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“Pyotr is a good man. He wants me to be his wife. He’s been nothing but kind to me, looking forward to our wedding, to my happiness—” Gia grits her teeth, still glaring at me.
“Men can be liars, Gia. They’re often exceedingly good at it.” I run a hand through my hair, letting out a sharp breath. “Particularly men in our world. Particularly the Bratva. I could tell you stories that would give you nightmares about their brutality. The Bratva are cruel?—”
“My father wouldn’t have promised me to a cruel man.” Gia looks at me defiantly. “Pyotr is different, then. And I want to marry him.”
“You wouldn’t, if you understood. Your father’s desire to please you, to give you what you wanted, overrode his better judgment. But I won’t allow it to cloud mine?—”
“You don’t give a shit about what I want!” Gia’s voice rises, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“Watch your mouth, Gia?—”
“No.” She crosses her arms, her cheekbones still burning red with stubborn fury. “I won’t. I’ll say whatever I fucking want. You’re not my father, Salvatore. You’re just his friend. His second-in-command. And my father arranged this marriage. This is what he wanted. Your job has always been to follow his orders and fulfill his commands. And in this, my father and I were in agreement. He thought this was best for me, and I want to marry Pyotr Lasilov. There is no argument, Salvatore, because it’s already been decided. Or are you going to defy him now that he’s in the grave?”
I feel my teeth clench, my own anger rising to meet hers. I only barely keep it in check, reminding myself who it is that I’m talking to. Not one of my men, not someone who works for me or someone who is a peer, but Gia—my goddaughter, my responsibility. A young woman who imagines herself in love, and has no idea what she’s throwing herself headfirst into.
I force myself to breathe deeply, to calm down. To manage this the way I would if it were my own daughter who were in this situation. It’s difficult to imagine—I’ve never married, never had children. My entire focus, all my life, has been serving this family. Supporting and serving my best friend, my don, Gia’s father. There were chances, over the years, women who I briefly dated, or who wanted more. But I was never able to give them enough, to give them the focus and devotion that a relationship—let alone a marriage—required. I was married to my job. To the mafia. And now, it’s difficult for me to think of how to communicate to Gia what she needs to understand.
I care about her safety. Her happiness. I want to honor Enzo’s wishes, but I see what he was unable to. I feel certain of that. And I can’t help but think that I would rather have Gia hate me than see her broken at Pyotr Lasilov’s hands.
“I’m trying to keep you safe, Gia.” I let out a long breath, running a hand through my hair. “To make sure that this is carefully thought through?—”
“You’re suggesting my father didn’t think things through? What kind of friend are you, anyway? Let alone his underboss?—”
“I am don now!” Briefly, my voice rises before I can keep it in check. “I am in charge. And you have not thought this through. Are you ready to do what this man expects of you, regardless of how you feel about it? To obey him? To give him children, within the year, possibly? Are you prepared for all of that, at barely eighteen, Gia?”
“Pyotr will listen to me. If I don’t want to do something?—”
“You are impossibly naive.” I shake my head, ignoring the utter fury that blazes in her expression at that. “You can’t think that the Bratva heir will take your opinions into consideration, that he thinks you’re his equal?—”
“I’ll be his wife?—”
“That means nothing to them!” I stare at her, willing her to understand, but I can see that she won’t. She’s set on this, and nothing less than a ring on her finger in six days will make her happy.
“I could go to them now.” Gia raises her chin defiantly. “Tell them I want to honor my father’s wishes and marry Pyotr despite your reservations. Stay with the pakhan until the wedding, and?—”
For a moment, I feel as if my blood has turned to ice. The only thing worse—more dangerous—than Gia marrying into the Bratva would be her going there now, alone and unwed. I don’t believe for a moment that they would shelter her and uphold the treaty, following through on the marriage intended for this weekend. Pyotr would take her innocence and discard her—or the pakhan would, or both. My stomach turns at the thought of it, of Gia unprotected, a lamb among wolves.
I’m at an impasse. She’s in danger; I feel certain of that. But she’s right in that it was her father’s last wish. It’s clearly hers, as well.
I could put a heavy guard on her every day for the next six months, until I find a solution, or someone else to marry her to. But I don’t believe the Bratva will wait six months to retaliate, or that Igor will agree to the postponement. They could try to kidnap her, and they might even succeed. There would be no marriage then, only ruin for her, and possibly worse. And if she tried to run, if she somehow snuck past my security and went to them?—
What choice do I have?
I can feel my heart sinking as I look at the defiant young woman in front of me, her arms folded and her eyes snapping with fire. There is no convincing her. There’s danger if I agree, and danger if I refuse. And I have no idea which path will keep her safe.
So, despite my better judgment, I follow the path I always have.
I follow Enzo’s orders, his wishes. I do as he asked. One last time.
“Fine.” I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of dread settling over my shoulders. “You will marry Pyotr then, on Sunday. As agreed.”
Gia doesn’t thank me. She doesn’t say anything at all. She just nods and pivots on her heel, stalking out of the office, the door shutting hard behind her as she goes.
And I can’t help but feel that I’ve just signed her death warrant.
Gia
The day of my wedding is as impossibly beautiful as I could have hoped.
