air.
“Your unreasonable demands are very clear,” my father huffs.
“Good. You may go,” Nikolai says dismissively. “Unless you’re going to leave her as dessert.”
Nikolai smirks as my father goes the colour beetroot. Speechless. Impotent. This bratva bastard has all the cards in this game, and we all know it.
But when we’re in bed, and his guard is down, I’ll have a knife.
“Three weeks. You better be there, Edmonton,” my father throws down his cutlery and storms out, chair banging to the floor.
I scurry to follow, but I can’t resist one glance backwards.
My fiancé flashes a smile at me, a bit crooked. A lot devilish. He’s far too attractive for his own good.
Hope he enjoys it, because he won’t be so pretty when he’s dead.
I turn and try to flee, but at the door, I hear his voice, soft as if only for me.
“Until our wedding day, Rapunzel.”
The floor drops away. My head snaps back to look at him. He’s smiling. So smug. Arrogant.
I stagger from the room in a daze.
“What did he say?” my father hisses when I catch up with him, propelling me forwards with a hand between my shoulder blades.
“You’re a puzzle,” I lie instinctively.
Because the Bratva kingpin knows.
He knows about my singing. About my secret account. He knew about the Tottenham finances, and I can’t help but fear what else he might know…
He’s my enemy. And I think he knows everything.
2
NIKOLAI
What I should be doing: triple checking the security at the wedding venue, glowering at my fellow mafia bosses to keep them in line, reminding my Edmonton relatives this is my decision and they can keep their opinions about the Tottenhams to themselves, acting cool and like I don’t care that I’m waiting for my bride at the biggest mafia wedding London has seen since the Westminster kingpin got married to his son’s ex-girlfriend, chastising myself for being a twisted bastard forcing a girl half my age to marry me.
What I’m actually doing: watching Rapunzel’s old videos with the sound off as I stand at the front of the church, waiting for the new one I know she’ll post soon.
The priest has coughed four times, trying to hint to me that it’s not polite to ignore my guests or focus on my phone while in a crumbling stack of so-called holy stones. Mikhail, my second-in-command is doing his best to look calm. The Tottenhams are restless, casting dark looks at the Edmontons.
Honestly, I don’t give a fuck about any of that.
My only interest is my fiancée.
Rapunzel.
It started innocently enough, for the mafia. My first job for Edmonton was as a digital spy, proving my worth by infiltrating Tottenham over twenty-five years ago, when I was just a kid. I was the one keeping track of information going in and out when we were still using CDs and analogue.
