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“I’m dropping you off at the penthouse. Mikhail will stay with you.” Daniil’s gruff voice cuts through my heated thoughts.
“Okay.” I smooth out my skirt, the unfamiliar heft of a honking diamond ring weighing down my finger. “What am I supposed to do with my time?”
“That’s your business.” He doesn’t even bother to look up from the newspaper.
“Can I go into the city?”
He pauses for a moment. “For a purpose and only if you take Mikhail with you. Don’t leave his side. Ever.”
Great, the life of a cloistered mafia woman continues. We’re one step away from the Bridgerton sisters who spend their days playing piano, reading books, and waiting for a husband. That was my precise existence when I became my uncle’s ward, and now nothing in my life will change.
Except one thing. I need to get closer to Daniil.
As investigative journalists, my parents told me the key to breaking a story is to follow the money trail. Which is exactly what I intend to do. I settle back in the seat and clear my throat before asking, “Can I get a job?”
The paper crumples as he lowers it into his lap. He regards me carefully, his eyebrows pressed together. “Why would you want to do that?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“I’ll be bored at home. My uncle never allowed me to do anything, but I was hoping we could do things differently. A fresh start.”
He straightens his cuffs, looking beyond me at the rain-slicked city streets. “It’s not a good idea.”
Exactly what I expected him to say. I recross my legs, angling my body towards him. “What if I were to work for you? I can do data entry, crunch numbers, administrative tasks. Whatever you want me to do, I can do it,” I offer.
“Have you held a job before?”
I pause. “That wasn’t something my uncle would allow. But if you give me a chance, you’ll see I’m quite capable.”
“It’s not what’s done in this world. You know that. Wives don’t work. They have hobbies.” He huffs out a breath and taps his finger against his thigh. “Why don’t you take tennis lessons or do a pottery class.”
Whatever lady boner I had for him earlier deflates. I thought Daniil might be a little more forward-thinking. Guess I thought wrong.
“What about Georgia, doesn’t she work?”
His jaw tightens. “That’s different.”
Now he’s making me mad. I cross my arms in front of my chest. “How is it different? And Kira’s a full-blown vor,” I say smugly, using the Russian word she taught me when I met her in Daniil’s kitchen. “I want to feel useful, not like some mafia princess banished to shopping sprees and mindless lunches.”
Daniil hooks a finger inside his collar, stretching it wide. “Georgia is an art teacher and works in a private school where she can bring her own guards. And Kira is our sister, not to mention heir to two bratva fortunes. It’s her rightful place. But you”—he spits out that word in a way I don’t like—“your uncle practically kept you under lock and key. What do you know about working in our world?”
“You can train me,” I snap back. “I am capable of learning, believe it or not.”
“Just drop it, Bianca.” His tone is softer than I expected, as if this conversation is draining him of energy.
Irritation morphs into resolve. I’m more capable than he could imagine. And when this is all over, he’ll learn exactly how much he underestimated me.
We pull up to the curb of his luxury building. I barely recall being here the other night—it was dark, and I was half delirious—but now I take a moment and gaze up at what will be my home for the next… god, who knows how long. My gilded cage.
Mikhail comes around and stands in front of my car door, ready to spring into action. But I won’t leave without a final parting shot. I swivel in my seat and narrow my eyes at Daniil.
“I’ll make sure to get really good at spending your money. I believe Bergdorf is close by. And if I’m not mistaken, Louis Vuitton, too. Since I’m not good foranything elseapparently, I’ll shop till I drop.”
Daniil presses his lips together as if he’s tolerating the outburst of a petulant child. Then he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a sleek leather wallet. He removes a black credit card and holds it up between two fingers.
“Do your best, printsessa. This card has no limit.”
I swipe for it, but he moves it just out of my reach. “Ah-ah,” he warns. “You need to keep it somewhere safe.”
The nerve of this stinking man. “My purse is in the back. I’m not a child, Daniil, I won’t lose it,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
