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Nothing was further from the truth.Mamanwas his girlfriend on the side, not his whore.
It surprised me to find out Yulia knew all aboutMamanand me. At night, when I got older, after tucking me in, she whispered more gossip. How Papa was forced to marry his father’s business partner’s daughter when they were eighteen. He never loved her from what I heard, and his wife didn’t love him either. But she gave him two sons, my half-brothers, and my sister, Anastasia. I never met Alexovich and Sasha. They tragically died in an ambush many years ago.
Yulia said Stasia’s mama was never the same after her sons were murdered. She died in her sleep shortly after. It was rumored she took pills and killed herself. That left Stasia with no brothers and no mother.Mamanbrought me here because Madam Koslov was dead. I wasn’t sure that day if she planned to stay with me or leave me here, but I never saw my mother again after that day.
When month after month went by and no letter came explaining why she left me, I lied to myself that she was busy. Or maybe she was scared, given how Papa ran her off the property.
I wised up to who my father was and assumed he had her killed. I could never ask, so I had to keep the worry all to myself. I only cried to Yulia, who felt like my mother after a while. She would whisper comfortingly to me, stressing that I am Papa’s blood, and he will never hurt me.
Mamanwas not his blood.
Still, to everyone in Papa’s brotherhood, I am illegitimate. Which I am. Technically. When I finish college, I hope to get a job dancing for a traveling ballet company. I’ll be out of Papa’s life, and he can forget about me.
But Stasia, the only one in this family that I have grown to care for, is packing to leave.
No. No. No.
I close her bedroom door. “Who does he want you to marry?”
“A monster,” Stasia says with dread in her voice. She mumbles something else in Russian, she’s so upset. She speaks Papa’s precious mother tongue, but doesn’t have an accent.
I immediately think of Lachlan O’Rourke and his thick Irish brogue. The memory of him from last week fills my head, and I shiver. The Irish Enforcer has quite the ruthless reputation in Astoria. Dark hair, dark eyes, ridiculously tall, and hulking, he’s a predator in the shadows, stalking prey. Even with all that brooding and anger simmering off him, the man is utterly breathtaking. And I oddly find the scar across his left cheek sexy.
A monster…
The idea of Stasia marrying Lachlan sends a fit of furious rage through me. Anger I’ve never felt before.
“In English, Stasia. I’m trying to help you.” I don’t speak with my French accent anymore. Papa yelled at me when I slipped. At night, I dream ofMamantalking to me in French.
“Luka Gideon, the pakhan in Boston.” My sister sniffs. “Papa wants to form an alliance in exchange for morebratoksso he can crush the Irish and the Italians.”
“Oh…” I say, but don’t like the idea of anyone crushing the O’Rourkes for some reason.
“Oh?” Stasia puts her hands on her hips. “The man is twice my age!”
“Forty-two isn’t that old.” I wonder how old Lachlan is. Thirties at least.
“The blood under his fingernails is older than me.”
“Papa kills people, too.”
“Yeah, so?” She wipes her rosy, tear-stained cheeks. “He’ll never murder me.”
“I doubt your husband would murder you.”
“No. But he can hurt me if I don’t…give myself to him.” Stasia sits on the edge of her bed and sniffs. “How can Papa do this to me?”
An idea tickles my brain. “Perhaps you can ask someone for help instead of leaving.”
She scoffs. “Like who?”
“The Irish. Their enforcer, Lachlan, seemed—”
Stasia’s jaw drops. “You stay away from him, Katya. He killeda priest.”
“What?” I go breathless, his handsome face flashing in front of my eyes. There must be some mistake. “If he killed a priest, why isn’t he in jail?”
Stasia lifts red, swollen eyes. “Did you just get here yesterday? No one in the brotherhood, the mafia, or the Irishmobgoes to jail around here.”
