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After that night, I only saw him as the monster Stasia later coined for killing a priest. A weird obsession about Lachlan O’Rourke developed since then.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
The driver drops me off at Papa’s estate, and the house is buzzing as usual. Maya runs around filling coffee mugs, filling plates with food, and clearing trays.
“Ah, you’re here. Can you help me ice the strudel?” She figured out my place here in House Koslov a long time ago, and never hesitates to put me to work.
But I love baking. I love sweets.
“Where have you been?” Papa’s voice makes me jump.
My driver may have told him I was at St. Agatha’s. But I doubt he’ll tell Papa Lachlan held a knife to my throat and admit he left me alone.
“I stopped at the church.” I pick up the bag of icing and move to the bread tins steaming with cinnamon-smelling goodness.
Papa narrows his eyes at me. “For what?”
“To say a prayer for Stasia.” I lie, since I’m not allowed to mentionMaman.
His glare of suspicion unglues me until he stares down at the icing bag in my hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping Maya with the strudel.”
He hisses at our housekeeper, and she backs away.
“Sir.” She curtsies. “I am overwhelmed with so many of your men here all hours of the day and night. I can use some help. My sister is here from Costa Rica and—”
“She can start tomorrow,” Papa growls at her. “You donotmake my daughter work for you.”
“She doesn’t make me, Papa.” I step in front of Maya, guilt crawling through me for not protecting Yulia. “It’s July, and I don’t have classes. When I’m not rehearsing for my audition, I have nothing else to do.”
“Audition?”
“The London conservatory, Papa.” I wonder if he even remembers where I go to school. His accountant calls me every August and asks for the tuition bill. “They have one spot open for next fall. It’s for seniors only. I’m old enough to live there on my own.”
“Da, youareold enough,” he says, looking awful in his dingy white dress shirt and wrinkled charcoal pants.
All these years later and he’s still obsessed with finding Stasia. Spending vast sums, losing sleep, and losing his mind while his brotherhood falls apart. His underboss fled to Russia, and he hasn’t replaced him.
Maksim, his enforcer, is vying to be underboss. He’s here all the time. The man makes me sick. Sure, Lachlan kills the same as Maksim, but I’ve been watching the Irish Enforcer for a couple of years. Despite what he does for the mob, Lachlan is devoted to the church. He may have been praying for forgiveness for his killings, but his atonement felt genuine. He seemed more relaxed there than any other time I’d seen him.
I move toward Papa with a stiff spine. It hits me. I am the woman of this house and taking care of him is my responsibility. Something I’ve neglected.
“Papa, you look terrible. Let’s get you cleaned up with fresh clothes.” A sense of pride to tend to him fills me with a rare touch of happiness toward my father. The powerful pakhan can’t look disheveled.
You’re a Bratva princess…
Lachlan’s words send a shudder down my spine. I never felt like a princess until he looked at me.
“Come with me.” Papa grabs me by the arm, his fingers digging into my skin. “Sit,” he says, pointing to a chair in his office, then barks something in Russian leaning into the hallway.
Moments later, a man dressed in a navy suit comes in. He looks to be about fifty, with harsh facial features and deep lines around an ugly mouth.
“This is Rahil Nikitin. You are going to marry him.”
I freeze as if I’ve been dunk into water. “What?”
“You aregoingto marry him.”
