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My father’s study is down this hall, where he handles much of the day-to-day business of running his crooked empire. Nico must be planning on taking me to him.
Normally, I wouldn’t rely on my father for anything. As far as I can tell, I’m nothing more than property to him, a bargaining chip that will help further his success, not a daughter. This can’t be a good plan.
“Not Father,” I plead with hushed urgency, leaning back into my brother’s arm to resist. “Please, don’t tell him. He’ll just get mad at me.”
“No, Silvia, not this time,” Nico states confidently. “He’s going to fix his mistake.”
“Nico!” I protest more adamantly, actually planting my feet.
But his strong arm encourages me forward, and I can’t stand my ground for long. Resigning myself to what is probably going to be another excruciating conversation followed by some unwarranted punishment, I let my brother guide me the rest of the way.
Nico doesn’t even bother knocking. A perk of being the Marchetti heir. Instead, he shoves the door open, making an entrance my father can’t ignore. Father eyes us cooly as the door closes behind us.
He holds up a finger, telling us to wait as he holds his cell phone to his ear. We both wait in silence, Nico’s arm never leaving my shoulders. After a quick exchange in Italian, my father hangs up.
“Well?” he demands, his voice as apathetic as the expression on his face.
“The Veles heir just molested your daughter in public and threatened to ruin her in front of the whole school to prove she belongs to him,” Nico states frankly, cutting to the chase and sparing me the pain of repeating the story. “You need to do something about it.”
My stomach knots. I’ve never heard Nico speak to Father that way–commanding him as if my brother were head of the family. I would never dream of demanding anything of my father.
But Father doesn’t chastise him or turn us away like I thought he might. Instead, his eyes land on me. He studies my face closely and seems to find whatever it is he’s looking for. Then his gaze shifts back to Nico.
“It’s a power play,” he says, and my brother nods. “It can’t go unanswered.”
I’m shocked. Less by how objectively my father can assess the situation and more by the fact that he plans to defend me.
“I’ll deal with it,” he adds.
Someone could knock me over with a feather. My father might not show sympathy or concern for me, but “dealing with it” means he will actually put effort into protecting me.And do I dare hope he might try and break the contract?I doubt it.
But still, I can’t stop the small glimmer of hope from lighting in my chest.Please, please, let me be free of Pyotr Veles.I would take just about anyone over him.
8
PYOTR
“You’re doing beautifully,” my mother says as her driver pulls up outside the Marchetti manor. “You must have sent a pretty impactful message to merit another dinner invitation from Don Lorenzo.”
I scowl. “I don’t see how pissing off the Marchettis and then waltzing through their front door is a smart plan. Couldn’t they just be inviting us to dinner so they can gun us both down?”
“You need to start thinking more about the long game, son,” she responds, maintaining her seat in the SUV as we idle in the drive. “Think. Why won’t the Marchettis kill us tonight?”
I know the answer she wants to hear, but she didn’t see the look on Nicolo Marchetti’s face the day he and his brothers dragged me to his club. When it comes to his sister, I get the impression that the Marchetti heir is willing to throw all strategy and logic out the window.
Still, I tell my mother what I know she wants to hear. “They can’t be sure killing us would prevent a war. Your hydra attack against Ilya Popov’s Shulaya clan made it clear we’re far harder to kill than people might think.”
“That’s right,” she praises. “Cut the head off, and two more grow back. Sometimes, it’s not about having strength in numbers. It’s about appearing invincible. If the enemy thinks attacking us will only make us stronger, they’ll do anything they can to avoid outright war.”
“I still don’t see why walking into the lion’s den is necessary,” I gripe. In truth, it’s not that I don’t get the strategy. It’s more that I find the thought of facing Silvia almost daunting now. I don’t want to see my self-disgust mirrored in her eyes.
“Well then, just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. Maybe after tonight, you’ll have learned something valuable about playing several moves ahead,” my mother snaps.
She jerks her chin at the bodyguard nearest the vehicle door, and he opens it, sliding out and holding it respectfully for her. I follow, straightening my suit and buttoning my jacket before we head to the front door.
It swings open before we even reach the top step. The same butler who answered the door on our first visit greets us with a formal bow. He gestures us into the home, and I step aside to let my mother go first.
Don Lorenzo and his wife are in the foyer, just like before. But the don’s expression is far less cordial. Instead, his lips maintain a thin, straight line across his face. His eyebrows press into the hint of a frown.
