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She refused to remarry after my father was killed. Refused to hand our family’s wealth and power over to another man. If she had, her life would have been far easier. She might have had to pop out a few more kids and play the faithful wife. Those children would have inherited the business she and my father had built, rather than me.
But instead, she ran my father’s empire to ensurehischildren would inherit it all. And no matter how many times she tells the story of their marriage, I know my motherlovedmy father. Nothing short of that could drive her to do everything she’s done.
Still, her cold calculations unnerve me. It’s like her heart died along with my father–or perhaps she cut it out and buried it with him in his grave. Whatever the case, her intelligence has become the monster of my nightmares, always challenging me to kill my values and play the game entirely on strategy. No emotion or compassion to make me hesitate.
“You can try to win the Marchetti girl over, if you want, but if that doesn’t work, you’ll have to do it by force,” she states frankly, as if plucking the thoughts from my head and tossing aside any reservations I might have.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I snap. “After everything that’s happened? First, you want me to isolate her, then you have me to claim her. You tell me to force her into submission, and now you think I have a chance in hell at winning her over? By the end of thisweekend?”
My volume increases with each point, escalating until I’m nearly shouting at my mother. Good thing we’re still speaking in Russian because I’m sure Silvia and Mila must be able to hear us from their third-flood bedrooms upstairs.
She shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done. I want her ruined, Pyotr. Whatever it takes to make it clear she’s worthless to Don Lorenzo. The Marchettis are clearly trying to weasel out of this deal, andyou’renot going to let them.”
I clench my fists, willing them to stop shaking with anger. After months of treating Silvia like shit, I don’t see how I can possibly win her over. Meanwhile, my mother thinks she can just dictate my every move–down to who I fuck and by what deadline. She doesn’t even seem to care that this is the person I’m supposed tolivewith after all is said and done.
“You can go,” she says, dismissing me with a flick of her fingers.
I’m so livid I don’t even argue. Spinning on my heel, I stomp from the office toward the stairs.
Do it by force. Is she fucking mad?My stomach roils at the thought of forcing myself on Silvia and then seeing how she might view me as a husband. Sure, it would push up the wedding date. Which would only resign us to our fate sooner.
I’m confident Silvia won’t want to sleep with me by the end of the weekend. Why would she? The last thing I said to her was a degrading comment about making her practice giving me head. I haven’t been able to get it off my mind.
The circular guilt and self-loathing that’s made it nearly impossible to look her in the eye. I can’t hardly bring myself to speak to my bride. What a fucking disaster. And now my mother wants me to push it further.
Take Silvia’s virginity before the end of this weekend?My mother might be a brilliant strategist, but she’s overshooting it on this one. I don’t know that she’s in touch with reality this time. Perhaps it’s because she shipped me off to Chicago to spearhead this one on my own. But I don’t think she sees the complete picture.
Silvia hates me. And I don’t blame her.
I can give it my best to mend fences between us, but I don’t see the Marchetti Princess wanting to give up her cherry to me by the end of this weekend.
12
SILVIA
“Just a minute!” I call when someone knocks unexpectedly on my bedroom door early the next morning.
Tugging the side zipper of my dress closed and straightening my cardigan in the mirror, I double-check that I’m not completely discombobulated. Then I rush to answer it.
When I open the door, my heart skips a beat, and I stop short. “Pyotr!” I gasp, my eyes widening in surprise.
Of all the smiling faces, his was the last I expected to see–especially with the intense level of charm he’s wearing. His expression appears relaxed, as does his posture, and his eyes shine with a humor they haven’t had since the night we met.
Hair styled to perfection, as always, with just the right amount of facial scruff darkening his cheeks and chin, Pyotr looks devastatingly handsome today. “Ready?” he asks, flashing his teeth as his smile spreads his full lips.
“R-ready for what?” I ask, heat warming my cheeks.Have I forgotten some appointment I was supposed to keep this morning?
“I’m going to show you around New York City today.”
He makes it sound like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. But I definitely wouldn’t have forgotten something as big asthat. Still, my stomach somersaults at the thought of spending a day exploring New York. With him.
Of all the places I haven’t seen yet–though my family travels a good amount–this has been near the top of my bucket list for years. Particularly for the art museums along with the impressive amount of art culture the Big Apple has to offer on every street corner.
“So… are you ready?” Pyotr presses, a slight pucker appearing between his brows when I don’t respond.
“Oh, right. Um, can I have just a few more minutes?” I ask reluctantly. I slowly back up to close the door on him.
He quirks an eyebrow but says, “Of course.”
