Page 98 of Tarnished Queen

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” she says after shaking hands with the head of a small drug syndicate from New Jersey. “Hopefully, our wedding can do some good and make you some allies, at least.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. So long as you and I do some good tonight, I don’t care.”

“My God,” she laughs. “You have a one-track mind today.”

I reach behind her and grab her ass. “Because you still have this dress on. It’s distracting.”

We’re still smiling at each other when the next guest in line clears their throat.

Makar is standing in front of us, a sad attempt at a smile on his face. He looks like someone just spit in his catered dinner.

“Congratulations to the bride and groom,” he says. “Or is it best wishes? I never remember. I’m not good with traditions.”

He tosses a look in Belle’s direction that I don’t understand. Her jaw tightens.

“‘Keep the cake line moving’ is a tradition you’ll want to remember,” I growl at him, nodding my head towards the table. “We have other guests to greet.”

Makar and his friends file through stiffly. Belle seems to deflate with each stony glare. As soon as the line of guests has finished, I whisk her to the center of the dance floor for our official first dance. But dancing is the last thing on my mind.

“What is going on with Makar?” I ask her quietly.

She snaps her attention to me, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Nothing. Nothing is going on with us. Did he—”

“Did he say something to you?”

Belle’s lips press together into a thin line, and there it is; I have my answer.

“What was it?”

“Nothing,” she lies. “Really. It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, your face wouldn’t look like that. Tell me,” I demand.

“I won’t,” she says. “It’s not worth ruining our wedding over. And it wasn’t a big deal, anyway. Just let it go.”

The music starts, and I take Belle in my arms. “Whatever happened, it’s probably not as bad as what I’m imagining in my head. So you might as well tell me before I tell the band to stop playing and kill him.”

Belle tries to smile as we dance, but it’s thin and pursed. Her forehead is wrinkled in concern. Finally, she sags. “Okay. Fine. He came to see me before the wedding.”

“Before I came to see you?” I ask.

“Just before. You missed each other by seconds. He was only there for a minute or two, but he gave me a gift. A knife.”

“What the f—Why would he give you a knife?”

She winces. “So it isn’t some Bratva wedding tradition, then? I kind of hoped it was customary to give the bride a weapon. I wanted this to be no big deal.”

I can feel my hackles rising. My eyes are on Belle, but I know exactly where Makar is standing behind me. I’m tracking him now. If the bastard tries to run, he won’t get far.

“What did he say?”

“He was being weirdly pleasant. Smiling and all that. But he said that he… that he pulled the knife out of your back,” she admits. “A not-so-subtle reminder that I once worked with Xena. He told me the knife was a way out in case our wedding was a sham. I don’t know what he meant by that, but—”

“It’s a threat,” I say. “It doesn’t matter what he meant; it was a threat.”

Belle nods slowly. “I know. I figured as much. But Nikolai, please don’t take care of this now. Let’s just enjoy the wedding and—”

I bring her hands to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. “This kind of disrespect has to be dealt with immediately,kiska. Everyone in this room needs to know that you are mine. You are protected by me. You are cherished by me. They have to know that an attack on you is an attack on me and the Bratva as a whole.”

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