Page 1 of The Payback

CHAPTERONE

Eleanor

I always thoughtmy dad would walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I also thought I’d marry for love—but today, I’m marrying for something better.

Revenge.

The heavy and ornate wooden doors in front of me swing open, and I study the impressive tile at my feet leading into the church. I’m standing in the hall of Saint Nicholas Russian Orthodox Cathedral on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, and I’m about to get married to the leader of the New York Bratva.

Fun times, right?

“Ready?” Agent Kim quietly asks from beside me. He’s my stand-in father today, and I feel better walking into this with another trained agent at my side.

“Let’s get on with it,” I mutter, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor and adopting my persona for the foreseeable future. I can’t get lost in my head when I’m undercover, so I push out every thought that contradicts who I’m supposed to be.

I’m no longer Interpol agent Eleanor Cameron. No longer responsible for the things and people waiting for me at home. No longer the same good girl who obeys every rule and follows protocol like it’s my drug.

I am Elsa Lee. The shy and demure virgin bride who’s being used as a pawn to broker a truce between the Bratva and the Emerald Sabres. The beloved cousin of Peter Lee, one of the highest-ranking members in the Sabres organisation and an Interpol asset.

As the wedding march begins, I repeat the details in my head and take my first steps as Elsa.

To make my undercover personality even more confusing, my name’s about to change again to Mrs Dimitri Aslanov, wife to the localpakhan, controlling the tri-state area’s Bratva.

Pakhanmeans “boss,” and there are thirty in America alone, each controlling various sections of the country and the members that live within their territories. They usually control four criminal cells through an intermediary called a “brigadier,” who does the dirty work.

The brigadier—in this case, Sergei Aslanov, Dimitri’s uncle—is used to enforce his rule in their respective territories.

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, letting the last of my nerves melt away. It’s showtime.

I am Elsa. I am Elsa. I am Elsa.

Agent Kim and I pass over the threshold, and I feel the weight of expectant eyes on me as we begin the long march up the middle of the church.

As we walk, I peek at the spectators of this unholy union from under my lashes. On the left, eight other agents are in attendance, pathetically filling out my side of the church and posing as my “family.”

Really, they’re backup.

Understandably, there’s a lower turnout for my side of the church. The Emerald Sabres are based in London, and the Bratva members on the other side of the aisle know first-hand that taking time off from running a city is hard, so they had no problem accepting my bullshit excuse as valid reasoning.

Business needs handling, no matter whose wedding is taking place.

On my right, I can make out most of the heavy hitters in this Bratva chapter. But Sergei Aslanov steals my attention because, after Dimitri, he’s the next most influential player. He’s sitting in the first seat in the front row as the closest living relative to the groom—a spot typically reserved for the groom’s father, but Danil Aslanov left the land of the living eighteen months ago.

A handful of other members I’ve seen in the files are in attendance, including money launderers, enforcers, and the managers from the legitimate businesses used to clean the money from the illegal ones. Those “managers” are here, too.

More than the men, I feel the eyes of the wives and girlfriends on me, assessing me as I join their ranks. There are no kids at this event; a rule Dimitri passed down to the attendees, ensuring no innocent lives were taken if this went belly-up.

The heavy and musty smell of incense that hangs in the air pulls me back to the here and now. There would be time to rifle through mental files later; I was here to solidify my place in the organisation.

This is dangerous; there’s no reason to sugarcoat it. The thrill of it skitters down my spine, and I’m exhilarated thinking about what the next few months may bring. This isn’t my first undercover stint, but this isn’t like the others. It’s personal.

I slowly lift my chin to get a better look around the church.

There are no flowers, only gold-framed iconography painted between the columns and up on the ceiling. As I lift my head to follow an odd-looking saint, I note the chandelier above. It’s not opulent, but a giant visage of Jesus looks down at us from its anchor point.

I hide my shiver.

What would Jesus think about people marrying for subterfuge?

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