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But it’s happening now.
“What did you say to her?” I ask in Russian.
“Nothing she didn’t already know.”
“She looked upset.”
“She should be.” Alla glares at me. “Don’t treat me like I’m a fool, Kostya. You’ve already insulted me enough with your little stunt in Italy.” She sighs, shaking her head so slowly her braid doesn’t shift. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about saving my sister,” I say curtly. “Who’s still just a few weeks over eighteen, in case you’ve forgotten!”
Alla’s slap is whip-quick. My cheek burns but I don’t break my gaze. Her eyes flare with rage as she looks at me.
“You were sixteen when you sat in the chair that belonged to my son, you impudent little rat,” she says.
I remain silent, and resist the urge to rub my face where the sting lingers.
“Do you think you’re the only one who cares about Aliska?” she asks, using my sister’s diminutive because it’s the only other way she knows how to hurt me. “You think you’re the only one who still mourns my Yuri? Never forget that I gave birth to him, that I felt him kick in my womb for months, nursed him at my breast, and held his little hands until he became the man that he was.” She stabs at me with her finger. “The man thatyouractions killed.”
“Yet you would allow Aliska to be wedded to the very family thatorderedfather’s death?"
“I would.” She nods. “If that’s what it takes to end this pointless war.”
“Did you know they tried to kill me?” I ask her. “That’s what my so-called little stunt in Italy was. Do you imagine that the future of the Bratva would’ve been secure if I died that day and allowed it to pass to Alisa?”
“Andthisis your solution?” She casts a furious glance towards Emily before returning her anger towards me. “To marry an American whore?”
My fists shake by my hips. “Don’t fucking call her that.” I warn her.
“What else would you have me call her?”
“She is to be my wife!” I roar.
“If you wanted to be married so badly.” Alla jabs another finger at my chest. “I could’ve arranged for a union with the Bratva royalties of Moscow, or Kiev. Instead, you went behind my back and brought awhoreinto the house where I birthed your father.”
“I am the pakhan, grandmother,” I remind her, seething. “Not you.”
“A pakhan in name.” She dismisses me with a flick of her hand. “Otherwise, why try and fool me with this farce of a wedding?”
“I’m about to satisfy the demands you yourself have set out for me.”
“Is the future of the bratva secure?” She cocks her head to the side. “Is the whore pregnant? Can I expect an heir from you by spring?”
Will they expect everything else that comes with a wedding?Emily’s questions from the day she arrived at the castle suddenly echoes in my head.A happily ever after?
Babies?
And then I remember what she said to me when I pulled her out of the water.
I amnothaving your babies.
Fuck.
“Have you even fucked her?”
Heat rises along my neck. “What I do with my fiancée is none of your concern.”
“Your response has told me everything I need to know, Kostya.” Alla scoffs. “You tell me that you’re the pakhan, but a pakhan must be ruthless. A pakhan must do everything in his power to secure a future for his bratva. If you want to marry this American whore so badly, I can’t stop you.”
