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But he just holds a hand up. I know the conversation is over. I may hold absolute power over the organization here in the US. My word is law. But even kings have something above them. For me, it’s Sal and Bernardo.
Salvestro nods at Anton. The Russian beams and turns to grunt something at one of his men. The man leaves the room quietly. My heart thumps loudly. My jaw clenches. Sal and Bernardo have given me full autonomy to run the organization on this side of the Atlantic as I see fit. I’ve done them well in that regard. Very, very well. And my thanks is a goddamn marriage of convenience? I seethe. My fist is like iron on the table.
The door behind Anton opens slowly. It’s dark, and the air is thick with cigar smoke. A figure steps in. The door closes behind her. Anton turns and beckons. Slowly, the figure steps forward. The dim lights illuminate her.
My heart stops. Holy Christ.
She’s gorgeous. She’s far beyond gorgeous, actually. She’s stunning. She’s beautiful beyond belief. Gingery red hair frames a beautiful, soft face. Her full, pouty lips quiver slightly. Her crystal blue eyes look scared as they scan the dim room. She’s dressed in a creamy, silk sleeveless dress that hugs dangerous curves I try to pull my eyes away from.
“This,” Anton turns to smile at me. “This is your gift. Karina.”
My eyes snap back to the girl. She trembles. I snarl.
“No,” I growl.
“Si,” Salvestro hisses next to me. “Si, Micheal.” He turns to me. His thick, bushy grey eyebrows raise, and he smirks. “She is beautiful, no?”
“Sal…”
“She will make a fine wife, Micheal,” he murmurs. His words aren’t a suggestion. They’re not an encouragement. They’re a final statement, and I know that. I grit my teeth and I meet my boss’s eyes. “It is settled, then. Yes?”
My eyes slide back to the girl. Fuck, I almost can’t bring myself to say woman. She’s young. Christ is she young. I turn back to Sal.
“Don Salvestro,” I say quietly.
“The answer is yes, Micheal,” he says quietly, with finality.
I turn back to the Russians across the table. I take a slow breath and then exhale. Finally, I nod. “It is settled.”
The deal is done. And now, she’s mine.
God help her.
2
Katrina
I look into the mirror.The face that looks back is scared, her lower lip quivering. I tremble all over, actually. Down the dark hallway, I can hear men’s voices rumbling. It’s muffled through the heavy wooden door. But I know the basic idea of what they’re talking about: me.
I swallow with a dry mouth. My nails press into my palms. I’m a pawn. A gift. Or if we’re being honest, a bargaining chip. I’m payment for another’s crimes. My cousin, Sasha, is the cause of all of this. I could try and be charitable and try to think of this as a family issue. But I’m not family to Sasha or my Uncle Anton. I’m property.
To my uncle in particular, I might as well be a maid. A Russian Cinderella. But I’m old enough now to know there’s no such thing as fairy godmothers. There’s no pumpkin carriage coming to whisk me away. No talking, sewing mice. No glass slippers.
I never knew my mother. When I lost my father young, back in St. Petersburg, the closest family I had left was Anton, my father’s brother. It didn’t matter that my fatherhatedhis brother and the rest of his family too. My mother had no family left. So, I was shipped off to the US to be raised by my uncle. My cruel, ill-tempered, criminal uncle.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I believe is the saying.
Since then, I’ve been kept in a proverbial tower. Barely any friends, certainly none that are boys. No boyfriends, no social life, nothing. And my uncle is not a nice man. In his eyes, I’ve been nothing but a burden. I’ve been an unwanted pest in his house for him to kick and slap around when he’s had a bad day.
But now, at twenty-three, my uncle has finally found a use for me: payment for a wrongdoing I have nothing to do with.
Sasha is the one with the alcohol problem. The drug problem too, actually. He’s the one with the temper who likes to see how far he can push the line before it gives. I know what my family is. And I know that my uncle is the power behind the entire Korolyov family. But this time, Sasha went too far. The men he hurt are connected to very, very powerful men—men and a family that is much larger and more powerful than my own.
And now I’m the peace offering. I’m the prize to stop a war between the families. I’m being given to a man. Not just any, either. I’m being given to the man who runs the entire Scaliami family.
I know almost nothing about him. All I do know, though, is that he’s powerful. I’ve been told by my uncle that he’s cruel and wicked. I’ve been told his temper is on a hair-trigger; that he’s decisive and cold. And he’s much, much older than I.
But I have no say in this. Bargaining chips seldom do. I might now be privy to much of the goings on of my uncle’s business. But I know enough to know that war with the Scaliami family would mean annihilation. Sasha bit off more than he could chew, and now my freedom is forfeit.
