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Eva walks slowly into the room and looks around at the new furnishings. The designer was told to replace it with modern teak and silver. Not my taste, but I demanded that everything look different. Mid-century looks oddly diminutive in such an old house, but I don’t mind as long as all traces of my father are gone from this office.
I wanted to burn my father’s possessions on the lawn. Watch the flames shoot up and dance in the sky as I pictured that old devil in his new surroundings. But I didn’t. I let the staff take what they wanted, with the caveat that I never see any of it again.
Eva sits daintily on the edge of the gray linen chaise. Always ready to spring up and flee. I wonder if that will ever change. Father did that to her. He’s lucky he lived as long as he did after the way he treated her.
She smiles and pats the cushion beside her. “Stop thinking about him, Andrushka. Or that scowl will never disappear.” My mother has always been a small woman. Her delicate frame and silver blonde hair complement the new surroundings perfectly. She belongs here. I block out thoughts of her not coming home that day.
I sit beside her and sink into the cushion. “The furniture looks ridiculous. Like it belongs in a dollhouse.”
Eva smiles and then she laughs. It always surprises me to hear her laugh, but she stops suddenly, misinterpreting my shocked expression. “I’m sorry, Andrushka.” She looks away. “He was your father.”
“Don’t apologize for being happy, Mama.” I only show Eva affection when we’re alone. It’s the only safe time to do it.
She places a graceful hand on my knee. “You cannot force someone to love you.” Her words are softer than her touch. “No matter how much you may want them.”
My spine stiffens. “What do you mean?”
She takes her hand away. “I saw you from the window with that woman.”
My mouth tightens, wondering what Eva saw exactly. Did she see me pinning Paige to the ground or dragging her back into the house, fighting me every step as we approached the door? I don’t ask.
Eva doesn’t wait. “They told me you broke off your engagement for her.”
Sighing, I stand and look down on her. “Love is not an issue in either case. Talia’s no longer useful, and this woman is.” I walk toward the bar. “Marrying this woman is a means of assisting my war against Igor Karamazov.”
“A war that should have ended with your father.” Her eyes flash with conviction. “The war was Vasily’s and now he is dead. Andrushka, you have an opportunity to repair what your father broke.”
My hand rests on the bar. The antique piece has a white marble top. The black wood base was custom-built in a week. I’ve discarded all reminders of my father but held onto the worst. A part of me feels obligated to continue the war with the Karamazov Bratva. Letting it go would make me look weak. And I am not weak. I don’t know how to tell Mother she’s right. So, I don’t.
She doesn’t wait for me to speak. “As much as I love you, Andrei. There are moments when I see Vasily in your expression and actions. It pains me.” Her gentle voice flattens. “No, it terrifies me to see his hate twist your mind. You don’t have to prove you are crueler than your father. You are the pakhan.”
My hand balls tightly into a fist, cracking my knuckles as my short nails dig into my palm. “I am his son, Mama, but I’m not him. I am my own man. I think for myself. I will never be like him. I promise it.”
“Like you promised to marry Talia?” She pauses. When I don’t reply, she continues, “What if that woman you brought here also made promises that you are making her break? It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here.”
I meet her hard gaze. “Why do you say that?” I ask.
She stands, lifting her chin. “I’d like to meet her, but you keep the door locked.”
She doesn’t mention the guard. My father never gave my mother credit for her quickness. She may not have physical strength, but she is not easy to defeat mentally.
“I’ve gotten rid of a lot of old things,” I reply, changing the subject. “I thought about selling the house, but the location is advantageous.”
My mother is persistent. “Do you know anything about her? Or are you afraid she’ll tell me something I don’t already know?”
“There’s nothing she can tell you about me,” I reply coldly.
“Will she fit in, Andrushka?” Eva paces toward me. “It is hard being a pakhan’s bride.” Her eyes close for a moment and she swallows at the bitter memories. “Painful, even.”
My mother had no other choices besides marriage. Eva was a valuable asset to her father—a pakhan who was gunned down in the chaos of the old country when fortunes were carved. Vasily was never one to pass up a prize.
And he was never one to be gentle with whatever he thought of as his.
“So, do you want to be with her?” Eva pins her gaze on me, expecting the truth. She has hopes, and one is to see me not repeat the past.
“Of course,mamechka,” I reply. “Naturally, all good Bratva marriages are arranged, but she doesn’t dislike the idea. She’s an American and knows nothing about Bratva values. She doesn’t know what’s expected of her.”
Eva gives me a look of disappointment that’s more destructive than a bullet.
