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“Who is he?” I ask desperately, searching my father’s face for any hint of information. “Surely you can tell me something about him?”
“Enough of your questions, Caterina!” my father roars, his eyes narrowing as he towers over me. “You will do as you are told. I know what is best for you and our family.”
His words cut deep, leaving me feeling utterly powerless. My hands clench into fists, trembling with frustration and anger. I want to lash out, to demand my right to choose, but I know better than to defy him openly. Instead, I force myself to swallow the bitterness that rises in my throat.
“Very well, Father,” I say quietly, keeping my gaze downcast. “I understand.”
“Good,” he growls, turning away from me. “Now, let us see this gown they have provided.”
With a flourish, one of his men pulls off the cloth covering the dress, revealing a traditional red gown. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of it—elaborate embroidery adorns the bodice, and layers of crimson silk cascade from the waistline. It is undeniably beautiful, but at the same time, it’s not the dress I imagined.
I imagined being wed to a man I loved, in a white sweetheart lace dress. I imagined so much, yet my dreams are crushed with everything this dress represents.
“Isn’t it exquisite?” my father asks, a note of triumph in his voice. “Such a fine gift from your future husband’s family.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I stare at the gown. They expect me to wear this, to submit to their whims and parade myself before them like a prized possession. It’s yet another symbol of my captivity, a stunning cage designed to keep me trapped in a world where I am nothing more than a bargaining chip.
“Indeed,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice steady as the tears threaten to spill over. “It is…quite lovely.”
“See that you wear it well,” my father commands before sweeping out of the room, leaving me alone with the opulent reminder of my fate.
As the door slams shut, my knees buckle and I crumple to the floor, finally allowing the tears to flow freely. I am a pawn in this ruthless game, but even pawns have the power to change their destiny—if they are willing to fight. Beneath the bitterness and despair, my determination to reclaim control over my life burns brighter than ever.
“Watch me,” I whisper to the empty room, my voice raw with emotion. “I will not be your plaything any longer.”
With renewed determination, I rise from the floor and examine the red dress more closely. My fingers trace the intricate embroidery on its bodice, searching for a way to transform this symbol of my imprisonment into a statement of defiance. If I must wear it, then let it be on my terms.
“Time to put my dreams to use,” I murmur, crossing the room to retrieve the fabrics and sewing supplies I have hidden away for moments like these.
As I work, my thoughts drift back to the days before my life became a tangled web of control. This was when mother was still alive, before she killed herself from depression when I was just sixteen. I always knew she was depressed about being married to my father, but I believe she stayed strong throughout my childhood for me, so she could protect me in whatever capacity. She tried to shelter me from my father, but there was no one to shelter her from him and eventually it became too much for her to bear.
Her wedding had been arranged too, her dowry used to help my father climb the ranks to become the Enforcer. But I remember the months he used to be away. How free she would seem! She’d let me imagine a future of my choice. I wanted to be a fashion designer and she would save what little she could to buy me new sewing machines, the finest fabrics, the most beautiful detailing accessories. We’d take pictures of my creations and imagine that I’d someday apply to Parsons School of Design. But of course, once she died, the dream did too. Father believes that girls don’t need an education beyond high school.
“What’s the point?” he said when I asked to apply to university. “You’ll be married someday. Learn to manage the house, it will be good practice.”
Back then, designing clothes had been my escape, my sanctuary. And now, in this dark hour, I find solace in it once again.
My hands move deftly, cutting, pinning, and stitching with practiced precision. I pull out some beautiful old Chantilly lace from my mother’s collection. The white fabric takes shape beneath my fingertips, transforming slowly into a gown that is both sleek and elegant. By afternoon, Emiliana returns from school and sits by, observing as I work. As I labor through the day and night, my anger and frustration fuel my determination, lending me the strength to continue.
Let them see me as they wish, I think, snipping at the red dress to create a cape.But it will be me who decides how I look.
The cape’s vibrant hue contrasts beautifully against the pristine white of the new gown, creating an image that is both striking and unexpected. It is a symbol of my defiance, a testament to my resilience in the face of overwhelming adversity.
As I sew the last stitch, the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the transformed dress. Exhausted but triumphant, I step back to admire my handiwork. This creation, born from my own resourcefulness and creativity, is proof that I am not powerless—I can still fight back against the forces that seek to control me.
“On my wedding day, I will wear this dress with pride,” I vow.
With a final glance at the transformed dress, I collapse onto my bed, careful not to wake Emiliana, who fell asleep in it. As I drift off, caressing her hair, one thought lingers in my mind, a beacon of hope amid the darkness: I will not be broken. I willteach my daughter that even in the darkest circumstances, one always has a choice.
Chapter 5 - Mikhail
My heart hammers in my chest, hands clammy. Sweat beads on the back of my neck, and I wipe it away discreetly with a hand. It’s been years since I’ve felt this level of anticipation and nervousness, but tonight is no ordinary night.
Tonight, starting at this rehearsal dinner, we will become the most powerful union in all of America. The Zolotovs and the Genoveses, united at last, against all odds. A union so unfathomable between former enemies can be a dangerous one, and the air buzzes with tension, every whisper and clink of glass echoing through the vast space. It’s as if everyone knows what’s at stake and what this could mean, even if they don’t know half of it.
I fidget with my cufflinks, the cold metal pressing into my wrist. Every cell in my being is throbbing, electrified. Guests mill about, their tailored suits and glittering dresses accentuating their wealth, their power. They eye me as they pass, no doubt wondering about the mysterious Russian set to marrythe Enforcer’sonly daughter. If only they knew the reluctant heir lurking beneath the polished exterior.
A server offers champagne. I accept a glass, the bubbles bitter on my tongue. In mere hours, I will be bound to Caterina. I wonder how she looks now. How she feels.
