Page 31 of His Ruthless Vow

"She's right," I say firmly as I rise, and every eye in the room locks on me as I walk away from my assigned seat and cross the room. Alana squeezes past her mother to join me in the aisle, and though I hoped to be able to hold her hand or put my arm around her, the most I get right now is a nod of acknowledgement and relief.

"I uncovered evidence that my father paid off a council member and at least one police investigator following my brother's death."

"Dimitri, sit down!" My father's shout makes my skin bristle, but I won’t sit. I will not back down. I know these council members have heard me protest this union multiple times and I've never been allowed to speak clearly as to the reason for my protest. But here before God—in a sanctuary banned from encountering violence and in front of the very council that governs that law—I will not back down.

"I have bank records with routing and account numbers. I have those same photos of Alana's medical records, and I have a damn good reason to protest this union. The peace it brings is tainted, and the council must do the right thing for Alana Volskaya."

The entire room erupts into shouting, those seated on the Sokolov side railing against men from the Volskaya side. There is no peace at all with this knowledge out, and when my father climbs the dais and stands behind the altar to take the priest's microphone, I know it will only get worse.

"Dimitri, sit down," he snarls, then turns to council members. "He has no such evidence. If he's collected anything, it's fabricated proof. Ivan died a martyr to this war we're fighting and this alliance will⁠—"

"He's not a martyr!" I shout, drowning the sound of his words. The room quiets substantially but doesn’t go silent, and now several council members are on their feet, moving toward my father as Nikolai joins him on the dais. "Ask yourselves why my father would pay the Volskaya Pakhan twenty-five million in dowry for this wedding if his son was the one murdered! Demand it!" I’m raging mad, chest heaving with anger I can't fully unleash.

"Nikolai, is this true?" a council member asks. He looks at Alana's father as I steal a glance at Natalia and Alexei. He looks angry, but she looks relieved. She sets her poinsettia bouquet down and walks off the dais, moving directly to her mother.

"Ivan destroyed Alana's life and he was killed as a result," I bark, pulling the folded manilla envelope with copies of everything I have out of my inner coat pocket. As I do, I feel Alana's hand slip into mine and hold it. Every eye in this place is on us and she's reaching to me for support. That does things to me I can't stop to think about right now. "He wasn't a martyr. He was a monster. My father covered it up, and our men deserve to know that. He suffers men who break our code and covers their crimes. It's unacceptable."

Little by little, the council members move toward the dais, and one of them takes the folder from my hand. My father is livid now, pinned down by his own sins and called out by his son. And to make matters worse, Alexei stands by his side, the proud heir who stands to inherit this mess. It disgusts me. I can't stand here and be a part of this. Whether I have Alana or not isn't in the picture anymore.

I have a moral code to live by and I intend to toe the line. I should've done this five years ago when I stepped aside to let my younger brother take the throne my father will one day relinquish, but I didn't. Today, as I remove the signet ring from my hand and stalk toward the altar, I fully intend to follow through.

Just the taste of freedom I experienced with Alana the past several weeks has shown me that above all, I am made for more than this. My life is out there waiting, and I won't keep my feet rooted in blood-soaked soil, governed by men who control and don't lead.

"My time in this family was well served and I was faithful every day. But I'm done." I put the ring on the altar at my father's feet as he sputters in protest, and Alexei offers a shocked expression. Alana has followed me, hovering nearby as the sound of Natalia's wails erupts behind us somewhere.

"Dimitri, if you do this, you get nothing. You're cut off. Do you understand me?" my father snarls, and I step back, releasing a hot breath.

"I'm done," I say firmly. Then I lock eyes with the nearest council member and say, "You know the truth now. What you do with it depends on you." But before I finish my sentence, shouting erupts again, and it's hostile.

Near the back, someone throws something, then more fighting erupts pew-to-pew. I turn to reach for Alana, immediately fearing for her safety as fistfights break out and the sanctuary erupts into violence, but Nikolai's arm warps around her waist, dragging her out the side door behind her mother, whose arm stretches around Natalia’s shoulders.

This wasn't supposed to happen like this, though I'm not surprised. And this building is God's house, protected by council law banning weapons or violence, but the place is packed with men from both sides who hate each other. The very thread of peace our fathers tried to stitch this mess together with has snapped, and hatred glows in the eyes of men trying to harm each other.

When the first bullets tear through the church, Alexei grabs me by the scruff of my neck and shoves me to the door we came in through. I stumble forward, ducking for cover as I follow my father's footsteps through the doorway into a vestibule and out into the bitter cold December air.

"What the hell were you thinking!" he hisses quietly to me. I doubt our father can hear it because of the chaos, but I hear it loud and clear.

"I told you I was planning to stop this wedding and I meant it. You just didn't believe me."

Two SUVs wait for us with engines idling at the curb, and we make a run for it, me and Alexei in the rear, Father in the front.

"Yeah, well you got what you wanted," he snarls as he climbs in and I slide in after him. Glass shatters along one side of the church and the driver pulls away, squealing his tires.

"This isn't what I wanted at all," I tell him, but the idea of having Alana seems out of reach. The war is far from over, and she's chosen her side. It just wasn't me.

22

ALANA

Tears streak down my face and it's all I can do not to throw up as I fight the heavy layers of Natalia's suffocating dress. Mamochka sits with a tissue wadded in her hand, staring out at the Christmas lights as the SUV rockets us away from the church, but Natalia isn’t crying. She clings to my hand with both of hers, shaking, but not sad. She seems more scared.

"You had absolutely no right!" Batya shouts, face so red it looks like it might swell up and pop like an overinflated balloon. "No right at all!"

"Dear," Mamochka chides, but he's too angry and she's too timid.

I shrink farther into the ruffles of Natalia's dress and cling to her too. Batya's never been this angry with me, never so loud over something I've done. I've seen him this way with our men and bloodshed usually follows, but not me. Not like this.

"Batya," Natalia protests, but his screaming overrides it.