Chapter 1

Sera

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as my older sister Katya fusses with the flowers in my hair. I've got flowers in my hair and my blindingly white wedding dress hangs from a rack behind me, looming like a malevolent ghost.

"You're paler than your gown," Katya says, fixing another rose or peony or whatever the heck it is into my silky blonde hair, all curled and shiny for the big day.

It feels more like a sentencing than a wedding. But it's not a life sentence. I have to cling to that part of Papa's promise. Not for life.

Still, I'm only twenty. Nowhere near ready to be married. And Papa's promises are as sturdy as a sand dune in a hurricane. In my family, the most feared mafia family in this part of the country, being a mob wife is definitely the end of the line for someone like me.

No interests of your own, no career, no friends that aren't approved by your husband—who's really just a stand in for your father in terms of bossing you around. Since I'm the youngest and most ignored out of my three brothers and one sister, I thought I might squeak past the whole marriage thing. Or at least not have to do it for about ten more years. Katya's twenty-four and still free, after all.

My eyes cut to the dress again and back to my face in the mirror, which is as white as a freshly bleached sheet. I pinch my cheeks, bringing a moment of color to them that quickly fades. Just like my hopes and dreams.

My father can't be trusted, not even when he makes promises to his children, and especially not the mouse of the family. The little nuisance—the one who's the spitting image of the wife who betrayed him right before she died. And when I say died, I mean killed. Because that's what happens when you cross Papa.

That was my mother's only way out, but it won't be mine. If I don't believe my father's words in this, I won't make it down the aisle. I won't be able to stand up to get that awful wedding dress on.

Now Katya swivels my chair around and plops onto a stool across from me, pulling one of her makeup palettes off the vanity table in the church's big bathroom. I normally barely wear makeup, maybe mascara and a little blush if I'm getting trotted out somewhere, but today it seems like I have to look like the prize offering I've been made out to be.

Really, I have no idea why Alexei Grishin agreed to this. I know nothing about him, since the only time I leave my gilded cage is for family events, surrounded by guards and my overbearing brothers. All I know is that he's going to be my husband very soon and I don't even know what he looks like. How he is around people. How he'll treat me.

What if … what if he's worse than my father?

I shudder as Katya dabs at my skin with a brush, her lip caught in her teeth in concentration. She's been working hard all morning to make me look presentable, and surprisingly seems to be having a great time.

Not me. I hate being fussed over. As the youngest child—from the second wife no less—smaller and less rowdy than my brothers, much less pretty than my gorgeous older sister, I'm not used to being the center of attention.

"It's not going to be so bad," she says.

I snicker. "If that's the best you can do, that's not great," I say. "Have you ever seen him?" She nods with a hint of a smile and keeps dabbing at me. "Well?"

"I saw him walk into the church earlier," she tells me.

"Katya! Come on," I wail.

Overall, she's a good big sister. Much more worldly than me. Papa lets her run one of his lending centers and she's as tough as nails. Like our brothers, she likes to tease me, but unlike those brutes, she's usually pretty chill about it. There's love behind her teasing, which I can't exactly say for my brothers.

She shrugs, leaning back to look at her artistry. "He's huge, taller than Papa and at least as built as Leo from what I can tell."

Our oldest brother Leo is pretty beefy, spending the time he's not in training to take over the family business one day to log hours at the gym doing MMA fighting, weightlifting, and the occasional half marathon when he can fit one in. I shrivel a little in my chair.

"Were you hoping he'd be a little string bean?" she asks, getting back to my face.

"Yes," I admit. I know what happens to mob wives when they don't make their men happy. That muscle doesn't have to just be for taking down one's enemies. "What about his face?" I press as she keeps giggling at me.

"I don't know, he was kind of grumpy looking."

"Great. Massive and pissed off. Can't wait for the honeymoon." I'm surprised I sound so calm. Inside I'm quaking, ready to throw up at the slightest provocation.

Katya shakes her head. "Nah, from what I know, the grumpy looking ones tend to be nicer than the ones who put on a debonair smile. And we don't know how he's feeling yet, so don't get all up in your head and start terrorizing yourself."

"What else?" I ask, desperate for information to arm myself with.

"He's young and rising in power. He already has enough to have some of Papa's underlings pushing for this alliance." She smiles at me encouragingly, her glance moving to where I keep my self-study books hidden. "I know you had different plans, Seraphina, and in any other life you could have made them all come true. You're smart enough and hardworking enough to do anything you put your mind to. But it's time to face reality." She pulls me out of the chair and toward the dress, once again straightening the flowers in my hair. "You look beautiful. Your skin is as pretty as these rose petals."

Tears well in my eyes and she turns militant at once, warning me not to cry and ruin my makeup. The dress is technically stunning, hand-beaded with thousands of sparkling stones, with a long lace train and matching veil. But I didn't choose it. I didn't choose any of this. Even when it's on my petite, somewhat curvy frame and I have to admit even to myself that I look amazing, I still hate it. I'm going to burn it as soon as I can.

Katya is trying to give me a pep talk to get the scowl off my face and we both jump when Papa pushes the door open. He sweeps over me with his trademark appraising look and for once I feel like he approves. There's a smile on his face I've never seemed aimed at me before now.

"Give us some time alone, Katya," he says. "Before I walk my youngest down the aisle."

She hurries out, snatching my bouquet as she goes. The second the door closes, Papa's face returns to the cold, calculating look I've come to dread. Of course it was all for Katya's benefit. Even on the wedding day he himself arranged, there's no real smile for me.

"You make a lovely bride," he says, immediately reminding me of our deal. "You won't forget what this is for?"

"Of course not, Papa," I say. In any other instance, I wouldn't press my luck and question him, but I'm minutes from walking down the aisle to a man I've never met. I throw caution to the wind. "You won't forget your promise?"

His face darkens further, his brows almost meeting over his stormy eyes. "Seraphina," he says sharply. "You doubt me?"

"Of course not, Papa."

"One year," he says. "You pass information about your new husband to me and your brother, and then I'll get you your divorce. You'll be free of him, and of us, and I'll pay for your education."

He sounds so cold I almost shiver. "Papa," I say desperately. "It's not that I want out of the family—"

"Your foolish dreams won't forward our business," he says.

Well, I don't think wanting to be a nurse and work with disadvantaged people in ER spaces all that foolish. I mean, for as much as his men get shot at and stabbed, I'd have thought he'd find it convenient. And I can't help that I'm more passionate about that than the bottomless greed that's kept me in a privileged, pampered prison since I was born. I've studied in secret since I graduated high school, but never really had any hope of getting to go to nursing school and making my dream a reality. Not even Katya knows about my deal with Papa.

Become a spy for my freedom.

For once, my own greed came out. To live the life I always wanted? To not be under a cruel tyrant's thumb anymore? Because telling my father I didn't want out of our family was a lie. I do want out.

I don't think about what the information I have to gather about Alexei Grishin might be used for, and what might become of my husband after I'm granted my divorce.

I can't. Because it will make me falter. As sheltered as they've kept me, I still know what happens to my family's enemies. It's never simple, never quick, and it goes against every fiber of my being. All I want to do is heal, not harm.

"Now is your chance to show your loyalty, Sera," my father says when I've stayed silent too long. It's like there's a hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing the air out of me. "This man is a threat to us. The guilt that's written all over your face is misplaced."

Alexei is a threat to us? And he still agreed to put me in his house? All for information to bring him down? I feel myself slipping toward the floor and Papa roughly grabs my shoulders, shaking me. I feel one of the flowers in my hair slipping underneath my veil and almost laugh at what Katya will say when she sees it.

Papa has condemned me just like I've condemned Alexei to whatever his fate might be once I've managed to get enough information on him to earn my freedom. The thought of that freedom is what's been keeping me going for the last three days since this alliance was made. Now the cost is making my knees buckle.

I've already agreed, so there's no backing down. To do so would be a joke because Papa would still force me to go through with it anyway, but without the end date to look forward to. Or he'd kill me here and now. I sometimes think he's been looking for a reason ever since I was born.

Well, I'm not going to give it to him. I straighten my spine and shrug his hands off my shoulders, looking him in the eye with a fierceness that shocks him. In a few hours I'll be out of this luxurious prison. I could be heading into something much worse, but I cling to the thing that's kept me going my entire life.

Hope. Hope that I won't always be under someone's control. That I can make my dreams come true and live a life that means something. The cost no longer matters.

Papa looks away first, reaching for the door and holding it open to let me through. Katya jumps from where she's been waiting in the hallway and hands me my bouquet, then grabs my train as we silently head toward my fate. We stop in the vestibule so she can fix the damn flower in my hair and pull the gossamer veil over my face.

"You ready?" she whispers, squeezing my arm as the wedding march swells from inside the church.

Two of my father's men fling open the double doors and Papa holds out his arm. The scent of incense hits me like a wave. The church's nave is packed full with family and associates, and dripping with flowers and ribbons scattered among the icons. Anyone who thinks it takes a minimum of six months to plan a wedding has never met anyone in the mafia.

I keep my eyes on the icon of the Theotokos on the wall that blocks the altar from view, not yet wanting to see the big, grumpy man that I've been sold to. She had to make a really hard decision for herself once. I'm doing the same thing today.

"I'm ready," I say, and step into the nave.