Left to Die at the Altar

Chapter 3 The Tsar's Arrival

Dante’s men never reached me.

The cathedral’s oak doors burst inward. Two black armored SUVs drove through the entrance, throwing splintered wood and stone dust across the mosaics. Guests dropped behind the pews.

Dozens of red laser sights settled over Dante’s men before any of them could raise a weapon. They stopped where they stood.

A man in a plain dark suit stepped through the ruined doorway. My father, Igor Volkov. The Tsar.

He crossed the wreckage, found me in the heap of white silk, and went still for half a second. Then he walked past Dante and knocked him aside with one arm.

“Medic.”

A man in tactical gear dropped beside me and drove a needle into my thigh. The medicine burned through my leg. My airway opened enough for one ragged breath, then another. Faces came back into focus.

I coughed hard while my body fought for air. My father knelt and brushed the wet hair from my forehead with his calloused hand.

I was safe.

I pushed myself upright. Elena had hidden behind Dante and was staring at the men surrounding us.

I unclasped the diamond brooch from my ruined bodice and held it out to my father.

He passed it to one of his men. The man connected it to a small projector, and the wall behind the altar lit up.

The brooch had recorded the private dressing room. On the wall, Elena uncorked the champagne and added several drops from an unlabeled vial.

Then she opened a new EpiPen, looked it over, and put it in her purse. She replaced it in my bridal kit with the tube of blood-red lipstick and smiled.

Several guests gasped. The caring doctor they had trusted was gone from their faces.

“It’s a trick! She’s trying to frame me!” Elena screamed.

Dante stared at the projection. When my father reached for the g*n at his hip, Dante stepped in front of Elena without thinking.

“Don’t,” Dante whispered.

My father let out a short, humorless laugh. “You are still protecting her?”

He drew his Desert Eagle and fired. Elena screamed and fell. Blood spread across the white marble beneath her knee. My father had left her alive, but she would not walk away.

Dante looked from Elena’s bleeding leg to my father. “You dare, in my city, in my house.”

“*Your* city?” My father gave him a hard smile. “You think you built this empire alone? That the shipping routes opened themselves and your rivals simply rolled over? Foolish boy.”

He stepped closer. Everyone in the cathedral could still hear him.

“For three years, my daughter has kept your little kingdom standing.”

“She rerouted funds on the dark web, erased your enemies, and repaired every operation you mishandled. She did it because she loved you.”

My father straightened.

“Without Kira, Don Romano, you are not a king. You are just a corpse in a ditch who hasn’t had the good sense to lie down yet.”

Dante stepped back and looked at me. For the first time, he saw more than the bride he had left on the floor. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

(Dante's POV)