Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 3

"A wife. He wants a wife." I repeat it, the beginnings of horrific thoughts embedding into my brain. My brother looks down at me, searching for my reaction

"Papa needs you in his study." His voice was firm, unmoving. My eyes flickered to him with dread.

No.

Oh God, please no.

My throat didn't make a sound as he turned around and left my room with no hindering amusement in sight.

Each of my steps towards the room downstairs left a wavering, invisible fear on my tail, but I pushed back my shoulders and went down the hall, stopping in front of the almost scary looking, dark-oak door.

A deep breath, and then I softly knocked. 

"Come in."

I fidgeted with the robe around my body, wishing I'd put it on before deciding to follow my stupid impulse when the lower floor of my house had been brimming with the bloody enemy.

I sat down on the dreaded chair, wishing this would be like the last time where he'd told me to stay away from the Zanetti's. Apparently, being friends with someone who's father's played around with Papa's properties means it was a cold, hard insult to be seen with them.

The clock ticked. Papa's eyes scanned my face with unwanted discretion.

"You're aware of your mistake, then."

There was the ironclad proof that the fear written on my face was clear as day.

I cleared my throat, parted my lips, and started the half-written speech I'd conjured on my way down. "Yes, and-"

"No," He shook his head, cutting me off. "No excuses, not this time."

My lips parted, confusion not far away. "Excuses? This wasn't my fault, Papa."

"Who's was it, then? I told you to stay in your room,  goddammit." His voice rusted at the end, volume increasing. He looked.. forlorn, in a way. Like whatever the hell happened after I scrambled upstairs wasn't a play on his part- but a wrecking ball towards his carefully built-up facade.

"Yeah, but-"

"Adriana. Listen to me carefully."  He leaned forward.

"The Russians aren't fools. And that Volkov- he's far, far from a saint. Do you have any idea the number of men he's killed? How he's killed them?"

Bloody images fill my brain. I'd seen my father's gun launch itself down a man's throat at the age of seven. But even I knew the Russian horror stories from my childhood had to be somewhat true. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. 

"He's a fucking con, through and through. No matter what, he ends up getting whatever the hell he wants, conditions outweighed."

I could feel him gearing up. Something was happening. Nikolas had demanded something, and my father looked like he'd rather die than refuse it, no matter how morally grey he was like any other Italian man in the mafia. I suddenly wish Enzo was here- no matter how tight his chains were. He'd been thrown into this life as a young man, but he had a mindset of his own that didn't always align with Papa's.

His eyes flick to mine. "There's no way out- trust me, I've tried. You saw me with your uncle yesterday, we were planning just for this. We knew Volkov needed a payment, but.." He trailed off, finding the right words.

"You didn't know his request would be to marry me." I finish it for him, shaking my head already.

"I won't do it, Papa. I can't." I sit up, rounding my shoulders. This wasn't a fucking joke, everyone knew that. I wasn't some doll, and the fact that a mistake I made, a mistake, was multiplying into this giant mess- it just didn't make any sense.