Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ollie

Our home buzzes with excitement, cameras flashing. Staff walk about quickly, readying everything and everyone for the big event. If this were thirty years ago, we'd have newspaper staff with wide, flashing bulbs and microphones shoved under our noses. Instead, we've got well-dressed influencers with impeccable hair and perfectly white teeth snapping photos and taking selfies on our lawn.

This is what we want. What we need. The more attention we get, the better.

I hate every second of this show, every empty smile and flashing camera.

Renata stands radiant, her lace gown clinging to her every curve, a queen in her own right, commanding the room without a word. Her dark skin contrasts with the stark white of the gown, lending an exotic air to her beauty. A sparkling tiara twinkles under the overhead lighting, like an elegant halo crowning her head. She smiles for the photographers, her makeup perfect thanks to Harper, hiding the exhaustion and stress of the past few days gracefully.

I stand next to her, pride swelling in my chest, even as I grit my teeth. We wanted this wedding to be a public spectacle, to draw the attention of dignitaries and leaders from everywhere. We scrutinized every detail, every move watched, and intentionally put out feelers for everyone, but we did it quickly.

It worked. So many people are here, I can't name them all. Social media is buzzing with the news, again thanks to Harper.

Renata's personal guard, a new guy, leans in close to adjust her train. Heat pulses in my veins.

"Get your fucking hands off of her before I break them. Don't touch her."

He has the audacity to give me a dirty look. Pursing his lips, he mutters something under his breath to Renata. She pales.

"Want to repeat that again in front of me?" I ask him.

"Ollie," she says. "It's nothing. Don't cause a scene. If we didn't have a billion people in front of us with cameras, I'd slap him myself."

I reach for the guard and grab him by the collar. "What the fuck did you just say to her?"

"Ugh, predictable," Renata mumbles under her breath, but her voice trembles and her eyes are wide.

I don't give a shit.

I shake him. "Tell me what you said before I cut your fucking tongue out and make that the last thing you ever said."

"I told her to enjoy it while it lasts," he grits out.

"Watch your fucking mouth," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. I shake him. "Show some respect for my wife. You're dismissed as her guard. Report to Mikhail immediately."

I shove him toward the door, take his picture, and text it to Mikhail.

If he comes near my wife again, I'll kill him

My wife already, eh?

I text him back and tell him what happened.

My hand's fucking shaking. I hate that I have to behave in front of the cameras.

Renata places a calming hand on my arm. "It's okay, he doesn't matter, Ollie. He's a stupid boy for crying out loud."

"It does matter. You're going to be my wife in minutes. And they will all show you respect."

The guard turns to me.

"She betrayed you. She betrayed all of us," the guard says. I swivel and strike. My fists move before I think, bone meeting bone, the sound of breaking flesh music to my fucking ears. I caught him off guard, so he doesn't get a chance to block my blows. He falls to the ground.

"Get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

He scrambles to his feet and starts to run away.

"What the hell is going on here?" Mikhail says, coming around the corner.

I fill him in. Mikhail looks at the retreating back of the guard and makes his own call.

"Shake him down at the gate. I need to see him before he goes," he says quietly into the phone. He slides his phone in his pocket and turns to Renata with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry about that. It won't happen again."

Renata shrugs but can't hide the slight quiver of her jaw. "If I cared what any of you thought about me, I wouldn't be here."

I reach for her and cup her jaw, running my thumb along her cheek, leaving a streak of blood in its wake. Shit. I'll need Harper to fix that. It feels oddly symbolic.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

She stares me in the eyes, not flinching or pulling away. My hand still vibrates from hitting the bastard. She nods and swallows.

It's going to take some time for her to trust me, for her to know not to fear every touch of mine.

"Are you sure? I'm sorry."

"I've always wanted a hot, jacked bad boy to defend my honor," she says with a hint of a smile and dripping sarcasm. "Really, Ollie, I'm fine. If something like that is going to ruffle me, I don't belong in this family."

She isn't wrong.

Wait. Did she just call me hot? I can't help but give her a self-satisfied smirk.

The ceremony is brief. Utilitarian. I hope for something meaningful when the older orthodox priest Mikhail arranged to marry us talks about love and marriage and commitment, but truthfully… I don't. All I'm doing is scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of disturbance. I half expect Carlos to come marching in with a machine gun, sending people running everywhere. But he doesn't, and they don't. I'm so distracted, but the ceremony marches on.

Until we get to our vows.

"Take this woman…" The priest's voice is warm, reverent. His bushy gray beard reminds me of a painting of Moses I once saw in Italy.

I swallow hard and meet Renata's eyes. "I do," I say softly when the time is right. Her eyes widen as if surprised. I can't help it. I feel it, too, as if the brief vow in the end is more than words but an incantation that stirs something magical.

"Renata," the priest begins. His voice carries the weight of tradition and authority. Our guests fall into a hushed silence. I cup her hands with mine. Her pouty lips part slightly as she draws in a breath.

"Are you coming here of your own free will and accord?" he asks, holding her gaze. What the fuck? Did he add that? I give him a sharp look, and the crowd behind us gives a collective gasp. I can feel Mikhail getting to his feet, and someone racks the slide of their gun. Mom speaks in a hushed, vehement whisper as if that will stop any of my brothers.

But Renata only looks at me, holding my gaze with her chin thrust in the air. "I am," she says.

He continues.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health until death do you part?"

Her gaze locks onto mine, and in that moment, the world fades. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours as the world grows so small, it's just the two of us in that brief stretch of time.

"I do," she finally says, her voice steady and clear. The words resonate, filling the space between us.

As he continues, binding our vows, I hold her hand, and our eyes lock.

She's mine, now and forever.

The ceremony passes quickly, followed by the festivities I don't fucking care about. I want her alone.

Finally, much later at night, when the guests leave and the grand hall is silent, I take her by the hand and lead her away to the garden. I want to savor my bride, wrapped in white, a vision of beauty and strength. Mine to have. Mine to protect. Mine to hold.

Mine.

Moonlight casts a silver glow over the hedges and blooming flowers.

"It feels almost enchanted here, doesn't it?"

I can't help but smile and shrug a shoulder. "Yeah." I'm not the poetic words kind of guy, but she's right. There's something about the garden after a ceremony, filtered with moonlight and dusk, that feels as if magic is about to happen.

"I half expect a fairy to land on one of the flowers," she whispers.

She shivers when the wind brushes her bare shoulders. I shrug out of my jacket instinctively and wrap it around her arms.

"Nice," she says with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Will you pay for dinner and hold the door open for me too?"

I grunt. "Obviously. Anywhere you want to go now that the wedding's over?" I ask her.

"Wow," she says with a smirk. "Is this just an illusion of choice, or are you actually asking me?"

I give her a sheepish smile and shrug my shoulders. "Illusion."

She laughs out loud. "That's what I thought," she says. "Well, pretending for a moment it's actually a choice, I would like to go somewhere far away from all of this," she says, gesturing to our surroundings. "Somewhere safe though." She looks up at the sky and sighs. "Do you think it will ever end? The constant danger, the fear?"

"Fear?" I repeat. "I'm not afraid. Are you?"

She tips her head to the side and gives me a curious look. "Of course. I feel him everywhere. As if Carlos is lurking in every shadow, ready to strike. Do you mean to tell me you don't feel fear?"

I stifle a growl. "I wish Carlos would jump out from behind something. I'd love a chance to spill his blood on my family's property and wring an apology out of him."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she only swallows and nods.

Accepting me. Accepting us. I put my arm around her shoulder and draw her closer.

"I do fear some things, but not Carlos or his posse. Mostly, I just feel anger. I'm counting down the minutes until I get Carlos in front of me. First, I'll make him pay for giving you that scar. Then, beat him to death so you know without a doubt he will never hurt you again. I relish the day I get to feel his pulse leave his body."

That smile plays on her lips, and her eyes look a little guarded. "In truth, Ollie, I know you could. And that kind of terrifies me a little bit."

"It's not about could, Renata, but when." I tighten my arm on her shoulder.

She's quiet for long moments. "Then what do you fear?"

"I was afraid when you were gone. I was afraid I'd never get you back."

She looks away again, her eyes sad. For the first time since I've had her back, I want to make her happy. I don't like seeing sadness in her eyes.

"I don't know how any of this will end," I tell her, but I make her a vow there and then. "I'll burn the world to the ground to protect you. Nothing will stop me from keeping you safe, I promise you that."

She turns to face me, her expression determined. "I'm not going to let my family control my life, Ollie. I won't let my fears control my life. I won't let any of them break me."

I cup her face in my hands, unable to stop myself. My touch is gentle as I hold her gaze. "I know, Renata. But it's my job to protect you now."

"It's our job to protect each other." She smiles sadly, her eyes shining with tears she won't shed. "We have to fight back. And not every method of protection means a fist."

"Yeah." I nod. My mother protected me from my father, even though he outweighed her in power and rank by a landslide.

"I won't live in fear," I whisper. "We have to fight back. And the first way we do that is by making sure you don't have a tracker in you."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, God," she whispers. "You do think it's a tracker."

I nod. "I waited until the wedding, but it's time. I'm getting that fucking thing out of you now, no matter how much it hurts. You're strong. You'll be fine."

"Oh my God," she repeats in a heated whisper. She pulls out from under my arm and claws at her skin. "I was afraid of that, but the thought—of that in me--Get it out! I want it out! How do we remove it?"

That's my girl.

Pride tightens my chest. "It will hurt. Flesh repairs quickly. By now, the skin has grown around it."

"It hasn't been that long," she says softly, unable to hide her grimace.

"Long enough. First, I have to contact Aleks. Let's get upstairs."

"Do it," she says, her tone vehement. "I won't be a pawn in his game anymore. Please, Ollie."

I nod and make the call as we walk swiftly to my room. On the landing, he picks up.

"Ollie? You alright?"

"I think Renata has a tracking device in her arm. I want to check, and if my instinct is right, I need to take it out immediately."

"Jesus. You think they did it when they attacked and cut her arm?"

"Yeah." I open the door. Large vases of white and red roses sit on every flat surface. On the small table in the entrance sits a bottle of champagne nestled in an ice bucket and a silver platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries.

We'll get to that. I point to the armchair for her to sit. She obeys, enveloped in a cloud of satin and lace.

I cover the speaker. "Take it off," I whisper. I take my hand off. "Go on," I tell Aleks.

"Alright, so first we have to make sure that's exactly what you're dealing with." In front of me, Renata unfastens button after button, slowly undressing. I help her tug off the miles of fabric until she's standing in front of me wearing a matching white satin bra and panties.

I'm instantly hard. I grit my teeth and concentrate. "Alright. Tell me how I find it?"

"I have an app that can detect a signal from subcutaneous tracking devices. You'll have to put me on speaker. You'll see me airdrop an app. Install it. That will give me permission."

I see a red flash and a prompt. I hit the button.

"Got it. You're in. Now, hold your phone near the wound on her arm."

God, it's amazing what he can do. This modern technology shit.

I hold the phone close to her bare arm as Aleks does his thing.

"Give me a second. I'm setting it up it now. This is going to scan for any radio frequencies nearby. If it is a tracker, it will ping."

I watch the screen nervously, not sure why. And then I realize if it shows that there is a tracker, I'm going to get the fucking thing out of her. I could have one of my brothers do it, but no one's fucking touching her.

The app shows a progress bar as it scans. Renata is breathing quickly, but she stares bravely at the screen right along with me.

A loud beep coincides with a display signal.

"Bingo," Aleks says. "There it is. The signal is strong. Definitely a fucking tracker. Jesus. You were right, Ollie. Renata, you might be amazing at detecting the truth, but this fucker's got excellent instincts. Listen to him."

"Alright, alright. How do I get this fucker out?"

As Aleks instructs, Renata watches me. I brush my free hand across the apple of her cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," she says with a smile.

"Ollie, are you listening? There should be a small bump just below the surface, probably next to her bicep. Feel for it. It's going to be tender. The tracker will probably be about a centimeter long, just under the skin. Once you see it, you're going to have to slice through her skin and use sterilized tweezers to pull it out. It's the only way." He pauses. "Do you want me to come and do this?"

Heat flares across my chest. "No, asshole. If you touch her, I'll kill you, and we need you." I'm breathing heavily. She places a gentle hand on my arm, and I draw in a breath. "I mean, no, thank you, I've got this."

He chuckles on the other end of the line. "Tell me when you've got it."

"Alright. I'll get one of our first aid kids, then let's do this."

Our first aid kits are not your normal run-of-the-mill bandages and alcohol swabs. We keep every room in this house well stocked.

The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls from moonlight outside the window. But I feel a sense of urgency as I spread out medical supplies on the coffee table and take out the tools that I need.

"Come here," I tell her, pulling out a desk chair. "Sit on my lap."

She walks over to me, a bit reserved, but takes a deep breath and sits on my lap. I inhale and gently remove the bandage from her arm, then feel the tender skin like Aleks instructed. She hisses in a breath and grits her teeth but holds still. Wordlessly, I bend and kiss her shoulder.

"I'm sorry it's going to hurt. But I have to make sure it's there."

"I know," she says quietly. "Do it. I want it fucking out ."

My fingers shake a bit and finally brush over a small, hard lump just under his skin, making her wince.

"I think I found it. Jesus," I say, feeling a wave of nausea at the hard bump under her skin. "Feels weird."

"You got it?" Aleks says on the other side.

"Yeah."

"Good. Next, take the scalpel. Make sure it's sterilized first. There should be alcohol swaps in the kit."

My hands continue to tremble a little as I rummage through the first aid kit and take out little white squares of gauze and the sharp scalpel.

"Not something you see in everybody's first aid kit, now, is it?" Renata says with a tight laugh. "This is the mobster special edition."

I snort and shake my head.

While I disinfect the scalpel, she rummages through. "Bandages, gauze, tape, scissors. Pretty standard there." Her eyebrows raise when she pulls out a tourniquet and burn dressings. "Wow. Broad spectrum antibiotics, antiseptic, and a bullet removal kit. Duct tape? " Her eyes meet mine. "Are you guys preparing to go to war?"

"Always."

I shrug. "I've seen a lot. I make sure we're all well-equipped."

"Interesting," she says, reaching her fingers for a small leather pouch. She opens it up. "Do all of the kits have these too?"

She takes out a series of fake IDs, a passport, a portable fingerprint kit, a burner phone, some makeup, and basic prosthetics we could use for a disguise if needed. Colored contact lenses, a lock picking tool, and several massive rolls of $100 bills.

She stifles a little gasp when she finds a small vile of sedatives, cyanide capsules, and even a tranquilizer gun. "Holy shit , Ollie. What else do you have in here? This is not just a first aid kit. This is a survival kit. We could be bombed, attacked, and still manage to get into every country in the world."

I shrug. "What can I say? Always be prepared."

"Indeed," she says, pulling out a few meal replacement bars, more cash in various currencies, and a few prepaid credit cards.

"Are you guys still there? Or are you bonding and shit?" Aleks snaps.

"Sterilized scalpel at the ready, fucker. Let's go."

Renata braces, her muscles tense.

"You're going to have to make a small incision, just enough to reach the tracker."

She shakes harder and looks away.

"Aleks, hold on a second."

I rummage through the kit and pull out a nip of vodka. "Drink it."

She pops the top off and gulps, comes up sputtering, and tosses the empty bottle onto the floor. "Fucking do it before I pass out."

"Hold onto me. Squeeze if you have to, as hard as you want."

She nods.

I lift the scalpel, draw in a breath, and, in one steady move, make a small, straight cut. She hisses as the blade slices through her skin. Blood wells up, and I quickly dab it with a piece of gauze.

I prod the sliced skin aside. "There it is. I see it."

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Renata says. I reach for the ice bucket and empty it onto the floor. She holds it up to her mouth and dry heaves.

Aleks is giving me instructions on the other line. "Use the tweezers. Be gentle, it's probably started clotting to the tissues, you'll need to be careful not to cause more damage when you remove it."

I grasp the tracker with tweezers, keeping my hand steady with everything I've got. It's slippery, and I almost drop it, but finally, it's free, the fucking tracker clasped between the bloody tweezers.

"Got it."

Renata heaves.

"Good job. Now disinfect and bandage the wound, and destroy that damn thing."

Yeah, I have no intention of destroying it.

I bandage her wound, thankfully small and easy to fix. When I'm done, I can't help but bend and kiss her bandaged arm. I take the bucket from her and place it beside the discarded champagne and ice on the floor.

This all feels strangely symbolic as if taking that tracker out removed something wedged between us.

"Did you take care of that tracker yet?" Aleks asks.

"Yeah about that, I want you to put this thing into a drone and fly it to the most inconvenient places you possibly can, like over huge bodies of water or something."

Aleks chuckles darkly, and Renata smiles at me.

"I am absolutely on it. Now go get ready; it's picture time."

I hang up the phone and take a moment to hold her tighter on my lap. I hug her to me, careful not to touch the tender spot on her bandaged arm or the fading bruises on her abdomen.

I hate that she's been hurt, that I let it happen. I'll never harm her again. She's a victim in this bullshit, and I'm going to burn the fucking world until everyone and anything that will hurt her is annihilated.

She's mine.

With the tracker gone, we are ready to go. Wordlessly, we get ready, careful to get her back into her dress so we can take our poses for social media. We take pictures at all the iconic landmarks, our defiant smiles daring anyone to come after us.

In the garden, Renata turns to me, grinning.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she taunts and gives me a broad wink. "I'm not afraid."

She is though. I know she is. I see it in the way she bites her lips and twists her hair, the way she looks over her shoulder.

I vowed I will take care of her, and I never say anything I don't mean.

I watch over her with almost fierce protectiveness, ready to shield her from any threat.

"You're mine, Renata," I whisper in her ear when the last photo is taken and we're finally alone again. "And I'll do anything and everything to protect you."

"Anything?" she asks, her gaze holding a world of hurt.

I kiss her forehead. " Anything ."