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“Your mother was the daughter of the Orlov Bratva.”
Sawyer’s words dropped over her like boulders. Bratva? How was that possible? No. It was impossible. Her mother was... her mother, the best person she had ever known.
“That broach you described is a family heirloom of the Orlovs,” Karter added.
“Your uncle Jimmy was a friend of ours when we were in the military. Harlequin was his code name. Fuck,” Karter said, then turned his attention to Ryder and Sawyer. “I thought he was drunk that night. Motherfucker.”
“What are you saying? Nothing makes sense. What has all this got to do with me?”
“You’re the new Bratva bride. Jimmy made us promise one night ten years ago, we deliver you safely to the Orlovs when you turn twenty-three.”
“And if you don’t?”
“You won’t be safe. The Orlovs' rivals, the Smirnoffs, will take you.”
“Oh, fun.”
“You think this is fucking funny, Harper?” Ryder barked at her. “The Smirnoffs will fucking kill you to make a point.”
“Yes, I do think this is funny,” she shouted back. “I’m just a girl who wanted to go to a damn shopaholic retreat so I can not be this way but then I found you three instead and you... hurt me. And for what? You thought I was lying.”
She had been such a fool to think otherwise. Who wanted anyone who was so broken on the inside they believed a broach could cure them? She really had to get a grip on her life. She couldn’t continue this way. No more. Who would have thought her shopaholic therapy retreat would be so successful? And she only had these three men to thank.
She whipped her head up and straightened her shoulders. It didn’t matter her ass was on fire and she was draped in a throw and nothing else.
“Right. Don’t worry about dropping me off at theOrlovs. I’ll handle it myself, thank you very much,” she said as if she knew exactly what was going on. She didn’t. She didn't have a fucking clue. They had the wrong person. Completely.
Harper wasn’t processing anything right now. Words were flying over her head like bratva, bride, harlequin, her death. Her mind had checked out a long time ago. But slowly thoughts started to take root.She started to quiver when the sick reality started to sink in a little.
Was that why her father had looked so haggard when he had given her the map? Because he had known? Had Uncle Jimmy informed him of this plan to get three ex-military turned silent and surly lumberjacks to deliver her to where the Orlovs were, so the Smirnoffs couldn’t get to her?
Up to this point, she hadn’t even known the Orlovs existed, let alone the Smirnoffs.
No. This had nothing to do with her. They had the wrong person. Her father was an American brain surgeon. Her mother... her mother was not Russian.
Both her mother and Uncle Jimmy, whose surname had been Smith, had zero Russian features. They had grown up in the States.But what about the first three years of her life? Where had she been?
No. It didn’t matter. This whole thing was preposterous.
And now the Smirnoffs were going to kidnap her if she wasn’t an Orlov bride.
Yeah right. It all sounded too fictional for her. Made up. And again didn’t apply to her. All she wanted was to get her life in order and hug her dear father.
But then something clicked. Suddenly she knew it was the truth.
Uncle Jimmy. Harlequin. Her mother’s broach.
This was the thing that had been weighing on her heart and mind unconsciously all these years. Maybe she had overheard something when she had been younger and it had stayed in her subconscious, worrying her. Maybe that was why she couldn’t accept her mother’s death because she was scared of her future. Of being taken.
Now the men who had imprinted themselves rapidly and unexplainably into life for an eternity would be the ones to deliver her to her doom.
With her head held high, she strode as gracefully as she could past them, begging herself not to start wailing uncontrollably before she reached the bedroom.
Why was her heart breaking into so many pieces?
