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This time, the applause was thunderous. Mixed within it were whistles and hoots from some of the rowdier men of the Korolev Bratva. I felt my own lips curling up into a smile when I saw the mask of happiness slip for a split second from my father’s face.
He might have sold me. But he had received nothing comparable in exchange.
Aleksey’s uncle—a stout man whose hair was starting to thin—took the stage and clasped my father’s hand. Decades ago, he might have been handsome. But the years had not been kind to him. The smile on his face reminded me of Aleksey. And just like Aleksey, the smile never reached his eyes.
“Thank you, Don Tarallo.” He spoke slowly, drawing out every single syllable as he did. “And what a ravishing beauty your daughter is. I cannot imagine it was an easy task for you to agree to this marriage. Now, where is my nephew? Alyosha? Alyosha!Idi suda!”
The crowd parted and Aleksey, with a scowl on his face, marched up to greet his uncle. The two men stared at each other, and I could tell there was no love lost between them.
“Now, as you all know,” Mikhail continued. “My brother has left us to go see the big boss upstairs. And it was his final wish that our two families could finally put aside this pointless bickering that has left so much bad blood spilling into the ground.”
Rough warm fingers forced themselves into the crevice of my fingers as Aleksey took his place next to mine. I clenched my jaw through my smile and squeezed back, making no light effort to match the strength in his grip.
Yet even now, dark intrusive thoughts shivered through my skin, as if someone had connected me to a live wire. The same gravity that existed between us earlier returned with a vengeance, mocking my own resistance. I forced myself to focus on Mikhail as he continued to talk.
“Which is why tonight is not just a single celebration.”
“What?” I heard Aleksey mutter. Clearly this was unexpected to him as well.
“It is with great joy that I announce that Aleksey will not be the only one to be married!” Mikhail boomed. “Dorogyie druzya. It is with great pleasure I inform you that Raissa Antonovna, the wife of my late brother Fyodor, has agreed to make me the happiest man in all of Chicago!”
Aleksey’s fingers tightened so hard at the announcement that I fought to keep myself from crying out in pain. A well-dressed older woman joined Mikhail on the stage while I clung to Aleksey’s hand for dear life.
“After my dear nephew and soon-to-be stepson is married tomorrow, Raissa Antonovna and I will be married as well!Dorogyie druzya!A toast to everlasting happiness!”
I squeezed back at Aleksey’s painful grip until I could feel his heart thundering in my palm. I didn’t dare look at him, not here, where the farce of our engagement was played for full attention. I could feel more than just hatred coursing through his veins. I felt his pain. His hurt. His indignation at it all.
It was enough for me to forget my own hatred for him.
It was enough for me to forget my own desire to hurt him.
But not enough to ignore the dark curiosity that was slowly winding through my veins like a snake rearing its head. A dark curiosity that yearned to find out what it’d be like for those same rough hands to drag over every inch of my body.
To throw me down on his bed. To hold me down, rip my clothes away, and make me scream.
The only question was: would I scream in pleasure, fear, or pain?
Chapter Five
Aleksey
“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked my sister Alya as I poured another shot of vodka and threw it back. But no amount of alcohol could soothe the anger lashing at my insides.
“Alyosha, please,” Alya replied as she tried to grab the bottle from my hand. “Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I knew? This was the first time I heard of it too.”
“Did anything seem unusual at the funeral? You were there, were you not?”
“I was, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You know how Mother is. How close she and Uncle Misha always have been over the years.”
“And as it turns out, that closeness was more than just familial affection.” I wrenched the bottle back. “Chyort vozmi.How could we have been so blind? That bastard! Was Father’s body even in the ground before our uncle started pawing at Mother? Just what the hell is he playing at?”
Alya crossed her arms, her face scrunched up in the familiar scowl so characteristic of our family. “I don’t know, Alyosha, and I don’t want to know. Can’t you stop worrying about Uncle Misha or Mother or the Bratva? Just for one night?”
“We shouldn’t be surprised.” I ignored her plea. “Mother never liked to spend much time with Father, even while he was alive. Why the fuck would she care about him now that he’s in the ground?”
“Alyosha!” Alya reached for Father’s voice and found it. “It’s bad enough that I haven’t seen you for years. But to have you come here, drunk, while you’re supposed to be preparing for your wedding tomorrow morning…”
I looked back at her in silence before I gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment.
