The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Vera
Papa knows what I’ve been up to.
That’s why he’s so hasty about this marriage. It’s also why I haven’t even seen the man I’m about to marry in the next hour.
“If I knew how to kill, I would kill them all,” Inessa fumes.
“Don’t say things like that,” I chide my sister, turning away from the mirror. “People can hear you.”
“It’s not fair, Vera,” she protests.
“It’ll be okay,” I promise her even though I’m not so sure of it myself.
“How can you say that?” she asks. “You haven’t even met the groom. By the end of the day, he’s going to be your husband.”
I flinch. My sister sees it.
The anger falls from her face.
“I heard he’s handsome,” she grumbles.
“Where’d you hear that?” I ask, frowning at how the wedding dress makes my body look good.
“The servants were talking,” my sister says.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Okay, fine. I eavesdropped,” she confesses.
“What else did you hear?”
“They were mostly talking about how soulful his eyes were and how his body looks like it’s cut from stone. But that’s not what you want to know, is it?”
“What kind of a person is he?” I whisper.
I might have to give my body to him tonight.
Lately, I feel like all I’ve been doing is dodging the men who want to marry me.
Inessa blinks rapidly. “He’s like the rest of them, Vera. He has a reputation.”
Having a reputation is a nice way of saying that he’s a violent man.
“You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?” Inessa asks.
I turn to look at her.
She’s curled up on the floor in her pink gown. Her raven hair is silky and straight, a complete contrast to my messy brown curls.
“It was only a matter of time, Inessa,” I say.
My sister stares at the hem of my white gown.
“You look really pretty,” she murmurs. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
I try to say thank you, but my throat constricts with potent emotions.
There’s a reason I try to make myself look as unattractive as possible.
Even on my wedding day, I let other people pick my dress and makeup, but I refused to let anyone touch my hair.
It’s the one part of me that I want to keep for myself.
So I let it be wild in all its frizzy glory, using no product to tame it.
My hands are clammy as I wipe them on the dress.
Our mother bursts into the room.
Everything about her is sleek and elegant.
She’s the perfect wife. So much so that she has no qualms about selling her eldest daughter to monsters.
“Vera, why don’t you let them do something about that hair?” she says, a hand circling above her own head as she frowns at mine.
“I wore a dress,” I reply.
“Yes, you look like a lady for once, but you’ll look better in the pictures if you straighten that hair.”
“No,” I say. “You wanted me to get married, and that’s all I’m doing.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” she says, procuring a thick bridal veil.
Of course.
She knew I wouldn’t let anyone touch my hair, so she decided it would be easier to cover it up.
I let her grab my arm and make me sit down on a stool to secure the veil in place.
Delicate flowers form a ring on top of the crown. But it’s too thick.
Suffocating.
“I can’t even see anything through this,” I grumble.
My mother pricks my scalp with pins. “I had three children by the time I was your age. We should have never left Russia. Bringing you three to Chicago has turned you into American brats. Be grateful that we found another man who actually wants to marry you, Vera.”
“There’s only one reason he’s marrying me,” I mumble.
If my father wasn’t so powerful, this wedding wouldn’t even be happening.
“Don’t talk back to me,” she hisses, tugging on a few strands of my hair.
Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I don’t let them surface.
I’ll save them for the pillow tonight when my new husband forces himself into me.
“And for goodness’ sake, Inessa.” My mother sighs, glancing at my sister. “What are you doing on the cold floor? Do you want to become infertile?”
I roll my eyes at the old Russian superstition.
My mother believes that sitting on cold surfaces makes young women infertile.
She also believes I’m cursed.
Inessa stands up. At that exact moment, the wedding planner pops into the room.
“Do you girls need help with anything?” the blonde with the bob cut asks in a cheery voice. And then she starts gushing when she sees me. “Oh my God, you’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen. And I see brides every single day.”
“I want to do something about the hair situation, but she won’t listen to me,” my mother complains.
“Oh, I think she looks great. It adds a natural charm,” the lady says, smiling at me.
“Thank you,” I say to the woman now, smiling back at her.
She doesn’t know that this is an arranged marriage. She doesn’t know that the first time I’m meeting the groom will be at the altar.
Shortly after, the event manager scurries away with her clipboard when a flower emergency comes up.
Inessa walks over to me.
She takes my hands in hers and squeezes them before leaving the room.
“Listen, he doesn’t know about you,” my mother says when it’s just her and me in the room.
“Doesn’t know what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“About your curse,” she whispers as if every other crime family in Chicago doesn’t know about it already.
“He’ll find out soon enough,” I say.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she snaps.
I level my gaze with hers. Being five foot nine, I’m taller than my mother, even in her heels.
She used to push me around when I was younger and weaker, but those days are long gone.
Now I use my stature and I-can-kill-you eyes to intimidate people. That’s how I got them to leave my hair alone.
The only reason I'm in a white dress right now is because they threatened to put Inessa in my place.
And I would much rather be the one suffering than watch my sister go through it.
“I’m just saying that he can hear about my past from someone else. And besides, I don’t believe in curses,” I say.
“Keep saying that, and you’ll have another curse put on you,” she scolds.
I glance up at the high vaulted ceiling of the family church and utter the Serenity Prayer.
Mama softens now. “Sometimes, what’s not there in the beginning will grow if you give it some time.”
I huff. “Like affection?”
“Maybe even love,” she says, squeezing my shoulder.
I flinch at her touch. “Remember Igor?”
Her hand drops, face hardening once again.
I can’t stop the words that demand to be released from my tongue. “You said the same thing to me back when I was fifteen years old, Mama. When you promised me to a cruel man more than four times my age.”
“That was different,” she says curtly.
“How is that any different?” I ask. “It’s the same situation, but a different man.”
Fortunately for me, Igor is no longer alive.
He was the beginning of my ‘curse.’
A slap lands on my cheek. “You ungrateful child. We gave up everything to give you a comfortable life, and this is how you thank us?”
With the physical sting, I can’t hold the tears in any longer.
For once, I’m grateful for the veil that covers my face and my emotions. Nobody else has to know what I’m going through.
“Can we just get this over with?” I ask quietly.
“Your father is waiting for you,” she says, walking toward the door and opening it for somebody outside.
Papa enters, briefly lifting his head from his phone to look at me.
His hair is like mine, dry and unruly. But since his is shorter, it sits on his head in slick waves held by copious amounts of hair product.
I walk toward him.
My white dress trails behind me. My slapped cheek is hot and stinging.
He stashes his phone away.
The only thing more overpowering than his hair gel is the strong perfume of gardenias decorating the church.
“Don’t mess this up,” is all he has to say before he takes my hand and starts walking me down the aisle.
The audience members stand when the orchestra starts to play.
Instead of raising my eyes to look at my future husband, I observe everybody else in the church.
Each crime family is with their own clan.
The Russians from New York and the West Coast are sitting as far away from each other as possible.
The Italians look sorry that they even decided to come here.
The Yakuza and the Triads are too busy glaring at each other to even look at me.
I wonder how many people here actually care about me.
And then I find them.
Ivy Blackwood. She’s grinning and waving from one of the front seats, looking radiant in her burgundy red dress.
Her husband, Damian Innocenti, is sitting next to her.
He shows more emotion than my own father when he sees me. His eyes glass over, but he doesn’t turn away to hide it. Instead, he gives me an encouraging smile.
They don’t know either.
My eyes finally land on my sister. She’s sitting in the very front row.
She hates that this is happening, but at the same time, she won’t let me go through it alone.
My brother should be here, but he’s missing.
He’s too pissed off at our father.
Eventually, I pass by Inessa, and I have no choice but to look at the man waiting for me.
White candles burn here, adding a warm perfume to the air.
All of the light from the stained glass windows converges at the altar, momentarily blinding me.
A priest is waiting for me too, standing with his hands clasped in front of his robe.
Finally, I turn to face the man who’ll try to control me for the rest of my life.
My stomach drops.
He’s physically gorgeous…but something is wrong with his eyes.
“Beautiful,” the stranger murmurs to himself, reaching toward me to lift the veil over my face.
Everything inside me locks up.
I don’t like being touched without permission.
Right when the veil is brought to the level of my chin, one of the stained glass windows shatters.
Screams erupt as my heart slows.
The stranger in front of me falls to his knees before slumping to the floor.
As blood stains and spreads on the marble floor below, I stare up at the broken stained glass.
It’s different.
The rest of the church’s windows look old, but the shards on the floor look too bright and vibrant.
They’re new.
Somebody had planned and prepared for this.
“Alleluia,” Inessa whoops, low enough that only the priest and I can hear.
I shoot her a pointed glare before backing away from the scene of the murder.
I lock eyes with my mother.
The curse continues.