Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (21)

I manage to reach the top of the landing without falling ass over heels. I peer around the big pillars, but Eric is nowhere to be found.

My frown deepens.

One of the double bronze doors swings open and a tall, thin man in a suit whisks out. He looks like he works for Alex, but I don’t recognize him.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he greets politely. “Let me take you to Harrison Hall, where the signing will take place.”

I glance around nervously. “Is Alex here?”

“He’s inside waiting for you.”

“And Eric?” I ask. “Has he arrived yet?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Eric Keller. He’s one of the witnesses,” I say. “An older gentleman, grey hair…” I trail off at the blank look on the man’s face.

“He might be in Harrison Hall, ma’am. I was instructed to escort you.”

“Okay,” I nod uncertainly as I follow him through the gargantuan labyrinth of the courthouse. It’s really quite beautiful. Ornate and ancient. I miss the U.S. a lot, but Britain has its moments.

“Right this way, ma’am.” He holds open an iron door for me and ushers me through.

Harrison Hall is larger than I expect, with lovely arched windows on either side and black-and-white checkered tiles on the floor.

One man waits at the far end of the hall with his back to me. He’s tall and broad-shouldered—Alex.

On second thought, he’s maybe a little too tall, actually? I giggle under my breath, already planning to make fun of him for putting lifts in his shoes to ensure he towers over me. Men can be so petty.

I hear a clank and look over my shoulder to see that the thin man who brought me here has retreated back out into the atrium of the courthouse and shut the door behind him.

It’s just me and my soon-to-be husband. The judge must be on his way.

“Alex!” I call. I cringe and giggle nervously as my voice echoes throughout the empty hall. It’s a little spooky how quiet and empty this place is.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer.

Weird.

I shrug and cross the distance to him. My heels click and my dress whispers across the tile.

The closer I get, the more I feel like Alex isn’t just taller—he’s broader, too. More muscled than I remember. And his hair seems sort of darker. Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or have I forgotten what my fiancé looks like?

“Alex!” I say again.

Still no answer. He keeps his back to me. I step up onto the dais where he’s waiting.

“Alex?” I whisper.

Then he turns.

And my body goes cold.

Isaak Vorobev gives me a soft smile. The same smile that ruined my life in the first place.

“Hello, Camila,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time.”





8





Isaak





Six years to get to this moment.

She’s fucking worth it.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her. I mean it—she’s a fucking revelation in that dress. I want to tear it off of her here and now and lick between her legs until the hall echoes with her moans.

Six years and I still haven’t forgotten what that sound does to me.

Six years and I still haven’t forgotten what that taste does to me.

Six long, endless fucking years, and I still haven’t forgotten what those eyes do to me.

“There’s another ceremony in an hour,” I drawl, “so we better get a move on.”

That manages to job her out of her reverie. “What the hell is going on?” she demands. “Are you—who—what—how…”

She’s looking up, down, and all around, like the answers to the billion questions wracking her brain right now are hidden somewhere in the wainscoting.

I give her an insolent smirk. “Your fiancé is indisposed at the moment,” I say. “But don’t worry; you’re still getting married today.”

Her eyes flare in a gesture that feels strangely familiar despite how little we actually know each other. “Excuse me? To whom, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I make a show of sweeping my eyes around the empty hall. “Do you see anyone else here besides me, Cami?” I taunt.

“You think we’re getting married,” she says flatly. “As in you and me.”

I grin. “Now you’re starting to get it.”

She whirls around, skirts flaring wide—clearly looking for the fucker she was about to waste her life on “Where is Eric?” she demands.

Or maybe not.

“Eric?”

“My agent,” she snaps. “The one who’s supposed to keep me safe from assholes like you. Actually, from you in particular.”

I cock my head to the side. “Your agent’s name is Andrew Wentworth.”

She frowns, flustered . “I… right. Well, I meant my former agent.”

“He’s indisposed, too.”

The shock gives way instantly to fury. “You better not have hurt him,” she gasps.

“Which one?”

Her cheeks flush with color. “… Both,” she stammers eventually. “What have you done with them?”