Betrayed Honor: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Ivanov Crime Family Book 3)

by Zoe Blake

  I owed everything to her brothers. In a world where only family or connections going back generations were trusted, they took a chance on an arrogant army sergeant with nothing but a cheap bottle of Moskovskaya vodka and half a pack of counterfeit cigarettes to his name.

  I shook my head.

  My name.

  What name?

  Mikhail Volkov?

  It was nothing. It meant nothing.

  Mikhail Volkov. That was it. No middle name to hint at my heritage, because I had none.

  Volkov?

  That wasn’t even a proper surname.

  It was the name of the orphanage in a tiny coal-mining town named Cheremkhovo in Siberia, where my mother abandoned me within hours of my birth, with the umbilical cord still hanging limp and cold from my stomach as if it had never been connected or even received the warmth or lifeblood from her body.

  In Cheremkhovo, I had two choices: black powder or lead.

  I would either die from black lung after a desolate life underground in the mines, or I could become a soldier and risk death by a bullet. Either way, all roads led to a messy end to a useless life.

  At least joining the army got me the fuck out of Siberia.

  It landed me in Transnistria with the 14th Army under the auspicious flag of a peacekeeping mission. I was under the command of a corrupt general who was systematically selling off an arsenal of forty-two thousand pistols, tanks, and surface-to-air missiles abandoned by the Soviet Union close to two decades after the collapse of the communist regime.

  There I was, lying on my stomach on the roof of some derelict office building, soaked to the skin from the icy rain that poured down in punishing sheets, gripping the slick barrel of a Lobaev Arms SVLK-14S sniper rifle waiting for a signal from the general. Surrounding me was nothing but half-torn-down buildings, cracked cement, and weeds. It was what passed for an airport in Transnistria. Those with legitimate business usually flew in through Moldova and then hired a car to cross the disputed border. Those with less interest in having their movements tracked flew directly into the territory by private plane, taking advantage of the deserted former military airbase, which was how the Ivanov brothers arrived that day.

  My orders were simple: take out the two men who emerged from the plane with a shot each to the head.

  I didn’t question the order.

  Why would I?

  An order was an order, even if it came from a bastard crooked officer.

  Although I rarely bothered to care, this time I knew the name of my targets. I had overheard the general talking in his office. The targets were Gregor and Damien Ivanov, two powerful players in the arms trade, who were flying in from America. This would be their last deal with the general. They would have over twenty million in untraceable bonds on them, but the general was only supposed to get a small token amount. They reserved the rest for his replacement, a man Gregor and Damien had installed, ousting the stubborn and unpredictable general.

  Unpredictable was bad for business.

  The Ivanovs did not know the army had discovered their plans. That the general had no intention of going quietly into retirement with a mere few million dollars for his pains.

  I had a choice that day.

  Do as the general ordered and then take my chances with the next guy, destined to always be the grunt behind the gun, but receiving none of the spoils. Or take out the general, risking a court martial and a life sentence in some godforsaken Russian prison if the Ivanov brothers didn’t show proper appreciation for my efforts.

  I looked through the sight of my rifle as the door opened and the steps were lowered on the Ivanovs’ private plane. Both men appeared at the top. As they descended the stairs, the general disguised his signal to me as a greeting to them. I inhaled a long breath and released it slowly to steady my hand. My finger caressed the trigger.

  At the right moment, I fired.

  One shot.

  Straight through the general’s skull.

  In appreciation, Gregor and Damien gave me the several million in bonds they had planned to give the general and hired me on the spot.

  They trusted me with their most treasured possession — the safety of their family.

  Tonight, I had betrayed that trust.

  It would never happen again. I would go back to silently watching over Nadia, but never touching. She would move on and find a man worthy of her, and I would do my best not to kill him for touching what deep in my soul I knew should be mine.

  At least that had been my intention, and I had kept my vow for three torturous years.

  Then everything changed the day of the wedding.

  Chapter 6

  Nadia

  Three years later, present day.

  The silver Rolls Royce Phantom limousine traveled down Massachusetts Avenue toward Embassy Row. When the towering white limestone columns of St. Nicholas Cathedral came within view, I inhaled a deep breath, bracing myself for what was to come.

  Reaching under the voluminous skirt that crowded us all, despite the spacious interior of the limo, Yelena fluffed the crinoline underneath. “I will not have you exit this limo with a wrinkled wedding gown. Remember Princess Di’s wedding? That beautiful gown was an absolute disaster with all those creases.”

  I helped her smooth out the fine tulle over the champagne silk fabric. The couture gown was from Ziad Nakad’s Snow Crystal bridal collection. The A-line ball gown was covered in thousands of tiny Swarovski crystals and pearls sewn in intricate ice crystal patterns all over the skirt and bodice. It looked like something the Snow Queen, a favorite Russian fairytale character from my childhood, would wear. The dramatically long French silk tulle veil was equally stunning. Only a delicate, expert hand could have sewn so many crystals on such a sheer fabric.

  Through the tinted windows, we glimpsed my brothers and Mikhail, each elegantly attired in a custom Ralph Lauren tuxedo, waiting for us on the steps of the cathedral just below the massive bell tower, where at this moment five bells were ringing out a chorus to hail the arrival of the bride.

  What couldn’t be seen were the snipers on the roof and the countless men patrolling the cathedral grounds with weapons under their jackets. I had long since stopped believing in the lies my family had told me about their business affairs. While Gregor and Damien weren’t completely straightforward about the kind of business they were really in, I at least now knew it was something completely illegal.

  The news didn’t entirely surprise me. I guess deep down I had always suspected, I just never wanted to face the possibility. It did shock me in how little it bothered me. I guess that was my Russian blood. In Russia, there was a very fine line between legal and illegal with business. Whatever it was, my family certainly would not stop just because I objected, so there really was no point in causing a fuss. Some may call that a passive and weak attitude, but I simply called it being part of a family. Family was family. Blood was blood, and a few skeletons in the closet would not change that.

  “My head is spinning. I shouldn’t have done that last shot of vodka at the ransom,” complained Samara. “I’d kill for a McD’s Cafe Mocha right now.”

  The ransom was a beloved but chaotic Russian tradition that had taken place at Gregor’s house earlier today. All the guests were dancing and singing and laughing. They dressed the women in veils, pretending to be the bride to try to fool the groom into carrying the wrong woman off to the altar. My brothers handed out ransom gifts of classic Cartier tank watches to all the men and Cartier white gold and diamond tennis bracelets to the women.

  Trays of pink, white and silver zefir meringue cookies were passed around along with other sweets like chocolates and gingerbread and lots of champagne. Then of course there was the vodka and countless toasts to the bride and groom’s future happiness and a spectacular wedding — that is, if the groom could successfully ransom her from her family and friends with his bribes.

  Outside the window, Mikhail restlessly shifted from foot to foot as he chec
ked his watch. He then leaned over to say something to Gregor, who nodded.

  “I think the men are getting anxious,” I said.

  The biggest part of planning this last-minute winter wedding was all the security involved, which had fallen on Mikhail’s shoulders. Given my family’s unique business, any high-profile event that took us outside the control of one of our properties put us all at risk. They called reinforcements in from Chicago. Dimitri was attending with his new bride, Emma. He had brought along at least twenty-five of his own heavily armed men.

  Alarmed at all the intense security measures, I told Gregor we should call off the big elaborate wedding if there was the chance of trouble and just have something small and private at home, but he adamantly refused.

  He repeated a favorite proverb of my father’s. “Berezhonogo Bog berezhot.” God keeps those safe who keep themselves safe. So here we were, celebrating a solemn religious sacrament surrounded by semi-automatic weapons. Sometimes I wished I was still that naive girl kept in the dark about her family’s secrets.

  Yelena leaned over the backseat to look out the same window. “Good. After what Damien did to me last night, he deserves to wait.”

  Samara reached up and tucked an errant curl back into the intricate bun at the base of her neck. “I want all the dirty details.”

  Yelena leaned in, a conspiratorial glint to her gaze. “So, you know how we have that huge shower stall in the master bedroom with all the different showerheads? Well, he actually tied several leather straps around the two highest ones and then— “

  Yelena stopped and glanced at me. She waved a dismissive hand in front of her face. “You know what, never mind. It’s hardly an appropriate story for right before we walk into a church.”

  A blush crept up my neck and cheeks. I played with a crystal bead on my skirt. With Yelena and Samara back in my life, this past month had been amazing. We’d spent countless hours in my little jewelry shop coming up with plans to go into business together. Samara had this wonderful idea of renting out a larger space in Georgetown, where we could create a boutique to showcase all of our talents. It would have her paintings, Yelena’s dress designs, and my jewelry.

  Seeing them both so happy with big plans made me feel like my life had been somehow frozen. Like I had spent these last three years holding my breath waiting for something to happen. Out the car window, I caught another glimpse of Mikhail. He looked devastatingly handsome in his fitted tuxedo.

  Yelena’s cell rang. She picked it up without looking at the screen. “Hello?” She then mouthed to both of us, It’s Damien.

  We could see he was on his cellphone pacing under the bell tower.

  Yelena rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a pushy Scorpio, we’re coming.” She tossed the phone aside and gathered up the wedding skirt, which was pooled between the backseats. “Damien says if we don’t stop chattering like schoolgirls, they are going to march down here and drag us out of the limo.”

  Samara giggled, then hiccupped, the vodka obviously having a drunken effect on her. “I wouldn’t put it past Gregor to toss me over his shoulder and carry me up the stairs and over the church threshold.” With a conspiratorial wink, she added, “He’s done it before.”

  Yelena gasped. “Oh my God, so has Damien. Seriously, Nadia, what is it with your cavemen brothers?”

  I just shrugged, knowing she didn’t really want an answer from me. “We should probably go.”

  Samara grasped both of our hands. “Just one more second. It’s hard to believe three years ago we freaking ran to avoid this day and yet here we are! Fate can be a real fickle bitch, but I’m so glad she brought us all back together. I love you girls.”

  I squeezed her hand, then teased, “You better not let Gregor hear you cursing like that.”

  We all knew Gregor hated when women cursed. He thought it made them sound coarse and unladylike. He could be such an old-fashioned Neanderthal about some things, especially since he himself cursed a blue streak whenever he pleased.

  Samara raised both arms with her palms out. “What? I said freaking, not fuc—”

  She was interrupted when the door violently swung open. Gregor’s stormy visage appeared as he peered into the limo’s interior. He growled, “I warned you.”

  “Don’t you dare!” shouted Yelena.

  I cried out at the same time. “Gregor! You’ll ruin her wedding dress!”

  He ignored us both.

  Reaching for her arm, he yanked her out of the limo and onto his shoulder in one smooth move.

  Samara pounded on his back “Put me down this instant, you brute!”

  Yelena and I scrambled out of the backseat, racing to lift Samara’s veil so that it wouldn’t drag and tear along the rough and dirty cement and stone staircase. Yelena got there first and quickly scooped up the gossamer fabric before they damaged it, all the while calling out to Damien to control his brother.

  I tried to follow, but the heavy navy blue velvet skirt of my bridesmaid dress tripped me up as I took the first few stone steps. I thought for sure I was going to fall to my knees, tearing the dress and ruining the intricate icicle starburst pattern down the front, but a powerful hand at my elbow saved me from certain embarrassment.

  I looked up to see Mikhail’s intense sapphire blue gaze on me, then looked down to where his warm hand was touching my bare arm. He instantly removed it as if branded.

  Lowering my head so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes, I whispered, “Thank you.”

  He only nodded in return, saying nothing. Not that I expected him to say anything. It had been three years of this. Three years of stony silences and averted looks. We never spoke about what happened on my eighteenth birthday. In fact, we had barely spoken about anything since that night. It was like a gigantic wall of ice had been erected between us. He was always painfully polite and nothing more.

  Before taking another step, I remembered the kokoshnik tiara. Samara couldn’t get married without the Ivanov heirloom. It was a traditional Russian fringe tiara in the shape of a sunburst halo made of pink and white diamonds in a platinum setting.

  I turned back to the limo, placed a knee on the seat, and then leaned in to reach along the backseat for the thick black leather case. Shimmying out of the limo, I bent over to gather my heavy dragging skirt into my other hand, wanting to avoid another tripping incident. My head shot up when a few feet away, Mikhail grabbed one of the perimeter guards by the neck.

  “Did you get a good look, asshole?” he snarled.

  The man clawed at Mikhail’s grasp as he pleaded, “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  A good look? What was that supposed to mean? Mikhail turned his head in my direction. His heated gaze radiated anger. Following his eyes, I gasped when I realized my breasts were practically spilling out of the V-neck of my gown. I must have pushed it down with my knee when I partially climbed into the backseat of the limo. With the leather tiara case for cover, I yanked the dress back into place.

  Turning his attention back to the ogling guard, he said, “You’re goddamn right it won’t, or they’ll never find your body.” Mikhail released his grip and pushed the man away from him. “Get back to your post.”

  Lowering my head, I hoped to scurry past Mikhail, drawing no more humiliating attention to myself. I wasn’t so lucky.

  Just as I was almost past him, his stern voice rang out. “Nadia.”

  I turned my head slightly and looked at him from the corner of my eye.

  He crooked his finger and commanded, “Come here.”

  I glanced wistfully at Samara, Yelena, and the others who were standing under the bell tower laughing at Gregor’s antics as he playfully pretended to spank Samara for keeping him waiting. None of them were paying any attention to me. I slowly turned to face Mikhail.

  In just a few steps, he crowded me against the side of the limo. Placing his palm near the roof of the car, he leaned in. “You and I need to have a little talk about what’s going to happen today.
”

  I had to force myself to concentrate on what he was saying. Starbursts clouded my eyes as I forgot to breathe. This was the closest we had been in years.

  He had always avoided being alone with me in a room and only said the barest number of words possible when it was unavoidable that we speak. That didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of his presence. He was always there, in the background, watching.

  In three years, I had only gotten past the first date with a guy once. Mikhail was worse than my overprotective brothers in scaring away prospective boyfriends. I had no direct proof it was him, but I had my suspicions. Just like I suspected they involved him in chasing away the only guy brave enough to ask for a second and then third date. The evening of our third date, he never arrived. In fact, he had literally disappeared off the face of the earth, not responding to any of my texts, calls, or emails.

  I didn’t want to date those other men; I wanted to date Mikhail, but he had made it clear that wasn’t ever going to happen. The problem was he didn’t want me dating anyone else either. Our relationship was at an odd impasse, and the tension had been building for years. Something had to give, and soon.

  Mikhail looked down at me, inhaling a slow steady breath as if he were trying to calm himself down. In the soft, even tones one would use for a child, he said, “You are not to leave my sight today. Do you understand me?”

  Wait, what?

  I was so shocked at his unusual order, I didn’t even respond.

  Mikhail placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face to meet his gaze. “I’m going to need an answer….”

  He paused. It was there, unsaid, hanging between us. Kroshka. He had almost uttered the endearment; I was sure of it. It was on the tip of his tongue as if he were used to thinking it.