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Genya looked magnificent, as always, in her loose burgundy dress, despite it being only the rehearsal dinner. Both she and David, her husband-to-be, were glowing and making heart-eyes at each other--though no one could blame them. They were getting married the next day, tying the knot which would establish their eternal togetherness. What better way to spend the night before the wedding, than in the company of their beloved families and friends?
On the other hand, Alina was not happy. Her day had been going alarmingly well. She had managed to drink her morning tea without a single interruption. No calls from Mal at the station about a jail escape, or any kidnappings or robberies. Earlier in the afternoon, she had enough time to get ready, curl her hair into waves and put on a modest blue gown she had been saving for the occasion. The rehearsal dinner was the first time in three months that she didn’t have to don her hero disguise and mask in front of people in public. No faux greetings or plastered-on smiles.
She had been looking forward to this dinner and appreciated that Genya had asked her to be one of her bridesmaids, even though Alina frequently postponed their friend dates due to last-minute "work emergencies" which were bank robberies, in reality. Genya being the mayor’s Tailor certainly didn’t help matters at all. Trying to hide the fact that Alina was a hero, especially while she was working for Genya’s boss, was difficult to say the least. The rehearsal dinner would have been one of the only nights she could let loose and cherish precious time with Genya before tomorrow’s big day. Everything had been going great.
Until now.
A curse was the first word that came to mind as she took her seat, right across from one of the groomsmen. The man in question looked devastatingly put-together for the occasion, yet unsettled Alina when she looked at him. His lips formed a natural smirk that slid into an easy grin as he turned to talk with Ivan, the best man. Sharp cheekbones framed dark, shifting eyes, ones that flickered over to hers briefly causing her to flush instinctively until he looked away. His raven hair was parted smoothly to the side and slightly gelled. Though all of the men were dressed in dinner jackets, none held even a candle to his image. The black, double-breasted jacket was fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders, well-fitted and buttoned to define his waist. His sleeves were adorned with gold cufflinks and his white dress shirt was perfectly ironed, collar crisp around his neck.
Alina’s gaze remained on his face for a brief moment, and then slowly drifted down to the proud arch of his neck, the bobbing of his throat, the flexed tendons. Then, she lingered on the beginnings of a jagged scar barely visible past the white folds of his shirt. A scar that looked awfully familiar--she stiffened as miniscule puzzle pieces slowly started coming together. The man’s unsettling aura and calculating gaze. She hadn’t noticed initially, because they hardly saw each other outside of their respective jobs and disguises. But now she remembered.
She knew who the scar belonged to. After all, she was the one who had given it to him a month ago. Her powers flared briefly, causing beams of light to escape her clenched fists, and it took all she had to tamper it down.
“Excuse me for a second,” Alina stood abruptly and caught his eyes sharply, watching as they narrowed almost imperceptibly in recognition, before turning to exit the banquet hall. Distantly, she heard him murmuring something to David, then the sounds of his carefully-paced footsteps following her. At least he had the decency to not attack her on sight.
Her thoughts whirled in a frantic circle at the realization of his presence here at the rehearsal. Why was the right hand of Ravka’s biggest mafia family attending this wedding in person? Was this some sort of sick revenge for last week’s raid? It wasn’t a substantial one, to her knowledge, unless there was something valuable hidden among the jurda the police had confiscated. She shook her head. Whatever the case was, it would end here.
Once she felt that they were far away enough, secluded from the rehearsal attendees, she stopped, turned sharply, grabbed a fistful of his pristine shirt, and pulled him threateningly close to her face. “This better not be one of those half-baked schemes of yours, Kirigan. While I understand the strategy of getting me when I’m vulnerable, this is a wedding, dammit.”
“Unhand me, Starkov,” the mafioso shot her a scathing glare and, noticing her unrelenting grip, retorted, “if anything, I should be saying that to you, Sankta. You and your police cronies have no conscience! I’m sure you put David and Genya up to this, didn’t you?”
“As if, Darkling. And you’re one to talk about conscience,” she hissed and finally let him go, and glanced around quickly to make sure they didn’t have any accidental witnesses. He stumbled back a few steps at the sudden release. “Can’t you take your dirty mafia hands elsewhere, just for this one Saints-forsaken evening?”
"Careful with what you say, hero," he sneered, shadows around them darkening. Kirigan regained his balance and dusted off imaginary scuff marks before replying. “Why should I? If anything, I have the right to be here. David has been one of my best Fabrikators. I’m here to ensure that everything goes smoothly. I wouldn’t touch his fiancée,” he said as he attempted to straighten out his rumpled shirt front. Noting her rapidly paling face, he hastily added, “And, no, he is not part of my group. He doesn’t know about my actual…work.”
Alina eyed him skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest.“So, you’re saying that you’re actually here purely for the sake of attending the dinner and the wedding tomorrow? And nothing else?”
“And the same goes for you, I suppose?” he retorted coolly, hand lingering where she was sure he had a weapon concealed—a fact that was incredulous; she had seen his shadows destroy dozens before her own eyes.
“Well, I’ve been best friends with Genya since we were classmates in college, so yes. It is. And, you better not even think about spilling anything to her.”
“I’m sure you’ll find that I am proficient at keeping secrets and keeping people safe, even if it’s outside of the law.”
They had a staredown, slowly coming to grips with the undeniably bizarre situation they were in. Both were pensive--Alina drummed her fingers against her arms midst glaring a hole into the ceiling, while Kirigan tapped his foot distractedly against the floor. They stood quietly, before he exhaled in resignation.
“I’m willing to call for a...truce if you are,” he bit out, face contorting between different emotions—he was still clearly on the fence about the offer.
“A truce?” she asked with a skeptical eyebrow. It was the last thing she expected him to say.
“Temporarily,” he grimaced, making sure to clarify, “Only long enough to ensure that the wedding tomorrow goes without a hitch. I’m sure that you also want the best for David and Genya.”
Alina’s lips pressed into a thin line. She understood what he was implying--that their friends…well at least her friend and his contractor… might still be in danger, by powers outside of their respective circles of influence. It was true. Genya was the mayor’s Tailor, susceptible to kidnappings and ransoms every other day; and David was the one of the best Fabrikators in the city. Both of them had targets painted on their backs. The wedding would be the ideal event to kill two birds with one stone (quite literally). The police and the mafia were not the only forces at work within the city, after all.
‘It would be nice to have another pair of eyes on the lookout for potential trouble,’ she reasoned in her head and, then, stared intensely at Kirigan, as if she could determine his intentions through his eyes. He steeled them in response.
After a brief moment, Alina humphed and muttered out a “fine.”
He stretched out his hand, but paused momentarily when she suddenly added, “But the truce only lasts until midnight tomorrow.”
He scoffed. “Of course. What do you take me for? A fool?” Seeing her mouth begin to open in reply, he hissed, “Don’t you even dare respond to that.”
She grimaced slightly as she reached to take his proffered hand and, by the look on his face, the feeling was clearly mutual.
“Until midnight tomorrow then.”
“Midnight tomorrow.”
“No holds barred.”
“None whatsoever.”