Darkest Sins - Page 109

“You didn’t even ask the poor thing if she wants to marry you?” his blond buddy challenges.

“Shut up, Belov,” Kai growls, his gaze never leaving mine. “You are my reason for living, cub. And, in this life, I don’t need a signature or a ceremony to confirm that you’re mine. You are. And I’m yours, every cell of my body. Till my dying breath. And even when I perish, in whatever afterlife awaits.” He cups mycheek in his palm and bends his head so our noses are almost touching. “But I want to do this thing right.”

“So you had three priests kidnapped?” I choke out, trying to hold back tears.

“Just two, apparently. And a judge. Will you marry me, tiger cub?”

I bury my fingers into his hair and kiss him back. “Every day of my life.”

“Mommy. Daddy,” Lucia chimes in from Kai’s embrace. “Can I have cookies and ketchup for lunch?”

“Yes,” Kai and I whisper into each other’s lips.

“You have a kid? And you let her eat cookies for lunch?” The happy pal’s voice interrupts us. “That’s, like, super unhealthy.”

“I’m going to count to three, Belov,” Kai says as he keeps attacking my mouth. “If you’re still there when I finish, I’m going to strangle you.”

“Ungrateful motherfucker,” Belov mutters. “Next time you need a nice selection of priests, call someone else. And what the fuck is that shit in your hair?”

The lanky guy in a long black gown looks around the spacious office, his eyes frantically flitting about the place as ifsearching for a way out. He finally realizes there’s no escape and no one around to help him, so he turns his gaze to me.

“I-I have never performed a marriage ceremony before,” he stutters, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt underneath.

“Then, you better be amazing at improvising,” I say and pull my girl closer to my side. “Which one would you prefer to go first, baby? Orthodox, Protestant, or the judge.”

“Um . . . I don’t have a preference.” Nera rises to her toes and whispers in my ear. “Maybe you should untie them first. They seem a little freaked out.”

I look at the three men standing across the boardroom table. The judge is still pulling on his collar, his hands shaking. The Orthodox priest—an older guy in a white gown—has his back straight and is trying to feign composure, but sweat is dipping from his forehead by the bucketful. And then, with a shock of messy hair and glasses sitting askew on his nose, the twentysomething-year-old Protestant priest appears to be ready to puke. His face is so pale it seems green.

“They’ll manage as is for a few more minutes,” I say and nod at the three men. “Let’s have all three do it together, at the same time.”

“At the same time?” the green-faced guy chokes out. “But . . . we have different rituals. The vows are different. And what about—”

“I’m a fucking judge!” the black-gowned man screeches, throwing his tied-up hands in the air. “I’m going to put all of you lunatics in jail!”

“I love weddings,” Sergei chirps on my right. “I should have brought snacks.”

“Belov,” I warn, but the idiot just keeps rambling while the judge continues to yell about handcuffs and life sentences. I shouldn’t have let the crazy Russian stay, but he insisted that I needed a best man.

“You know, I only had one priest at my wedding,” he says. “Three makes it so much merrier. When you guys are done here, I’m taking them to Chicago to have them marry me and my wife all over again. Angelina is going to love it . . .”

On the other side of the table, the judge is still bellowing out threats, pointing his finger at me. The Orthodox priest is fidgeting next to him, his eyes turned toward the ceiling, mumbling a prayer while trying to untie his hands. Between them, the green-faced guy is hyperventilating; a minute more and he’s going to faint. A couple of Rafael’s men are aiming their semiautomatic weapons at the clergies and judge, yelling for them to calm down.

“. . . Maybe I can find a real Catholic priest on my way home? If I can’t, the judge will have to do,” Sergei continues. “Do you think my wife would notice the difference?”

I reach behind my back and take the gun out of the waistband of my pants. I stuck it there after I took Lucia up to Zara’s, getting my little girl away from Belov’s fucking loud mouth and nonstop shit.Would his wife notice the difference if I shoot this asshole?I take a deep breath.

The overhead lamp here is much smaller than the chandelier at the casino, but it’ll serve its purpose. I aim at the point where the chain connects to the ceiling and fire. A loud bang explodes inside the room. Almost instantly, the fixture hits the floor, right between Rafael’s men and our unwilling guests.

“The three of you are going to start the ceremony now. You”—I point the gun at the Orthodox priest—“will go first.”

He quickly nods.

I shift my aim to the Protestant one. “You’re going to repeat after him.”

The green-faced guy swallows and nods, too.

“And you”—I double-point my gun at the judge—“will make sure to follow swiftly after them. Am I being clear?”