AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The door to my father’s office is open, so I go inside without knocking, close the door behind me, and stand in front of his desk. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just keeps scribbling notes in his leather organizer. Bruno Scardoni never acknowledges people he considers beneath him a second sooner than he feels fit. He enjoys seeing them fidget while he practices his might over them. Unfortunately, I never really gave a fuck about his power games, so I sit in the chair opposite him without an invitation and cross my arms over my chest.
“Ill-behaving, as ever, I see,” he says without lifting his head from the organizer. “I’m glad your disobedience will soon become someone else’s problem.”
My heartbeat speeds up at his words, but I school my features not to show any reaction. Father is like a predator, just waiting for his prey to show weakness so he can attack, aiming for the jugular.
“We’re signing a truce with the Russians,” he says and looks up at me. “And you’re getting married to one of Petrov’s men next week.”
It takes me a few seconds to collect myself from the shock, then I look my father right in the eyes and mouth “No.”
“It wasn’t a question, Bianca. Everything is already agreed upon—a daughter of a capo for one of his men. Congratulations,cara mia.” A poisonous smile spreads across his face.
I grab a paper and a pen from his desk, quickly write the words and pass it toward him. He looks down at the note and grinds his teeth.
“I can’t make you?” He sneers.
I start to stand up, but he leans toward me, grabs my arm, and slaps me across my face with his other hand so hard my head snaps to the side. My ears are ringing, but I take a deep breath, turn toward my father again, and slowly take the paper from where he threw it on the other side of the desk. I straighten the edges of the paper, place it on the desk in front of him, point my finger to the words written there, and turn to leave. I won’t be married off, especially to some Russian brute.
“If you don’t do it, I’ll give them Milene.”
His words stop me in my tracks. He wouldn’t dare. My little sister is only eighteen. She’s still a child. I turn around, look my father in the eyes, and I see it. He would.
“I see that got your attention. Good.” He points to the chair I just vacated. “Get back here.”
The five steps I take to that chair are probably the second hardest thing I’ve done in my life. My feet feel like they are made of lead the whole way back.
“Now, since that’s settled, a few things. You will be a docile, dutiful wife to your husband. I still don’t know who it’ll be, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that he will be someone from Petrov’s inner circle.”
I watch him as he leans back in his chair and takes a cigar from the box in front of him.
“You’ll rein in your temper, let him fuck you as much as he wants, and make sure he trusts you. He will probably underestimate you, as people usually do when they find out you can’t speak, and he’ll start opening up, babbling about business.” He points his cigar in my direction. “You will remember everything he says, every single detail about how they are organized, what routes they use for distribution, everything he might mention.”
Opening a drawer in his desk, he takes out a burner phone, and slides it across the desk toward me. “You will message me everything you learn. Every single thing. Do you understand, Bianca?”
Everything makes more sense now. What a perfect setup he has made: get rid of his problematic child, and get into good graces with the don by sacrificing one of his daughters to the Bratva, all while making sure he’ll be the one getting the inside information on the Russians. Brilliant, really.
“I asked you a question!” He snarls.
I tilt my head to the side and regard him, wishing I had a gun and imagining pointing it between his eyes and pulling the trigger. I wouldn’t miss. Over the years, my brother made sure my aim is impeccable by secretly taking me with him on his shooting practices. I’m not sure I’d have the guts to kill my father, but imagining it definitely felt good.
I nod, collect the phone from the desk, and leave the office, catching the sight of his satisfied smile from the corner of my eye. Let him believe whatever he wants. I might be marrying into the Bratva, but I’m doing it for my sister, not because he ordered me. And I am not playing his spy. I am not dying because of him, again.
When Roman Petrov, Bratva’s pakhan, enters the dining room, everybody stands and keeps standing until he takes a seat at the head of the table. He leans his cane on his chair and nods for us to sit back down. The first chair on his right remains empty. His wife probably feels unwell again. I thought pregnant women only had sickness in the morning, but based on what I heard in the kitchen, Nina Petrova has been vomiting nonstop for weeks.
Roman turns to the maid and motions with his head toward the door. “Leave and close the door, Valentina. I’ll call you when we are done.”
She nods quickly and rushes out of the room, closing the double doors behind her. It looks like we’ll be discussing business before dinner. Roman leans back in his chair, and I wonder what kind of bomb he’ll be dropping on us today. The last time he called us all in, he informed us that he secretly got married two days after meeting his wife.
“As you already know, we’re calling a truce with the Italians,” he says. “They agreed to my terms, I agreed to theirs, and the only thing left is to organize a wedding to seal the deal.” He raises his eyebrows. “So, who would like to volunteer to be the lucky groom?”
Nobody says a word. We don’t do arranged marriages in the Bratva. That was always an Italian thing, and nobody wants to be saddled with a Trojan horse. That’s what that woman would be, and everybody knows it. I wonder who he’ll pick. It won’t be me, because Roman knows my issues too well. It won’t be Sergei, either. No one in his right state of mind would trust that lunatic with a toaster, let alone a human being. Maxim is too old, so I’m betting on Kostya or Ivan.
“What, no one wants a pretty Italian girl? Maybe this will help change your mind.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, takes out a photo, and passes it to Maxim. “Bianca Scardoni, the middle daughter of Italian capo Bruno Scardoni, and up until recently, the prima ballerina of the Chicago Opera Theatre.”
I feel my body go stone-still. Not possible.
“They really want this alliance.” Roman smiles. “The most beautiful woman of the Italian mafia is up for grabs.”
Maxim passes the picture to Kostya, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at Roman. “What’s the catch?”
