Page 121 of The Darkness is Calling

Oksana is the only one who knows what’s in my heart and the only one who understands me, especially after I told her how dinner with my fiance went.

Even so, she comes closer, taking advantage of the moment when Jane goes to admire the diamond crown that will hold my veil.

“You really look like a princess,” my friend tells me softly, and we both turn toward the mirror.

My reflection is an embodiment of elegance and wealth. The creation belongs to the famous designer Elie Saab, who’s made an extraordinary work. Beyond the corset covered in tiny, glittering stones, the lower part is worthy of a fairy-tale princess gown, made entirely of fine, delicate feathers that give the impression I am flying.

It’s truly a stunning creation, and I am glad they allowed me to keep it exactly as it is now, even though Oliver’s mother had suggested I cover at least my shoulders.

Maybe I’m letting a stranger to handle all the arrangements – which I approved based on photos received by email – but when it came to the dress, I didn’t allow anyone to alter my vision.

Today, though, I cannot help smiling sadly when I see the resemblance between my feathered dress and the name of the organization Artem leads.

The Birds of Darkness versus the purity of my white gown.

“It’s beautiful,” I say without enthusiasm, and that earns me half an embrace from my friend.

“We’ll figure it out somehow,” she whispers with conviction. “I don’t know how, but it has to be okay in the end.”

“I appreciate the optimism,” I tell her sarcastically.

“I refuse to give up.”

I turn toward her and hold her hands in mine.

“You don’t have to give up anything. You only have to accept that there’s nothing left to do.”

She quickly checks whether anyone can hear us, and since the dressmaker is talking to Jane about the veil in the other corner of the room, she speaks to me in Russian. “We run back to Moscow. My father and everyone in the Bratva will take care of us there.”

“The Bratva wants this wedding to happen,” I whisper just as quietly, just to be sure nobody can understand any words that might sound similar in English. “My father told me that while he was still alive, and Vor Leonid repeated the same words when I spoke to him last.”

“Voron’s father?” she asks for confirmation, an almost frightened grimace on her face.

“Yes,” I answer with a click of my tongue.

“I still don’t understand why they care so much about this wedding.”

I shrug. “It’s probably about image. And the fact that a union like this will most likely allow our families to operate more easily on British territory. To be closer to the Irish in the war they’re fighting for supremacy.”

“But weren’t they allies?”

I lift an eyebrow. “You’ll never see that kind of alliance in the mafia. What we see is only the surface. Truth is they probably can’t wait to stab one another.”

She turns toward the mirror again, and I follow her gaze.

I am in a wedding dress worth more than fifty thousand euros, while she is in a two-piece Prada suit, Jimmy Choo shoes, and a Cartier watch. Diamonds shimmer in the jewelry that completes our outfits, reminding me of the princesses from the stories I used to love reading.

“What kind of world do we live in...” she says sadly. “Anyone who sees us would think we don’t have a single worry in the world. It looks like we live a life of luxury, but the truth is, aside from that, we are constantly surrounded by danger and death. At any moment, we can become targets in a war we are not even part of, simply because we belong to... the family.”

I nod, approving the truth in her words.

We let silence surround us, while it presses even harder on those words still floating heavily around us.

I should be happy for wearing a magnificent dress and having the wedding every girl dreams about.

But inside, I am crying, and I wish I could run, just as Oksana suggested.

Chapter 22