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prologue
Sofia
I stand in front of my oval mirror in a small cathedral in Jersey, not recognizing the girl in front of me. I look at my dark hair curled down my back, with a diamond clip holding it up on the left side of my head. The clip used to belong to my Nonna, who passed away years ago. My mother gave it to me as something old and something borrowed. My face is lined with light makeup to match my tanned skin. My eyes travel down to my dress. It's a Cinderella ball gown, with a fitted bodice corset showing just the right amount of cleavage. The skirt is full of delicate lace, flaring wide and full from my hips. It's the most beautiful dress I've ever worn. I look back at my face in the mirror, and my dark blue eyes, so much like my father's, eyes that usually shine like the Mediterranean Sea, are now dull and emotionless. This should be one of the happiest days of my life, yet all I feel is anger, betrayal, heartbreak, and sadness.
When I look past my reflection in the mirror, I see my mother. She looks beautiful in a light pink, off-the-shoulder dress, hugging her curvy figure. Standing at 5’5”, her short, dark hair curls around her face, her bright, brown eyes are looking at me with fake love and concern. Concern that’s only gotten worse since I announced my engagement to my best friend six months ago.
My best friend is the man I have loved since I was eight years old.
My mother has been looking at me this way a lot when, usually, she doesn't give a damn. I just couldn't understand why she was so concerned…until two days ago, when I walked into the brand-new home that Damian and I bought together in Hudson River Valley, with the encouragement of my mother, to see my fiancé getting a blow job from Candice, his father's bleach-blond, green-eyed, slim secretary, who's at least five years older than him. He was sitting on our gray sectional, the one we picked out together last month, while his brother was fucking some blonde on my antique dining table, my most loved piece of furniture.
My mother may be a bitch, but I know she doesn't want anyone, especially her daughter, to live like she has, being treated like crap for the past twelve years, going through what she goes through my father every day. So maybe the concern isn't fake. Still, the love that shines through is, especially when she lets her guard dog hurt me.
I remember two days ago and try my hardest not to sigh aloud. After walking in on what I did, most women in my situation would make themselves known, throw a fit, or run away. But not me. My father taught me well growing up. Being the daughter of the Italian mafia Don, I knew I had to be cunning, especially in my current situation. It was not only me I had to think about, so instead of breaking down like I wanted to, I hid behind the staircase, where I had a good view of the living area. I grabbed my phone, then hit record, and kept recording.
Not long after I began recording, Candice got my soon-to-be husband off, swallowing his cum, and kissing him long and hard. Then he kissed her cheek while she looked at him like he's her world, and she left smiling from ear to ear with her friend in tow. Once she left, I stayed hidden and kept my phone on the cheating bastard who had broken me. I stayed long enough for my heart and soul to break into a million pieces, even more than watching him cheat, causing me to do something I thought I would never have to do. Leave my family and Damian, my dark-haired, bright, blue-eyed prince, who's been by my side for twelve years.
I think back to how he sat next to his brother Alexandr, who could be classified as his twin even though he is a year older, talking loud enough for me to hear every single word. They spoke about how we were arranged to be married through our fathers, and how he had to trick me into believing he was someone else for me to fall in love with him, while continuing to fuck around with other women.
"Fuck, I can't believe you fucking did it. You not only managed to befriend her like Dad and Stefano wanted, but you also made her fall for you. Shit, brother, she looks at you with hearts in her eyes." Alexandr laughed with a bit of a slur, clearly drunk. Damian looked irritated, and took a swig out of a whiskey bottle, then turned back to look at Alexandr, passing the bottle back to him.
"I've had to fucking court her for twelve fucking years to ensure this marriage happens, pretend to be this knight in shining mafia armor, so of course, she looks at me that way. I made sure she did. You heard Stefano and Father that day. Mother and Victoria Russo weren't happy about forcing her into this after they were forced by their fathers to marry for an alliance. It had to be her decision. I'm just like Stefano, though; I can't be with one woman, especially when I don't give a fuck about her," Damian ranted, while Alexandr laughed.
"But you still got to fuck all the pussy you wanted, and she still has no idea; she still thinks you're her prince charming and that you’ve saved yourself just for her! Like you could live off one pussy for the rest of your life; you are the biggest womanizer I know!" Alexandr expressed happily, while my fiancé turned and gave a smug smile, agreeing with him.
"I will never be a one-woman man, even if I am married. Our father and Stefano knew this. I had to become someone I'm not when around Sofia. She'll have a shock coming after our wedding, especially when she realizes I'll have mistresses."
Alexandr starts laughing, and my stomach drops while I place my shaking hand on it while continuing to record with the other. Rage at Alexandr takes over my body. So much for seeing me as a sister, dick.
I stayed hidden, going numb, until they both got up after shooting the shit and laughing for more than two hours.
Once they were gone, I ran out of the house we were supposed to call home after our wedding. I picked up my phone and called the one person I knew would help, and the one person Damian hates. But the man is my friend because he's engaged to my best friend, Lilly Rose.
He answers on the first ring. "Sofia, what's the matter? Is everything okay?" he asks in his thick Irish accent, and I sob while he shouts for Lilly.
Dmitri Volkov, the Pahkan of the Russian Bratva, and my father, Stefano Russo, had my whole life planned out. They let me believe it was my own choice, and the man who I thought loved me unconditionally, who was not just my best friend but the other half of me, used me, cheated on me, and made me feel like a fool. Still, I stand in my wedding dress, staring at the girl who looks nothing like me. I decided I had to go through with the wedding; I couldn't think of an excuse to try and postpone without raising red flags. So, I'll walk down the aisle and say my vows. I'll head to the reception and act like this is the most magical day in the world, but I won't be at the hotel tonight, celebrating with my new husband.
No.
I'll be leaving with the unborn child growing inside of me—the child I went to tell my fiancé about the night I found out the truth. The child I will protect with my life, so they never have to live this life. The child I decided to leave my whole life behind for and not confront my soon-to-be husband like I itched to do when I had found out the baby was a girl.
one
Damian – Age 12
As I stand in my cubicle at the shooting range on our estate, practicing with the rounds I've been using since I turned six, I hear my name shouted. I put the safety on my 9mm Glock and turned to see my father, Dimitri Volkov, standing next to Stefano Russo.
Stefano stands in a dark navy suit that hangs a little off his frame. Standing at 5’11”, his light brown hair is slicked back, and his dark blue eyes assess me, while my father, also at 5’11”, stands next to him in a fitted black suit, his dark hair messed up on the top like he'd been shifting his hands through it. His hazel eyes gaze at me hard. My brother Alexandr and I take after our father in looks—same dark hair, chiseled jawline, and height—while our bright blue eyes, take after our mother. I take a step toward them and hold my hand out to Stefano.
"Mr. Russo, it's a pleasure to see you again," I say in my most polite voice, which is difficult, considering I don't like the cunt much. And his wife is worse. Our families have always had a love-hate relationship, but that is expected as we're the Bratva and he's the Italian Mafia. He shakes my hand and nods. Jackass.
I look at my father, and ask, "Is everything alright, Father? You don't normally interrupt my practice unless it's urgent."
My father looks me in the eyes, starring me down, probably hating how blunt I was in front of a frenemy, but I honestly don't give a shit; he taught me to be this way, and it's obvious he's decided on something, something big enough to come down to the shooting range personally.
"Unfortunately, this is something that cannot wait, son. Come meet us in my office at the house with your brother." He turns to leave with Stefano while I stand there, staring at their retreating backs. Great.
After I clean up my armory, I spend about ten minutes searching for my brother. I find him in his room, playing on the Xbox. His curtains are closed, and he is sprawled out on his king-sized bed, screaming into his mic. With a smirk, I pick up the basketball next to his door and throw it, hitting him on the side of the head. He looks up with a scowl on his face, and I chuckle. Before he can bite my head off or slit my throat with how pissed he is at me for interrupting his game, I tell him about the sudden meeting. He looks at me with his eyebrows raised, his mouth opening slightly in shock.
