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I can be used as a toy for his plans, but my daughter? Never! I can’t risk getting married to a man of his choosing, only for my future husband to be just as cruel as my father. What if the person I marry rejects Emiliana? What if he uses his fists or my daughter to get me to comply?
“Father, they’re not words, but Emiliana…” I stumble over my own. “She’s at risk, Father. Please. She’s happy with just me. What if he doesn’t accept her?”
“Your situation has been communicated. He and his family will take the girl.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. The girl? He’s calling my daughter, his granddaughter,the girl? Fear overwhelms me because I know he didn’t consider Emiliana in this decision at all. He didn’t consider me either, just himself.
“You can go now.” He nods to the door. “The wedding will take place within this week.”
This is my only shot, before things get out of hand. I stand, and for the first time in my life, I show dissent, slamming my hand on his desk. I will not allow him to sell Emiliana and me off like some cattle. “No!” I shriek, tears streaming down my face. “I will not get married. Emiliana and I will stay here, and I will raise her the way I want.”
He picks up his cigar and sits back on the chair, blowing smoke, his belly protruding, buttons of his shirt threatening to pop.
“I’m not sure I can allow that,” he says. “I believe my granddaughter needs a proper home. A mother and a father. Some semblance of normalcy. You will marry, Caterina. Or else,I will have Emiliana put in boarding school in Switzerland, and for the summers she will be raised by my family in Positano. You will never see her again, for with your theatrics and tears, I know the child will be much affected by your countenance.”
This is just what I feared. What I have always feared. He’ll take Emiliana away from me if I try to stray. I take a few deep breaths, wipe off my tears with the back of my hand, and sit back down in the chair opposite his, my posture upright. Then, with a steady voice, I ask, “May I know who I am to marry, Father?”
“You won’t know him.” He smiles at me, refusing to give me his name—another tactic of his to keep control over the situation, I’m sure. God forbid I try to sabotage the wedding once I know who the groom is to be.
“Very well,” I say through a thin-lipped smile. “Anything else, Father?”
“Stay rested. A bride’s most important strength when entering a new marriage is to look beautiful for her husband.”
Chapter 3 - Mikhail
The Bentley comes to a stop, and as I step out, the once-familiar sight of the Zolotov family compound greets me again. It looks the same, yet nothing seems the same. A little under seven years have passed since I last stood on this very ground, and yet it feels like a lifetime ago. Even though Audrey and Ivan got their own place and Vanya already had hers, the grand estate buzzes with activity, men and women hustling about, trucks being off-loaded, people shouting orders, preparing for what appears to be a significant event.
“Welcome home, Mikhail!” booms a deep voice, drawing my attention to my older brother Ivan, standing at the top of the steps leading to the entrance. His muscular frame is draped in an expensive suit, his dark hair slicked back, a stern expression carved into his face. Ivan’s presence has always been commanding, even more so now that he leads the family and our Bratva.
Vanya, our younger sister, emerges from behind Ivan, placing her palm on his shoulder, her figure still hidden behind his towering one. Layers of silver jewelry, her signature, dangle from her wrists, neck, and ears. She gives me a small smile and a nod. “Hello, brother. How we have missed you.”
She extends her hand to me, and I climb up the steps two at a time to take it. I give the back of her palm a little kiss before taking her in an embrace. She still smells the same—flowery, soft, delicate. But I’m not fooled. Vanya is anything but delicate.
“Mikhail,” Ivan says, extending his arms for a hug once I’m done greeting Vanya. “It’s been too long.”
“Way too long,” I reply, embracing him tightly. He tenses up as I hug him a little longer than I should. I can feel the weightof the responsibilities he’s shouldered in my absence. “I’m so relieved you’re unharmed. How is your Anton?”
“He’s good. You know him, nothing ever gets that one.”
“Yeah, indeed... Now, now, enough talk of that distasteful shooting. Come inside,” Vanya urges, looping her arm through mine. “There’s much to discuss.”
“How are the children?” I ask Vanya.
“Very well.”
“And Audrey and the baby? I can’t wait to meet them.” I turn to Ivan.
“Just swell. Motherhood suits Audrey.” Ivan smiles, a rare feat.
As we walk through the halls, I notice the changes that have taken place since I left. The once-lively ambience of our home has been replaced by an air of caution and tension. It’s clear that the family has faced trying times, and I can’t shake the nagging feeling that there is more to my return than they’ve let on.
“Brother,” Sergei’s voice comes through a door I’m passing and I pause as he walks out. “Pray you’ve been well?”
“Sergei, you’re back in Philadelphia,” I remark at his unexpected presence.
“I’m back in Philadelphia,” he concurs, walking closer to give me a playful pat on the shoulder. “And I’m here to stay. I got listless traveling Europe, and my work on the continent was done. I figured, with our brother Vlad now dead, you could use me.”
I frown and look at Ivan and Vanya, both of whom seem as disturbed by this news as I am. It’s not that we don’t loveSergei, but our now youngest sibling is unpredictable, a thrill-seeker. Trouble follows where he goes, and while he’s not ill-intentioned, I can tell Ivan doesn’t need trouble at our doors at this time.
