Page 7 of Bratva Sacrifice

Matteo doesn’t mince words. “It’s you. You are the price.”

“What?” A shred of a laugh trips across my tongue. “You’re not serious.”

“Catalina,” Papa hisses, squeezing my fingers again. “Show respect to your elders. And to your uncles.”

“We don’t know how he found out about you when we didn’t even know,” Matteo continues, slanting a sharp look at Papa. “But it seems Giulio was careless with his little secret, and Morozov’s intelligence is too damned good. He could have put all of us in the ground. Instead, he asked only for you.”

“But I’m not—” An odd little sound squeaks through my tight throat as my brain whirls through a succession of wild speculations built upon everything I learned in my mafia research. “So what is this, like a—a mafia marriage? An alliance?”

“Not a marriage, no.” Matteo adjusts his cufflinks idly.

I don’t understand. For a long moment, as everyone stares at me in silent expectation, I don’t understand.

And then I do. I’m supposed to whore myself out for them. Because a man I’ve never met has decided he wants me. And whatever Nicky did was bad enough to make it happen. Or maybe I’m just worth less than whatever money it might cost to solve their problem.

“He has evidence, piccola,” Papa says, and there is a tinge of desperation in his voice. “This is dangerous for us, for the family. But you can save us all. We need you, cara mia, to find this evidence he has and destroy it. And the rest of it is not so bad,” he says, and the soothing inflection he attempts falls startlingly flat. “You only need to—”

“Fuck him,” Matteo interrupts bluntly. “And when he is bored with you, you can come home again.”

“This is what obligation means, Catalina,” Lorenzo says, in that dry, bland voice I’m coming to loathe. “This is what it means to be a Russo. You don’t want to be another of Giulio’s mistakes, do you?”

Now, finally, I understand. Papa is the family disappointment, and Nicky only continued down the path that Papa paved. And I—

I’m the scapegoat. The sacrificial lamb. Brought in to pay for their sins.

My stomach pitches and rolls as bile coats the inside of my mouth. Somehow I manage to say, “I think I need a drink.”

“A drink. Yes!” Papa claps his hand on mine, affecting a jovial manner. “We can discuss this matter further over dinner and drinks.”

Over my dead body. I’d rather be alone than sacrifice myself for these people I don’t know, people who don’t want to know me. People who wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire, and certainly don’t consider me to be part of their family. “Papa,” I say, shaking at my hand still clasped in his as the people filling the room start to file away into the dining room without so much as a second glance at me. As if this is a done deal, and I exist only to serve this family. “I have to use the restroom before dinner.”

Gradually his grip loosens. “Of course.” He lifts his hand to summon a member of the staff. “Marta will show you the way,” he says as he turns to join the rest of the family and heads off toward the dining room.

The family’s future hangs upon my shoulders, and I’m not stupid enough to think they’ll simply let me refuse. Let me leave. And my suspicions are confirmed when I close and lock the bathroom door, but I don’t hear any retreating footsteps.

Marta is waiting for me just outside, to ensure I don’t wander off.

But there’s a large window on the rear wall, and when I turn on the water to wash my hands, it’s loud enough to muffle the sound as I slowly pry it up and climb out into the night.

He’ll forgive me, eventually. He has to. He’s my papa.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to forgive him, too.

Chapter Three

Alexei

The Russo house is in an uproar. I narrowly avoid running down a member of the staff as I make my way up the driveway to the house. Beams of light flash wildly about, one briefly blinding me as I pull my car to a stop.

Giulio is on the front steps, alternating between wringing his hands and patting at his shiny forehead with a handkerchief. A half-dozen others are milling about to no true purpose while the staff scramble about the lawn, shining flashlights along hedgerows.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask as I climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me. “Where is Catalina?”

Giulio’s ruddy complexion pales considerably, and I know instantly the answer is—not here. Not where she was supposed to be. Not where I was promised she would be, when I was promised she would be. “We’ll find her,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation. “We have men on the way to her apartment already. She’ll be back within the hour, I swear it.”

“Blyad!” I rake my hands through my hair in aggravation. “How difficult is it to manage one fucking woman? I asked only one thing of you, Russo!”

“We’ll find her!” Giulio insists.