CHAPTER 1
Naomi
It was my wedding day.
I had dreamed of this day since I was a little girl. I dreamt of what I would wear. I dreamt about my father smiling at me with tears in his eyes as he walked me down the aisle. I dreamt about my mother blinking away tears of joy when she saw me in a veil that floated down my back, the gossamer material caressing my bare shoulders. My best friend Ilsa would giggle and carry on as she helped me put on the garter belt, and we would toast the happiest day of my life with champagne and wine while my hair and makeup were being done.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
I drew in a shuddering breath and looked at the woman staring back at me in the full-length mirror, searching for any remote sign of happiness in her eyes.
There was none. I couldn’t even fake it, and as an actress, I prided myself on faking just about any sort of emotion.
Instead, the woman in the mirror stared back with other emotions: dread, apprehension, and fear.
My father wasn’t here. My mother wasn’t here. Ilsa wasn’t here. I was alone, and the only person who had once accompanied me had already left the room, her tasks complete.
Maybe it was for the best.
Because if they knew what lay in store for me, their hearts would break. They’d beg for me to be released from the terrible fate that awaited me, and if I knew anything about my husband-to-be, he’d force them to watch as he claimed me at the altar.
I touched one of the curls draped over my shoulder, teased and styled so solidly in place that a hurricane couldn’t move them. Outwardly I was the picture-perfect bride. No expenses had been spared. The undergarments I wore under the dress were lace and silk, probably the most expensive set I had ever put on.
The dress, well, it wasn’t the one I would have chosen, but it exuded the wealth and power that I was about to marry into.
But no amount of perfection could hide the ugly, horrific truth.
This marriage was a lie. And I was a captive bride in all but name.
It had all started when I was trying to help my best friend Ilsa, a detective with the LAPD, and her husband Roman, don of the Marchetti Mafia, save a young Russian girl—Sveta Orlov—who had been ripped from her family at the expense of her maniacal father. Since I was the only one that Ilsa knew who spoke Russian, they had brought her to me, and I had helped concoct a foolproof plan.
Unfortunately, the plan had gone sideways before my part had come up. Sveta had been killed. Ilsa and Roman had been forced to take down her father by themselves, along with all who were involved.
I’d thought that would have been the end of it.
I was so wrong.
Now I was about to marry a monster.
Gavril Kirilenko.
The very name sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t know anything about him other than he was dangerous and powerful. He had made me do terrible, shameful things in the short time that I knew him. He had stripped away my dignity and made me aware of just how powerless I was in his hands.
The things he made me do…Oh God. I didn’t want to think about them.
And now, I was going to marry him.
What other choice did I have? I thought about telling him the truth, but based on what he said to me, based on what he had made me do, I knew that a worse fate than being his wife awaited me if he found out the truth.
And so, I had to pretend to be Sveta until I could find a way out of this. I had no means of contacting anyone. My cell phone had been taken away when I was kidnapped from my apartment a few days ago. Aside from Ilsa and my agent, no one else was going to be looking for me.
Well…there was one other person. But there was no way in hell I wanted him to find me.
Honestly, I had a pretty sad life outside of my social media pages. Those showed a woman who enjoyed life, one who seemed to have it all: money, influence, popularity, self-confidence.
In reality, I didn’t have any of those things. Most of the clothing I wore was from thrift shops all around LA. I just knew which ones received the leftovers from the production companies and celebrities.
Popularity was easy when you were going to all the places that everyone else wanted to go to. I had the gift of gab, just about able to talk my way into anything.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that I had a pretty face, or at least that was what they told me. My long blonde hair was just like any other girl in LA; my pale body helped me stand out among the fake tanners that I usually shared an interview room with.
I kept my body in top shape because getting acting gigs required that I look my best.
All that my looks had gotten me was a few B-rated films that had paid enough for me to pay my rent in LA, but so far, nothing had panned out to pay more.
A few of the gigs that my agent had found were promising, but now all that was my past. I had missed those appointments. And if anything, Chuck had probably written me off as another blonde bimbo lost to LA.
If he only knew that I was about to play the biggest acting role of my life.
The door opened behind me, and I lowered the veil, obscuring my features from everyone. I had to do this. I had to make sure that no one believed me to be anyone else other than Sveta, not until I could find a way to contact Roman or Ilsa to get me the hell out of this mess.