Chapter Text
Dusk had settled, and the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge were twinkling merrily in the gathering darkness. Things were not merry, however, in the dingy warehouse situated along the extreme edge of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Light from a single overhead bulb illuminated the grisly scene below. A scene, unfortunately, that these walls had seen far too often. A man sat tied to a chair, blood seeping over the edges of the duct tape and dripping onto the floor. His head lolled from side to side as he shook it insistently, swearing up and down that the botched hand-off wasn’t his fault.
That he wasn’t a rat.
Of course, they already knew he was. The man’s life had been over the moment they drove through the gate—they just wanted to see what else he knew before they disposed of him.
Outside, where the air was fresher and didn’t smell like blood and fear, two men leaned against the hood of a town car. The taller one was blond and built like a Greek god, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his handsome features. Steven Grant Rogers had known the man standing next to him since kindergarten, and the pair were as close as brothers.
James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky to his friends. The only son of George Barnes, the self-proclaimed king of Brooklyn. He was shorter than his friend, but not by much. Stormy blue eyes surveyed the scene in the warehouse irritation. He absently brushed at the pantleg of his immaculately tailored suit, the movement betraying the raw power beneath the fabric.
Bucky leaned back against the car with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.
“How many did we lose, Stevie?”
His second-in-command shook his head. “Twelve men. Fucking twelve, Buck. Pierce knew _exactly_ when that shipment would be arriving, and they got the drop on us. Our guys never stood a chance.”
“And the guns?”
“Gone.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched in frustration. This shit was getting out of control. The rivalry against Queens was bad enough, but this “Alexander Pierce,” the self-made Manhattan mobster who controlled the territory across the bridge…this was something else entirely. What had started out as white-collar crimes was getting bloody—fast.
“The sooner this merger happens, the better,” he said. “Shit’s gettin’ ugly.”
Steve laughed. “Merger. You mean your wedding?” He shook his head. “The man’s a cold-hearted bastard, that’s for sure. What kind of father sells off his only daughter in a business proposition?”
“The kind that’s tryin’ to save her from something worse,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly as a scream rang out behind them. “Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to yell. I just…I got a lot on my mind right now.”
“So you’ve really never even seen the girl?”
Bucky shrugged. “Not in person, no.”
Another scream, followed by the thud of wood hitting flesh. Both men stood and walked slowly into the warehouse, where the interrogation was quickly coming to a close.
Steve made a face. “Jesus, Jimmy…what a mess. I think he’s had it.”
“Who else knew what night the shipment was going out?” Bucky asked quietly.
“Nobody. Nobody, I swear…please…I didn’t tell nobody about it,” the man begged. Jimmy started to lift the bat again.
The bloody figure tied to the chair lifted his head and tried to open the eye that wasn’t glued shut. “I swear…I don’t know anything. N-Nobody knew about the shipment but m-me, Mr. Barnes, please. You…you gotta believe me.”
Bucky calmly reached into his jacket and pulled out his SIG Sauer P226.
“I believe you.”
His face was expressionless as he lifted the gun and fired.
The back of the man’s head dissolved in a shock of crimson and grey. He jerked once and slumped over, and Bucky watched as his blood soaked into the floor of the warehouse. It had been a necessity, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Find out who else he’s been talkin’ too, keep an eye on them. This cannot happen again,” he said, his mouth a thin line as he glanced over at Jimmy.
Steve watched as his friend calmly holstered his gun and walked towards the waiting town car. For all outward appearances, Bucky looked cool and collected. Steve knew better, though. The man was seething underneath, the weight of each kill, each man lost weighing heavily on his soul.
“C’mon,” Steve said, clapping his friend on the back and trying to cheer him up. “You’ve got a wedding to get ready for tomorrow, and a blushing bride to meet.”
***
Two bodyguards were standing outside the door of the bridal suite.
Both dressed in black tie formalwear that disguised the lethality underneath, they stood there, unmoving and solemn, protecting the pre-marital squeals and titters of the bridal party within. The woman’s long red hair was tied into a loose braid. In contrast, the man’s short blond hair was fashioned into a faux-hawk.
They look absurd, but I’ll be damned if I can’t come up with a better metaphor for how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Guns amongst the roses. Or, in this case, peonies.
You sighed to yourself. Time to buck up, girlfriend. This is your wedding, after all, and you had a part to play—the starring role, in fact.
The girl in the mirror tried on a smile, but it felt wrong. It felt forced. She was pretty, that was for sure, but there was no light in her eyes.
Not anymore.
There were flowers in your hair and lace on your gown, the tight bodice hugging your figure perfectly. If this were any other scenario, you would have felt beautiful. And you damn well should—you’d been primped and polished, painted and perfumed within an inch of your life. A designer gown, designer shoes, designer…well…everything.
Your father had spared no expense. This was his deal, his power play, and you were nothing but the fatted calf being offered up to the rival family.
Ex-rivals, you reminded yourself.
You sighed and reminded yourself why you were doing this. _Why_ you were marrying a man you’d never met—the son of your father’s now ex-rival.
James Buchanan Barnes.
At least they showed you a picture. He was handsome, that was for sure…okay, he was gorgeous. He looked like he had just stepped off the cover of GQ, and you were sure he had the body to match. You supposed you should be happy…he could have been fat, dumpy and twice your age.
What a lucky girl you were.
You’d have money, clothes, a nice house, a handsome husband…what girl wouldn’t dream of being in your shoes right now?
Not you.
You despised James. You’d never even met him, but he represented everything you hated about this life. The guns…the whores…the crime.
The murders.
You’d fled this life years ago, and your father had drawn you back in. Forced you back in. And now, you were about to be married into it permanently—James Barnes, the only son of George Barnes, King of Brooklyn. James wasn’t just any old spoiled rich boy, either. Oh, no. He worked for his paycheck, as his father’s enforcer.
You knew exactly what that meant.
You sighed again and touched up your lipstick, longingly eyeing the champagne. You refused to touch a drop though, you had a part to play, and you would play it to perfection to save the only thing you really cared about anymore. You’d need a clear head tonight.
Behind you, the bridesmaids chittered away happily, gushing over your dress, your hair, and how beautiful you looked.
As if a single one of them actually gives a shit.
They weren’t your friends. You barely even knew them. They were the wives and daughters of your father’s men, and before last night you’d never even met them. Your real friends hadn’t been invited.
That didn’t matter though. That life was over for you now.
“All right, ladies, showtime!” the wedding planner said, popping his head in the suite. “And is the lovely bride ready? Oh my god, darling, you are stunning!”
You ignored his squeals, you girded yourself, packing each and every emotion into a tiny little box and shoving it down deep. A shy smile was painted on, quite appropriate for a blushing bride-to-be. You stood and accepted your bouquet from Marci…or Nancy…or whatever the hell her name was.
“I’m ready.”
***
**Two Weeks Ago**
“Y/N. I’m glad you could make it.”
Is he frickin’ serious?
Your father sat behind his desk, larger than life and twice as ugly, greeting you like this wasn’t the first time you’d seen or spoken to him in five years. The used to be a time where you were Daddy’s little girl, but those days had vanished once you found out what he did for a living.
The vanished the day they killed your mother.
Your father was none other than the infamous mobster Jacob Y/L/N, who lorded over Queens like it was his own personal playground.
You studied the man for a moment. There was a little more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair, and his shoulders slumped a bit. His eyes though, those were just as sharp and crafty as ever. They were the eyes of a shark on the prowl.
“Well gee, Dad, I wish I could say it’s a pleasure being here, but I didn’t have a choice, did I? Ivan here didn’t really take no for an answer.”
Your hair was messed and your shirt torn, but your father’s right hand man was sporting a new black eye, so you considered it a draw.
“It’s Evan,” the man growled.
“Whatever.”
“Cut the attitude, missy,” your father said. His patience was already thinning, and that didn’t bode well for this meeting.
Kidnapping, but whatever, let’s not mince words here.
“Evan, leave us.”
“So long, Ivan…you might wanna put some ice on that…keep down the swelling,” you called after the retreating bodyguard.
Your father cleared his throat. “I see you haven’t lost your smart mouth.”
“And I see you haven’t lost the knuckle-dragger in the corner. Upgraded, maybe. Is there, like, a 1-800 number you call? Mouth-breathers-R-Us?”
“Enough, Y/N. We have business to discuss.”
“What, exactly , about my lack of presence the past five years gave you any indication I would want to do ‘business’ with you,” you said, heavily emphasizing it with air quotes.
Your father didn’t say a word, he just flipped a file onto the desk in front of you. Cocking an eyebrow, you opened it.
James Buchanan Barnes. Well, he was certainly handsome enough. Perfect bone structure, devastatingly blue eyes. A real lady killer, this one. You flipped the page.
Oh yes, you thought he looked familiar. The one and only son of George Barnes, your father’s rival. You’d never met him, but James was a well-known playboy…and as lethal and brutal as he was handsome.
You flipped the folder back on the table. “He’s cute. Now, is there a reason for—”
“I’m glad you think he’s cute,” your father said, folding his hands on the desk. “Because he’s your fiancé.”
You blinked.
“In two weeks, you’re going to marry James. I hear he’s a nice boy, quite popular with the ladies, and he seems to have all the qualities that will make a good husband—"
You finally found your voice. “Excuse me, but are you insane?! You can’t make me marry someone against my will, that’s not even legal! Oh…sorry, forgot who I was talking to there for a second. Of course you don’t give a damn about it being legal—”
“Can it, Y/N. You’re not getting out of this. You’re—”
You pushed your chair back in disgust. “All right, I’ve had enough. This is a new low, even for you, Dad. Now, unless you’re gonna make Ivan drag me back here by my hair, I have better places to be.”
You stood and marched towards the door, but your father was quicker, blocking your way.
“Article 22 of the New York State Tax Law, section 157.2, subsection A, paragraph three.”
You frowned. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”
Your father had that look in his eye that he got when he knew he’d won, and you didn’t like where this was heading.
“Sophie’s Place.”
“Don’t—Don’t you say that name.”
It was the name of the women’s shelter you ran. You named it after your mother, and hearing her name again from his lips was like a curse. It was the reason you’d left this life in the first place, and your fists clenched as old memories were dredged up.
Jacob narrowed his eyes at you.
“ Sophie’s Place. That’s the name of your little charity, right? The thing you worked _so_ hard to build…the place you spend all of your spare time, so much that you don’t even have time for a boyfriend, or—let’s face it—a life?”
“What about it?” you growled.
“It seems like they haven’t paid their state taxes in a number of years,” he said, sitting back down at the desk.
Bonelessly, you slid into the chair opposite him. “That’s bullshit, I went over the records myself, I…” your eyes widened. “You bastard. You fucking asshole! You did something, didn’t you?”
“Language, Y/N. What’s done is done. What you need to know is that in two weeks’ time, the shelter will be shut down for failure to pay state taxes. I can stop that…if you marry James.”
“Why?” There were tears in your eyes now, but you didn’t even care.
“I need to end this rivalry between George and I. There’s a new family in play, Alexander Pierce. He’s ruthless and power hungry, and he’ll destroy everything I’ve built. George wants his son to settle down and raise a family—to get ready to take over the business. He needs a wife, and I need an alliance between the families.”
Your head was spinning. Never in your wildest dreams could you have thought your own father would stoop so low.
Still, there was an out here. You would marry James, save the shelter, and then after a few months you could just file for divorce—”
“I know what you’re thinking, and divorce is not an option. This has to look real, or else Pierce will know he was slighted. It has to last, or else I’ll have George Barns coming down on my head. This is the merging of two families, and end to the rivalry. You, my dear, are the lynch-pin.”
You were speechless.
Your father sat back with a sigh. “Let me explain to you the rules. You will marry James Barnes in two weeks, and I will make the shelter’s tax troubles go away. From that date, you have one year to produce a child and seal the marriage.”
You choked on your spit, but he kept talking.
“The wedding will be large, proper, and public. White dress, bridesmaids, the whole nine yards. You will smile, you will appear happy, and you will give James what is owed a husband on his wedding night.”
You felt sick. Your father continued to tick each point off on his fingers.
“You will go on a proper honeymoon. George has suggested the family villa in Romania, and I’ve agreed. It’s well-protected, and you’ll be safe there. From there you will live with James in his penthouse in Brooklyn.”
All while he spoke, Jacob never broke eye contact, even as the color began to drain from his daughter’s face.
“You will be a dutiful wife. You will manage the household and give James everything he wants. You will be permitted to leave the penthouse with a bodyguard, but you will _not_ continue to work at the shelter or see your old friends. It’s not safe, and it’s beneath your status.”
You thought that was it, but he wasn’t done.
“I don’t care what type of arrangement you and James have in the bedroom, but you will keep him happy. If he wants women on the side, so be it. You will smile and take every precaution to make this look like a happy marriage. Who knows…you might even learn to love him.”
Your father was whoring his only daughter. Somehow, you forced back the bile and found your voice. “And if I don’t?”
“Then your shelter will be dissolved, and those women and children will be out on the streets.”
You were speechless. Dumbfounded. Once again, your father had perfectly boxed you into a corner, and you had no way out.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Y-Yes sir,” you stammered. “Am I allowed to at least go back to my apartment to get my—”
Your father stood and walked to the door. “You have one week to get your affairs in order. Hand off the running of the shelter to someone else, and move your things into the Tower here with me.”
Numbly, you nodded and stood.
“And Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Everyone will be watching you. This has to look authentic, for everyone’s sake.” He sighed, and you were surprised to see a tiny look of regret on his face. “I know this sounds cruel, Y/N, but I have my reasons. There’s a larger game at stake here. This is not as bad as it seems—do whatever you need to do to get this done. You’re my daughter and you’re strong. I know you can handle this.”
And with that, he ushered you out.
Thanks…Dad.
***
**Present Day**
The church was beautiful, you had to admit—you could thank dear old Daddy for that. The flowers alone were gorgeous. Tones of white, pink, and blush spilled from the altar and the pews. A small smile, so tiny it almost wasn’t there, flicked across your lips as you noticed the abundance of peonies. They were your mother’s favorite, and yours as well.
At least he got something right.
Music filled the sanctuary, stodgy and traditional…proper. The wedding party was already beginning to walk down the long aisle, and up by the altar you could see the figures of the groom and best man, already assembled. You couldn’t make out much more than that—there were simply too many people.
When your father said public, he hadn’t been kidding. It seemed like half the population of Brooklyn and Queens had turned out for the wedding, and you felt like you didn’t know a single person.
The music changed and the crowd stood, indicating the arrival of the bride.
Showtime.
You took your father’s arm and ignored the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs. Keeping time with the wedding march you slowly made your way down the aisle, your eyes fixed on the sliver of wood that you could see peeking out from under the altar cloth and nothing else. It made it easier to keep the demure smile on your face.
Finally, you reached the steps leading up to the altar, and you ascended with your father, being careful to lift the hem of your dress.
Wouldn’t want to trip like the doofus you really are and ruin the whole charade, now would we?
You bit back a snicker.
Then your father was taking your hand and laying in the palm of another.
And that was your first impression of James Buchanan Barnes.
His hands were callused but warm, and strong. Long fingers closed around yours, and you noticed his nails were short and clean, but not manicured. His hands were utilitarian…strangely comforting. They felt nice.
Slowly your eyes lifted, and you took your first look at your soon-to-be husband.
His face was solemn. Serious. Yet he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen…a _star_ fallen to earth. Soulful eyes of the stormiest blue stared back at you, blinking in surprise as his lips parted. You could see a well of emotion in their depths, and for a moment, you were utterly lost in them.
James sucked in a breath, and his lips twitched in an adorably crooked smile as his hands tightened around yours. You felt the icy wall you’d constructed around your heat begin to melt, but you stopped yourself, sealing back up with an icy blast.
_Remember what he is. Remember who he is. Don’t be taken in by those baby blues, he’s a cold-blooded killer and as ruthless as your father. Worse, even._
Your jaw clenched, and his smile faltered. Suddenly, you remembered the role you were to play, and you plastered a shy smile to your face. James returned it, but his eyes looked sad.
The minister cleared his throat.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God to unite James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N in holy matrimony…”
The rest of the minister’s words were a blur, and you barely heard them. It was only after you heard the words “exchange of vows” that you woke up out of your daze.
James was staring at you with the same yearning that he’d shown before. He was looking at you was as if he were trying to calm you, to reassure you, and you hated him a little because of it.
Just who the hell does he think he is? Is he delusional, or is he just playing with me?
When he spoke, it was with such a soft and gentle voice you knew only you and the minister could hear his words. You wondered if that was on purpose.
“Y/N. I know this union isn’t ideal and it’s not what you wanted, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re both standing up here before God and half the population of New York.”
He huffed a laugh and the minister’s lips thinned. You simply blinked at him.
_He wrote his own vows? Is he frickin’ serious?_
James continued, undaunted. “Y/N, from this day forward, I give you my heart, and I promise to love you and protect you. I promise to be faithful to you and to make you happy. I promise to be your equal in all things, during the good times and the bad, for the rest of our lives.”
He turned to the blond man at his shoulder, and he took the proffered ring.
“With this ring I seal these promises to you, my darling wife.”
He slid the ring on your finger, and you stared at it dumbly. James’s lips were parted slightly, and he was looking at you as if you were an angel fallen from heaven. Was he…was he actually_taking this seriously?
What in the actual fuck?
The minister was talking to you—shit!
Now he was looking at you expectantly.
Numbly, you recited the words after him.
“I, Y/N Y/L/N, take thee, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love, honor and obey, in accordance with God’s holy ordinance, as long as we both shall live."
Shirley…or Karen…handed you the ring, and you slid it on his finger. James tightened his hand around yours, and you felt another surge of electricity. You blinked and re-settled your expression, ensuring you were nothing more than the demure bride when you looked up.
James was staring at you, and you allowed your eyes to slide away. There was no way you could stand to look at him right now. You felt angry…and confused. You stared at the top button of his shirt, and that was enough to hold your focus as the minister continued.
“Eternal God, help James and Y/N to fulfill the promises they have made here today and to reflect your steadfast love in their commitment to each other. Give them kindness and patience, affection and understanding, happiness and contentment. May their family and friends continue to support them in difficult days, so that their love for each other may continue to grow as long as they both shall live.”
The minister released your hands, and took a step back.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
He looked at you both expectantly, and you felt James’s hand tighten once again.
Oh yeah.
You allowed yourself to be pulled forward into the kiss. James cupped your cheek, his long, beautiful eyelashes fluttering closed as your lips met for the first time.
Your brain stopped.
Warm, soft lips against yours. Not pushing, just accepting and melting into yours. Long fingers caressed your cheek, drawing you close and holding you there without any added pressure. James’s fingers intertwined with yours, and you let yourself be led closer, until you could feel his chest brushing against yours as he breathed.
The congregation was cheering and clapping, but you couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears as James kissed you. It was a sweet, gentle kiss that bordered on being chaste, and not at all what you had been expecting from a man of his reputation.
You felt a little dizzy as he released you. James was looking at you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable, and you blushed self-consciously.
Mustering all the grace and courage available, you took his proffered arm. Then it was down the aisle to the waiting limousine that would take you to the reception. It was over.
You were now Mrs. Y/N Barnes, mob wife.