Page 57 of Then We Shatter

I don’t mention my source for obvious reasons, and being economical with the truth makes it look like I’ve been busier than I have. Suck on that, Malachy.

“Ignacio’s been busy forging alliances with anyone who’s considered an enemy of ours and, interestingly, Alejandro’s enemies too. He’s even been sweet-talking the Russians.”

“He’s deluded if he still thinks he can oust his brother,” Malachy says.

There’s a note of disgust in his voice. Unlike the Valera brothers, Malachy would never fight me for the privilege of being next in line. We only butt heads because we demand the best from each other. Neither of us has ever questioned the roles we’re destined to take.

If my recent actions are anything to go by, maybe we should.

I take a long swig of whiskey. “Ignacio is spreading his business interests wide, offering new supply networks for drugs, weapons and people. Anything is up for grabs for the right price. He’s even offering his sons as guns for hire, and they’ll do whatever their father commands.”

“Wish I knew what that felt like,” mutters Dad.

“I was thinking we’d send Malachy to Boston with a team to gather more intel. I’ll send through what I have, but it’s mostly intercepted messages. We need to get a feel for what’s really happening on the ground before we go in.”

“I’d rather you went,” Dad says.

I wince, even though I was expecting that response. The hunt for our mother’s killers comes before anything and everything else. I don’t disagree, but all I need is a little wiggle room. Two weeks’ worth isn’t too much to ask. “Why does it have to be me? Don’t you think Malachy’s up for the task?”

“The way you’ve been fucking around lately, I’d do a better job,” my brother interrupts, falling straight into my trap.

“Prove it.” Sucker.

“I will,” my brother replies. “And you’ll be there to watch. I’ll gather the troops and we’ll pick you up on our way to Boston. Whatever’s left to do in Chicago can be done remotely.”

I drain my glass with a loud swallow. I’ve been outmaneuvered. Malachy is turning into leadership material faster than I thought.

Chapter 21

Katarina

Now

Iscowl at my reflection in the mirror. My long hair shines like satin and stinks of rose water. Eric’s preferred scent. My fingertips itch, irritated by the shortness of my baby pink nails, and my balance feels off because I’m teetering on child-size heels. And as for the dress…

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Vivienne?” gasps Emily, overcompensating for my lack of enthusiasm.

Thankfully, this is just a fitting for the wedding tomorrow but it makes me wonder what I’m being molded into. Eric’s token wife? His fuck toy? His prisoner? I haven’t asked for details. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the least bit interested in how I should fit into his life.

The only future plans actively being discussed at present are the business deals Eric and Vasili are cooking up. They talk of merchandise as if I don’t know each item in their distribution network will have a pulse and a name.

I tug on the boned bodice of my dress, pulling loose a few of the Schwartz crystals. An inordinate amount of padding pushes up my ample breasts and they bounce precariously as I heave up the skirt. Moving isn’t an easy task with so many layers of lace and chiffon weighing me down.

Vivienne’s finding it more difficult than Emily to ignore the anger radiating off me. Her fingers tremble as she picks up the fallen crystals. “It fits exactly as it should.”

Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Being dressed like a mannequin with no agency of my own? And I thought my uncle was overbearing.

I can already see how other aspects of my life are being controlled. The private chef assigned to our villa has provided perfectly balanced and highly nutritious meals, and just like the beauticians, my every request for carbs or god forbid, chocolate, has been overridden by Eric’s very specific instructions.

Biting my pink glossed lips that also taste of fucking rose, I scan the room, my gaze settling on the dresser where Vivienne has laid out her tools of the trade. “Could I suggest one or two tweaks?”

The seamstress swallows nervously. “What did you have in mind?”

“Hmm, let me think,” I say as I shuffle and slide over to the dresser. My open palm hovers over the collection of ribbons and tassels as if I’m a prospector searching for gold. I ignore the needles and threads, the swatches of material and the spare padding Vivienne couldn’t quite stuff into my bodice. It’s only as my hand stops above the dressmaking shears that my fingers tingle.

Emily sucks in a breath. “Katarina, I don’t think–”

“No, you don’t, do you?” I snatch up the shears. “I don’t imagine many people around here do.” My mouth twists into a wicked grin as I lift a layer of my dress. “The problem is, I do think, Emily.” Lace tears with my first strike. “I have opinions. Strong ones. And I hate being ignored. So this is me…” The blade slices downwards to the hem of the skirt, splitting the top layer in two. “Getting your fucking attention.”