Chapter 3 A Dress Worth Killing For

Aliara

The fitting room smelled like roses and blood.

Not literally-but that was what it felt like as I stood before a full-length mirror in a dress that cost more than most cars. Tight white silk, sculpted to my curves, boned to the ribs, sleeveless, high neck, low back.

Pure. Controlled. Exactly how Nikolai wanted me to look.

A walking illusion.

"Turn," the seamstress said softly.

I did, silently watching her in the mirror. The way her hands worked quickly, professionally-like she'd done this before. Like she dressed dozens of brides preparing to marry monsters.

Emilia stood nearby, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

"He said no cleavage," she reminded the woman again.

"He also said to make it look lethal," the seamstress replied without missing a beat. "And she does."

I smirked. I would've said thank you-if it weren't for the fact that I was marrying the devil in three hours.

And not just any devil.

Nikolai fucking Vexler.

I turned back to the mirror. My eyes were rimmed in smoky black liner. My lips painted wine-red. My hair was slicked back into a low twist.

I didn't look like me.

I looked like the kind of woman who could kiss a killer and then whisper his name while stabbing him in the ribs.

Which was accurate.

"What time's the ceremony?" I asked.

"Midnight," Emilia said. "Guests begin arriving at eleven. You'll walk in on his arm."

"Of course I will."

Because heaven forbid I enter the room alone. Wouldn't want anyone to think I wasn't already under his thumb.

But they didn't know what Nikolai didn't-yet.

They didn't know that inside the lining of this dress was a single-edged razor. That stitched beneath my left breast was a lockpick. That I had a plan-and it began the moment I said, I do.

⸻

Nikolai

I never believed in omens.

But as I stood at the edge of my private rooftop, smoking my first cigarette in five years, watching the sky choke with gray clouds and low thunder rumble in the distance-I wondered.

Maybe tonight would be my downfall.

Maybe this wasn't a wedding.

Maybe it was a funeral.

"Storm's rolling in," Lukas said behind me.

"Fitting," I muttered.

He stepped forward, holding out a small black box.

"The ring."

I took it, snapping the lid open.

Simple platinum band. Cold. Custom-fit for the girl about to become my wife.

"Still time to call it off," Lukas said.

I turned my head. "You want to try stopping her?"

He didn't answer. Because we both knew it wasn't about Aliara breaking into my life anymore.

It was about how long I could survive with her in it.

⸻

Aliara

The ballroom glittered like a cage dressed in diamonds.

Glass chandeliers. Champagne fountains. A string quartet playing something expensive in the background. Every mafia family within reach was here, watching, whispering.

They smelled the blood in the air.

And they weren't wrong.

Nikolai waited at the altar-though it wasn't a real one. This wasn't a church. Just a ceremonial stage backed by a wall of white roses and gold veils.

He wore a black tuxedo. No tie. Collar open. His hair combed back, sharp as a blade.

He didn't smile when I appeared at the top of the staircase.

But he stared.

Like he'd been waiting for this moment since the day we burned.

I took his arm at the bottom of the stairs. The photographers snapped. The crowd murmured.

"You look like a crime I want to commit twice," he whispered under his breath.

"You look like my next one," I replied.

He chuckled. Quiet, dark.

The officiant was a judge, old and blind enough not to ask questions. His voice barely carried over the strings.

"Do you, Nikolai, take this woman-"

"I do."

He didn't hesitate.

"Do you, Aliara Navarro, take this man-"

I hesitated just long enough to make him grip my hand harder.

"I do."

And that was it.

No kiss.

Just a signed contract and a thousand fake smiles from men who wanted us both dead.

I was Mrs. Vexler now.

God have mercy on him.

Because I wouldn't.

⸻

Nikolai

She was quiet all through the first dance.

I held her against me, her spine straight, her lips tight. Her body was fire-but her eyes were ice. Like she was counting down to something only she knew.

"You're planning something," I murmured.

"I already planned it," she said sweetly. "You just haven't bled yet."

I laughed. Loud enough for the crowd to hear. They thought I was charmed.

I was.

And I was terrified.

But I wasn't letting her out of my sight.

⸻

Aliara

I slipped away at 1:00 a.m., heels silent, dress gathered in my hands.

Everyone was drunk. Distracted. Watching the fireworks from the terrace. The guards were stationed by the exits, but none in the east wing.

That's where Nikolai kept his safe.

Behind a painting in his private suite.

I reached the door. Lockpicked it. Pushed inside.

And froze.

The safe was open.

Files scattered.

And standing in front of it-someone I hadn't seen in four years.

Riven.

My father's former second-in-command. Alive. Scarred. Holding a gun.

"Ari," he said, smiling like he hadn't betrayed me once already. "Didn't think you'd actually go through with it."

"I told you I would," I said.

He looked me over. "You married him."

"For the plan."

"Then let's finish it."

He handed me a flash drive.

"All the evidence you need. Accounts. Routes. Weapons. Everything Vexler's built since the fall."

I stared at it.

This was what I came for.

Proof. Power. A knife to his empire's throat.

"You sure it's clean?" I asked.

Riven nodded. "Encrypted. Untraceable."

I reached for it.

And behind me-I heard it.

The unmistakable click of a hammer being pulled back.

Nikolai stood in the doorway.

Gun raised.

Expression unreadable.

"I knew you couldn't wait one night," he said coldly.

I didn't move. "Nikolai-"

"Shut up," he snapped.

His eyes moved to Riven. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize you? You worked for Navarro. You killed my uncle."

"And I'll kill you too," Riven spat, raising his gun.

But Nikolai was faster.

The shot echoed through the suite.

Riven dropped, blood splattering across the silk wallpaper.

Silence.

Then my name, like a warning.

"Aliara."

I turned, heart racing.

Nikolai walked toward me.

Gun still in his hand.

Face pale. Calm. Cold.

"You were never going to stay, were you?"

I said nothing.

He stared at me.

Then gently... almost too gently... he reached up and removed the flash drive from my hand.

"Do you want to know the part that hurts?" he asked.

"No."

He smiled bitterly. "I believed you. For a second. I thought you might actually want this."

"I don't."

"I know."

He stepped back.

Then did the thing I least expected.

He dropped the gun.

And walked away.