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The woman was obsessed with marrying us off.
“What? You’re almost twenty-nine years old, Alex. I already had you and Luca by the time I was your age.”
“The family needs me,” I replied, my fingers tightening as Nina’s thigh trembled beneath my touch. Visceral disgust smoldered inside me for putting her through this. Nina didn’t deserve to hide. Although it had been her suggestion, the cause behind it was my inability to claim her outright. It was because of me that she was being placed in a position of disrespect, a position which both my brothers were keenly aware of.
I’d apologize later, but the point was to protect her from such things. I already knew she’d reply that there was no need to apologize, that she trusted me implicitly, but that would do nothing to assuage my guilt.
“Hush with that excuse. The family also needs you to marry a good Romanian girl,” she replied firmly. “I need grandchildren, especially now that Tasa’s marriage is in the gutter.”
Nina cringed at the words good Romanian girl. And for good reason.
Nicu attempted to divert my mother’s attention, but she was like a dog with a bone when she got onto the subject of marriage. Jesus, this was what Tasa had to put up with constantly. I was getting but a small taste of what my sister dealt with these past years.
My skin crackled under my mother’s criticism.
“Mama,” I replied sharply, “I’m a man and head of this family. I’m not Tasa. I will not be spoken to as if I’m some child.”
My mother took in a quick breath, and I shifted my eyes off her. Focusing on the pale-green vines of the wallpaper, I worked to regain my temper. Nina froze underneath my touch. Her eyes swung and stayed on me. She’d never heard me raise my voice. Each of us had that infamous Balkan temper, but I rarely lost it, outside of arguing with Luca and Tasa.
“Let the boy alone, Marina. Tasa is gone. I know what an embarrassment this is for you, but you cannot turn on the boy. He’s doing the best he can to fix this, and he’s already dealt with Nelu, which is a miracle in itself.”
Bunica, thank fuck, swooped in to save the day. Her eyes pierced me before shifting to Nina and then back to me. That wily woman knew something was up, and every cell in my body urged me to take ownership of Nina in front my family. My muscles tensed, as if poised to go into battle, but Bunica defused the tension by tutting my mother as if to chastise her gently.
Shuffling over to me, she patted my hand and then scooped out mamaliga, or polenta, from a big pot cradled in the crook of her arm.
Leaning over, she shoved a dish of feta closer to my plate, knowing I always added some crumbles to my polenta. “He’s a good boy. Lots of pressure on his head.” Waving her hand to encompass Luca and Nicu, she asserted, “They’re all good boys. They’ll get married when they’re ready, and I bet it will be faster than you think.” She cast a glance at my hand on Nina’s knee just as I forced myself to drag it away. “You’ll have the big wedding celebration you’ve been dreaming about. Don’t worry.”
“Of course,” mumbled my mother, her gaze back to the meal as she slowly resumed cutting into her sausage.
Christ, I hungered to scoop Nina into my arms and whisk her out of there. My family was always a mixture of push and pull, comfort and irritation, but at that moment, the disappointment oozing out of Nina and my mother, although for different reasons, was suffocating. I’d made many difficult decisions during my time on the throne, but this was by far one of the more challenging ones. On one hand was the duty to my clan. The duty to use marriage as a way to consolidate power or solidify a strategic position. Love had nothing to do with it. On the other was Nina. My heart was tied to her. I imagined her sitting beside me, as she was now, at a family dinner but with my hand publicly displayed on her swelling belly. My brows drawing together, I shuttered my eyes. What kind of choice was I being forced to make, between family and love?
???
After what felt like a never-ending dinner, I finally managed to hustle Nina out of my mother’s house. Back in my apartment in Manhattan, I carried her suitcase straight into my bedroom, so there would be no misunderstanding about my intentions, and deposited it near my walk-in closet, where I had made space for her.
She’d followed me silently, hands clasped behind her. Nodding attentively, she listened while I showed her where to put away her stuff.
Pulling her into my arms, I said, “I know what you’re going to say about dinner. That you understand my reasons for not claiming you in front of my mother. Believe me, I fucking hated seeing you in that position,” I emphasized. “Not only did it hurt you and put you in an untenable position, but it made me feel less of a man.”
Her head flicked up at that, brows drawn together in the most adorable expression of confusion. “Why would you feel that? You’re beholden to others. You don’t live solely for yourself and what you want.”
“Fuck that,” I persisted, my breath picking up a bit. “A man makes choices and stands by them. I don’t give a damn about marrying a good Romanian girl.”
“You felt differently, not so long ago,” she reminded me.
A burn of shame crashed through me. Yes, yes, I did. It was one of the rationales I gave Tasa to press her into marriage. That she had to follow tradition and marry within our society. It wasn’t only about being Romanian but being Romanian mafie. Tasa could never simply marry an average Joe. She had to marry someone who could protect her from the dangers of our life. My father was gunned down by the Bratva, which was the motivation for my deep hatred of the Red Mafia. And he’d been a sef. A boss. If that could happen to him, then an innocent girl like Tasa was vulnerable.
I tried to explain to Nina, “With Tasa, it was about protection, and I suppose I trust a Romanian mafie before any other kind of made man.”
“You’re backtracking,” she chided softly as she pulled away gently and sat on the edge of my large bed.
Not liking the distance between us, I took a seat beside her and brought her into my arms again. “Yes, I pressured her into an arranged marriage, but my primary motives were her security and marrying someone who’d fit into my family. Not only my nuclear family but the entire Lupu clan.”
Folding one leg beneath her, she shifted toward me, “And what about for you?”
Time for the truth. I owed her that much, at least.
“For me? I want you. But until I’m sure we can be together in the right way; my hands are tied. Believe me when I tell you I feel like a man in chains. A captive to my family and my world. Despite the perks of being in charge, I resent it deeply. It’s the first time the expectations of my family have conflicted with my own desires over something serious,” I confessed.
