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"It's tradition, of course." He sucks at his oxygen again for a few seconds before continuing. "Your grandfather cut me the same deal. It's meant to strengthen the incoming pakhan's claim because he's likely to produce an heir. And you're my oldest son and known to be highly competent, so it'd be strange if you didn't take over from me."
This isnotwhat I want.
My parents' loveless arranged marriage ended a long-standing feud between the Kislevs and a prominent Italian mafia family. When I was born, Mama had someone to love, and Papa couldn't snuff out the joy I brought to her life. She and I had something he couldn't understand or take away, and he despised us both for it.
Mama bore him more children, and she loved us all, but Papa never hated them quite as much. Except for Lilyana, maybe.
I narrow my eyes. "What's the real reason you're doing this?"
"I know arranged marriages disgust you because you think I was cruel to your precious Mama." Papa meets my stony stare with one of his own. "Well, let me tell you this, boy.Ididn't get to put my desires before duty, so neither willyou. You wanna prove you're strong and focused enough to take the reins? Then do as I did. Take a wife you do not love, have children you do not want, and let your enemies know that Vladimir Kislev loves nothing but his bratva."
My father's speech has worn him out. Sweat beads on his brow, and he presses the mask to his face again, the clear plastic fogging as he tries to regain his breath.
So my destiny hinges on the capricious whims of a dying man.
"I enjoy playing God," Papa wheezes, as though he's reading my mind. "I should find Lilyana a brute of a husband and take her off your hands."
Threats to my little sister will tip me over the edge. If I don't get out of here, I will smother the bastard.
Papa's words follow me as I leave.
"It's on you, Vladi. Take a wife, or lose it all."
* * *
My office walls are closing in on me. Caffeine is calling, so I get an Americano with cream and take a walk.
I enter the park onto the path that runs close to the water's edge. It's relatively quiet, but I walk further than usual. I don't get enough solitude, and if I'm going to get my own coffee, I'll drink it in peace.
I round the corner to see a fight taking place.
Typical.I can't catch a break today.
A young woman struggles in a man's arms. He holds her waist, leaning back so she can't get much purchase on the ground. She kicks out in front of her, trying to fend off the attention of a second attacker holding a backpack.
"Get off me!" the woman cries. "Just take the bag and leave me alone!"
"I think I like you," the other man says, grabbing her flailing hand and putting it on his crotch. "Can you tell?"
There's nothing to think about. I move quickly, popping the lid of my cup and tossing the hot coffee straight into the man's leering face.
He screams and lets go of the woman's hand, and his companion shoves her toward me. She crashes into my chest, and I push her aside just in time to see a knife blade approaching me.
It's almost too easy to side-step and send the moron stumbling past me. A swift kick in the ass sees him fall head over foot down the embankment and into the pond, spluttering and cursing.
The other guy is coming back. I turn and flip open my jacket to ensure he sees my gun, holstered behind my right hip and tilted forward in the classic FBI style. Not that I'm FBI, of course. I have a mutually respectful relationship with law enforcement, so I don't hide that I'm armed. The coward backs away, then turns and runs, the woman's backpack still over his shoulder.
"Little shits," I say. "In broad daylight, too."
The young woman is sitting on the bench. She tilts her face to look at me, squinting in the light. The sight of her warms me more than the sun ever could.
Her hair is a rich auburn. It's wound on top of her head, unraveling slightly, loosened by the fight. Long feathery lashes frame her amber eyes, and her nose is sprinkled with freckles above her plump lips. A beauty spot high on her cheek accentuates her delicate bone structure.
I'm so distracted by her beauty that it takes a second for me to notice that she's in trouble. A rash-like flush is spreading across her chest and neck, and her jaw is working, her mouth opening and closing like a carp.
I drop to my knees in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders, propping her upright as she slumps.
"Breathe,lisichka. You're okay."
