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“There’s not enough money in here.”
He closes his lips around a cigarette, and on a slow exhale of white smoke, he grounds out, “Suck my cock first, mia cara, and I will give you more.”
“Eat shit, Caruso.” I spin to walk away but gasp when he yanks my hair, forcing me to stop.
My skin crawls as he whispers into my ear, “If I see you in Astoria again, I will have you killed.”
He thinks I’ll tell Papa he helped me, which I will if I get dragged back here and forced down that aisle.
I’ll snitch like the starving rat I’m slowly feeling like.
“No problem.” I shove Dante’s grimy hands off me.
How a sweet girl like his niece, Isabella, shares blood with this creep astonishes me.
“You leaving is going to make life a living hell around here.” Caruso flicks his cigarette to the frozen ground and pulverizes it with a shoe heel.
“I trust you and your don have the proper army to protect yourselves.”
I leave Dante Caruso in his cloud of cigarette smoke and join the gala, shaking the whole time.
Papa will look for me, I just pray he never finds me.
CHAPTER THREE
Anastasia
The next day, I watch Papa take off in his late-model Town Car with Maksim, his enforcer, for what I know will be an hours-long monthly meeting with the brotherhood’s finance people.
My small window of opportunity will vanish when the guards return. They’ll follow him to the end of the driveway and leave the gate unmanned for around ten or fifteen minutes, ensuring he doesn’t get ambushed on the main road.
“What are you doing?” Katya asks me from my open door.
“I’m leaving,” I choke out, shoving last minute items into my suitcase. “I hate him.”
“Who? Who do you hate?”
I turn my back to her and continue packing, considering if it’s worth burdening my little sister with information that could harm her if she blabs.
“Papa,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.
“What did he do?” she asks, her eyes drifting out my window where workers are finally getting rid of that awful, smelly tent Papa had put up for my 21st birthday party a week ago.
Katya doesn’t take my back to her as a hint that I don’t want to talk. Her heavy sigh kills me, though.
I wipe away what I know are mascara tracks down my cheeks and turn around. It’s so real. I’m running away from home.
“He’s making me get married.”
Katya doesn’t look surprised. She’s been here long enough to know arranged marriages are part of our world.
I understand, too. But the man Papa chose… No. He’s too evil.
My sister glances at the suitcase and my hurried packing as understanding dawns on her face.
“Who does he want you to marry?” she asks, closing the bedroom door.
“A monster,” is all I say, hoping she won’t press me. “Why, Papa?” I mumble in Russian.
