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Emilio’s jaw ticks, but his hand falls away from Bianca’s face. His eyes, dark as night, continue to hold her captive. “Half the mafia families in greater New York saw you leave with Daniil last night. You don’t think they’ll talk?” Calmly picking up his fork, Emilio’s attention goes back to the food in front of him. “Now we throw the wedding of the year, and we give people something positive to talk about. A union between the Colombians and Russians.”
Bianca grits her teeth but holds her tongue this time. She won’t look at me, but frustration ripples off her in waves. She’s unhappy I didn’t push back. Let her be unhappy with me, let her hate me. Frankly, I don’t want this marriage either, but I don’t want her in Días’s grasp even more.
After a moment of blistering silence, Emilio stands, dropping his napkin on the table in front of him. Checking his Rolex, he frowns. “This is no longer open for discussion, Bianca. You will be married tomorrow. The wedding planner will be here momentarily to discuss the details with you.”
With that he nods his head to me, the only sign of respect theublyudokhas shown me, and stalks from the patio, leaving us in tense silence. Tears trail down Bianca’s face. I reach out and swipe at a tear, licking the salty moisture off my finger.
Her face falls, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why are you going along with this? I thought you didn’t want a wife?”
“I’m second in line to the Kozlov throne. I was always going to have to marry. The bratva is like royalty from the days of yore. We marry to create alliances and produce heirs.”
She sneers, as if it’s my fault the world is this way. “That’s so fucked-up. You’ve never thought about marrying for love?”
“No.” What I don’t say is that I don’t believe in love. It’s a fallacy that we’ve been fed from day one, and I don’t buy into the fantasy of happily ever afters. My parents married for what they said was love, and it ended with my mother in misery, eventually taking her own life. “You’re as good as any other wet hole. Make me some babies and look good on my arm, that’s all I need from you. Like your uncle said, it’s a powerful alliance.”
She flinches, but I don’t care. She already hates me, now she needs to understand the terms of our arrangement. I brush invisible crumbs off my suit jacket as her eyes laser into the side of my face. Such an innocent thing. She can’t even hide her feelings. It’s written all over her face.
“Hijo de puta,” she snaps.
While I don’t speak Spanish, I know enough to understand I’ve been called a son of a bitch. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and she’s twisted her body as far from me as possible. Fine. Let her be angry. But I do need her to hear what I have to say next.
I turn her face towards me, her jaw so delicate in my big hand, I could crush it without breaking a sweat. “But I want to be clear about one thing, printsessa. I’ll never hurt you like he hurts you.”
She gulps, and her eyes drift down to my mouth. An electric charge flares hot between us, lighting me up from the inside out. Even the air around us feels magnetic, the calm before a storm. She feels it, too. That I am sure of.
Before one of us breaks the spell, Maria emerges, announcing the wedding planner has arrived and that we are to meet with her in the study. It’s the last thing I want to do, but as the old saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.
I stand and offer her my upturned palm. She stares at it like I just offered her a dead fish, before turning the other way, rising from her seat, and storming ahead of me.
Fuck. I like winding her up and watching her spin.
CHAPTERSEVEN
BIANCA
As I lie in bed,one thought alone echoes through my mind.
I failed.
Failed to convince my uncle not to marry me off, and even worse, failed to convince Daniil that I love Jorge, and our union is doomed. He doesn't care, he’s made that clear.
His earlier words echo in my brain.You’re as good as any other wet hole.
That pendejo. Beneath that charming facade, he’s as poisonous as all the rest. A snake dressed in Armani. I won’t marry him. Or anyone for that matter.
As quiet falls, I roll over, leaving the warmth of bed, and slip into the en suite bathroom. With the lights off, I open the lower vanity drawer and reach for the box of tampons I keep stashed at the very back. Thank god for period supplies. There is no better hiding spot.
Digging inside, I find the phone at the bottom of the cardboard box. Sitting on the cool bathroom tiles, hugging my knees to my chest, I make the call. It’s the only thing I can do.
* * *
“I am really diggingthis color on me.” Kira sashays into the room and does a little spin for all of us. She’s right, the forest green really does suit her well. I’ve joined all the ladies of the Kozlov clan—Kira and Georgia, whom I had already met, and now I’ve been introduced to Rowan and Alyona. They flew in earlier this morning, and it was decided by someone—the wedding planner maybe—that they would be my bridesmaids since I have no other female relatives or friends.
We’re now gathered in a suite at my uncle’s home trying on dresses for the wedding tonight. Everyone seems mildly shocked by the turn of events, but they are also putting on a happy face, assuring me how kind Daniil is when I know that to be a lie.
While the others are having their dresses altered, Georgia comes to sit with me, a glass of champagne in her hand.
“Hey,” she says softly, “I bet you could use this.”
