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“I’m warning you, grandmother …”
“But if you want me to hand the signet ring—and by extension the bratva—to you,” Alla ignores me as she continues talking. “Then you’ll show me that our future is secure. And you’ll do that by putting a baby in that whore’s belly, whether she wants one or not.”
My nails dig into my palm. I can’t clench my fists any tighter. I know what Alla is demanding from me. What she’s ordering me to do.
“I will not rape her to satisfy your conditions!”
“Then you willneverget the signet ring from me, Konstantin Yurevich!” Alla flicks her wrist. “If you want to take total control of the bratva, then you will do what the bratva demands. Put a baby in that whore’s belly, and I’ll give the ring to you. Do you understand?”
I want to yell at her. I want to tell her that what she’s asking me to do is unconscionable.
It’s wrong.
But I know that the demands of the bratva is rigid and unyielding. No man, neitherboeviknor apakhan, can reject its demands.
The bratva must always come first, no matter what.
“I understand, Alla Antonovna, but I don’t agree with it.”
“You don’t need to agree with it,” she hisses. “You only need to do what’s necessary when the time comes. Once you’ve performed your duty, then and only then will I hand you full control of the bratva.”
She lifts her chin and whistles sharply. The pair of guards who accompanied her now rush to flank her as she walks to the ferry.
Once she’s far enough, I glance towards the stable. Emily is pressing herself against Hamlet where he leans out of the stall. Next to the huge horse, she seems smaller than ever. Her face rests on his muzzle, her hands petting his neck.
Slowly, I make my way over to her. “Emily …”
She jumps like I touched her to a live wire. Walking my way, her attention moves from me to just past my shoulder. I know she’s eyeing Alla.
She was crying.
I take her hand in mine, shielding her from Alla with my body so that no-one behind me can see her. Emily’s fingers squeeze tightly against mine.
“Your grandmother,” she whispers. “She doesn’t believe that this is real.”
No, it’s so much worse …
But I can’t bring myself to tell her.
I frown and lay my other hand over top of hers. “She’s just overprotective of the family.”
“She hates me.”
“She hates everyone,” I admit. “But she’ll allow this marriage to go forth.”
Emily blinks rapidly at me. “She will?”
Am I imagining things or does Emily look … relieved?Will she still look this way when I tell her what needs to happen next?
And if I do … will she hate me for it?Will I lose her forever?
I wrap my fingers more firmly around hers, pull her close, and press my lips to hers.
It’s the only way I can stop those endless questions in my mind.
30
EMILY
