Shattered Crown

CHAPTER THREE

PRESENT DAY :
Kira

I burst onto the balcony, struggling to catch my breath as the French
doors slam behind me. The cool night air floods my senses and clears my
head—a welcome break from the cloying perfumes and vodka shots filling the wedding reception.
I press a hand to my racing heart, the lace fabric of my gown harsh
against my skin. One breath, then another.

It’s done. I’m officially a Belov.
We went right from the cathedral to the glitzy reception held in
Moscow’s finest hotel, a who’s who of the country’s elite milling about,
satisfied they got an invite to the event of the year.

I didn’t invite anyone, no friends or family. What’s the point of anyone
I’m close to witnessing this charade of a marriage?
Away from curious eyes, I find a stone bench against the wall and sit
down, drawing deep breaths and giving in to the vulnerability I've avoided
since saying "I do".

I may be impulsive and hot-headed—Alyona and my brothers would
certainly agree, especially if they knew why I really married Maxim—but in this, I'm resolute. I've spent the last few years quietly chasing leads on Masha’s killer, and none of them were solid. This is the first time all the cards line up.

A tremor of cold runs up my spine, not because of the night's chill but
because of a movement in the far corner of the balcony.

“Is someone here?” I shoot up to a standing position. A near panic
attack is a bad look for a bride.

I don’t see anything, just sense it, until a single flame pierces the
darkness. It ignites the end of a cigar, followed by an inhale and the wisp of
smoke that fades into the night.
And then an achingly familiar voice—deep and powerful, and one I've
come to hate—says, “Was it really that bad?”
My  husband.

I’m quiet for a moment before I answer. “Being trotted around like a
show pony? What every girl dreams of on her wedding day, no?”
He’s still bathed in shadows, a halo of smoke surrounding him, but I
hear his soft chuckle. The only soft thing about him. “It comes with the
territory of being my wife. Isn’t that what you wanted? If I recall correctly,
you suggested marriage, not the other way around.”

“Yes, but…” The words die on my lips.
Maxim rises like a phoenix, out of the flames and same as every time I
see him, my heart stutters in my chest.

Only his profile comes into the light,
the sharp contours of his jawline and the slight curve of his lips casting a
striking silhouette. This alone is enough to make grown women weep. My
new husband might be a psychopath, but he’s the very definition of rugged
male beauty.

I clear my throat and try again. “I saw a business opportunity, and I took
it. Alyona didn’t want to be part of your world, and I didn’t want to see her
dragged in kicking and screaming, and miserable, when I knew I would be
much better suited to rule by your side.”

He advances on me, all traces of his charming public persona wiped
away.

I step back because having Maxim this close short-circuits my brain. I
swallow hard and look up at the man I’m bound to for life. Or at least until I
murder him.

But I won’t kill Maxim until I know exactly what he did and why.
“Ah, yes. A business opportunity.” He takes a puff of his cigar and
blows a ring over my head. “In that case, shouldn’t we work out the terms of our agreement?"
There’s something in his tone that catches me off guard. A shiver runs
down my spine.

You’d think I would have spent time negotiating the terms of our
agreement, but right after agreeing to the marriage, Maxim allowed me a
month before settling in Moscow by his side. I spent most of the time in
Brooklyn, packing up my apartment and sorting out my affairs, not reaching out to anyone I know because they’d have questions I didn’t want to
answer.