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I didn’t even know what my future wife looked like, didn’t know anything about her aside from her age and name. She could be a homely mouse for all I knew.
And I hadn’t cared enough to research her.
Because It didn’t matter what Amara Bianchi looked like, sounded like, or how she acted. She was a means to an end.
She was mine for better or worse.
3
Amara
Iworried at my bottom lip as I stared at the laptop, watching as it seemed to take an eternity for the screen to load.
I felt like I was doing something wrong… searching the Internet for any piece of dirt I could find on my soon-to-be-husband.
Nikolai Petrov, a man notorious in the Russian Mafia as being insane, demented and dangerous.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. And God help me, I was to wed him.
I opened my eyes just as the page reloaded and as I clicked on one of the news articles, it was basically all the same information I found so far. Which is a whole lot of nothing that wasn’t just for face value.
I knew enough about how organized crime worked, the Bratva in the Cosa Nostra not much different in that they did things only on the surface it looked good, while deep on the underground is where the real business happened
I clicked on an article for Nikolai Petrov and started reading.
Multi-millionaire heirs to the Petrov empire at only twenty nine and twenty eight, Dmitry and Nikolai Petrov, who have suspected ties to organized crime, have ventured into a new enterprise and renovated the Clandestine building on Fortworth Street in Desolation. It’s predicted to be a top tiernightclub,and set to transform Desolation from the ground up.
I continued reading,clicking on another link that showed Nikolai and who I recognized as his older brother Dmitry. They were standing in front of a lavish door,Sdat'syawritten above the wrought iron and wooden massive structure and giving it an almost ominous appearance.
I briefly looked at Dmitry, his light blue eyes bright yet they were also calculating. He’d seen a lot in his twenty-nine years.
I looked back at Nikolai then, feeling this strange tightness in my gut at the fact I’d be marrying him in the near future. Very near future if my father had his way.
His short dark hair was haphazardly strewn across his head, as if he ran his hands through it and didn’t care how it looked. I felt like he probably didn’t care about a lot of things.Like humanity.He had the same shade of blue eyes as Dmitry, a smirk on his face as he stared at the camera, as if he dared whoever was standing in front of them to take the picture.
My heart started racing, my throat tight and my mouth dry the longer I stared at him. I’d never spoken to him, never seen him in person, yet I felt this intense apprehension just from a picture alone. In fact, this was the first time I’d seen him in any capacity. I shouldn’t find a man like him attractive, but I couldn’t help the fact I did.
How would I feel once I was in the same room with him… alone with him?
It was enough to have fear striking me hard and fast.
I opened another article, getting pulled deeper and deeper into any and all things I could find on one of the Petrov Bratva heirs.
He had a younger sister--my age--named Tatiana. And strangely enough I couldn't find any clear images of her, as if she were hidden away from the public eye.
The last article I clicked on had my heart picking up an irregular beat as I read about Nikolai having a traffic incident where it’s rumored hetore the finger and toenails off a man for cutting him off in traffic.
A knock on my bedroom door startled me and I slammed the laptop closed and pushed it under my pillow just as the door opened and my mother stepped inside.
I could see by the exasperated expression on her face and the way she was moving a little too quickly that she was nervous about whatever had brought her into my room.
“Is everything okay, mamma?” She immediately walked toward my closet without responding, and started rifling through the dresses that were hung up. I heard her mutter under her breath,“this won’t do”.
I stood and started twisting my hands together, but with each passing second I was growing more anxious about what was going on.
“Mamma?” She stopped as if my voice had pierced through the muddled fog of her thoughts. She turned to face me and I felt my brows lower as I looked into her eyes. “What’s going on? Is Claudia okay? Gio--”
She waved her hand again, cutting me off, as if brushing my concern away. “No, your brother and sister are fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just the plans have… changed a little.”
