Chapter 1 - The Sprint to the Ballroom
The air in the prep kitchen was so thick you could choke on it.
Elena Rostova stood in her flawless, blinding white gown, her hand extended toward an eight-year-old girl holding a cracked cell phone. Her smile was a weapon. Her eyes were bottomless pits.
"Put the phone away, Maya," Elena repeated, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
Maya looked at Roman Sokolov. The legendary mafia boss wasn't looking at his bride. His ice-cold gaze was locked onto Julian Cross, his trusted fixer, whose hand was still hovering dangerously close to the inside of his tailored jacket.
"Viktor," Roman said. He didn't yell. He didn't even raise his voice.
The head of security stepped fully into the room. The sound of Viktor unholstering his heavy sidearm echoed off the stainless-steel cabinets.
"Julian," Roman continued, his voice like grinding stones. "Take your hand out of your jacket. Slowly. Empty."
Julian’s jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second, the mask of the perfect, loyal employee slipped, revealing the cornered rat underneath. He slowly withdrew his empty hand, raising both palms in the air.
"Roman, this is madness," Julian scoffed, trying to laugh it off. "You're going to hold me at gunpoint over a maid's child?"
"No," Roman said, turning his gaze to Elena. "I'm holding you at gunpoint over the second tier of my wedding cake."
Elena’s perfectly contoured face drained of all color.
"Take them to the holding room," Roman ordered Viktor. "Nobody leaves this wing."
"Roman, our guests!" Elena cried, playing the victim. "The cake cutting ceremony is starting right now! You can't do this!"
"The ceremony," Roman said, "is canceled."
But as Roman turned his back, Julian made his move. He didn't go for his gun. He lunged backward, slamming his shoulder into the heavy fire doors of the kitchen, triggering the emergency alarm.
A deafening siren erupted through the estate.
In the chaos, the heavy service doors to the main ballroom swung open, and the catering staff—unaware of the standoff—began pushing the massive, six-tier black wedding cake out onto the floor.
Maya saw it happening in slow motion. The cake was moving. Roman was distracted by Julian’s sudden escape attempt. The music in the ballroom swelled.
If Roman went out there and cut that cake, he was going to die. Maya just knew it.
She didn't think. She bolted.
She ducked under Viktor’s arm, shoved past a startled Elena, and sprinted through the swinging doors, her oversized apron flapping behind her. She grabbed the heaviest thing she could find on the dessert table—a solid brass fireplace poker used for the decorative hearth.
She hit the ballroom floor running.
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"Don't take the first bite!" she screamed, raising the heavy brass poker.
And she swung.
