Adriana's POV
"You think he's capable of being a family man?" Layla pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth and snuggles under my blanket. A paused melodrama fills the screen of the TV in my room, the familiar depiction of Francesca and her two-timing cheat of a boyfriend facing off in what would probably turn out to be a night of anger-fueled sex.
My jaw turns at lightning speed. "Nikolas Volkov, a family man?" Amusement tears through my scoff, and I take a sip of mamma's Merlot. Her stock in the basement cellar was more than filled, she wouldn't bat an eye at the disappearance of just one bottle. "I'd rather call him a bachelor with nothing but stains on his record."
"Well, what did you expect? He is, like, the most villain-edged man to exist. Have you seen that hair? He belongs on Vogue's murder edition catalogue."
I tilt my head, imagining him on the cover of a magazine. The hair.. the eyes.. it would have women rushing to the multi-millionaire company's doors just to catch a glimpse of him. "You know what.." I squint at the ceiling. "I totally see it."
"So? Would marrying him really be that bad?" Hesitation sprawled through my bones. It was evening, and my time was running out. I'd called Layla over to stall, but I knew the moment she left Papa would have me in his study not a second after her Audi drove off. Maybe I could just.. keep her here?
"Yes, Lay, it would." My lips remain parted, as if about to describe why, but nothing comes out.
I un-pause the drama to fill the silence, and then continue popping kernels into my mouth, unease filling the pits of my stomach instead of warm, buttered goodness.
I feel Layla's gaze pierce the side of my face every few seconds, until it becomes overbearing. She grabs the remote and presses pause again.
"What is it?" I look at her, turning my body so my knees graze hers. A weird feeling pits my stomach.
"I have to tell you something." She scanned my face, and something weird slithered into my veins.
"What? Did you murder someone? Please tell me it's Hugo, it's time the poor man takes his last breath." My attempt to lighten the mood fails, and turns into a rainy cloud the moment she grabs my hand. The smile I'm so good at keeping plastered on falls.
"I was eavesdropping on one of Hugo's phone calls yesterday, while he was in his study. He was talking about Russians- how the Cosa Nostra's stupid for letting them infiltrate us."
The sounds of my clock filled the silence. I waited.
"I heard him talk about Nikolas. It started off normal, he cussed out the man and basically wished death upon him, for whatever stupid grudge he's been holding on from his ancestry." There was a long pause, where I felt like opening my mouth to urger her on- but something in my bones kept me still.
She looked up, eyes sodden. "Hugo also talked about Petrov."
My hand went rigid against hers, an inkling of darkness spreading across my chest. The breath escaping my lips disappeared.
"And? What'd he say?" My voice cracked at the ends, fraying with panic.
Her hand tightened around mine, as if preparing me for her next words.
"That he works beside him. Petrov is Nikolas's right-hand man."
No. I shook my head in accordance with my thoughts. That.. that can't be possible.
Last time I saw him.. he worked as a soldier. Far, far away from the position Nikolas has as part of the two-spies, the group that overlooks all of the Bratva and sends reports to the Pakhan.
"You know this for sure?" I blinked, trying to process it all.
"I don't think he'd lie, Adriana. Hugo's too deaf to know when I'm sneaking around."
My heart thumped a fast beat, but I forced my rigid shoulders down. Preying on the thought of bumping into Petrov, the look on my friend's face meant I'd gone pale with dread, once again.
Silence stretches into the room, Layla's hand the only source of comfort while horrific memories ransack through my head. His hands on my body. The sick feeling of blood-cold terror. Blood.
"Adriana?" She brushes a thumb across my cheek, cradling my jaw. "You're doing it again."
I try to laugh, but it ends up sounding like a half-cracked attempt at a cry. "Yeah, well he might do it again, too."
Panic flared, my hands shivered, but a certain rebellious part of me pushed it all down.
What the fuck was I doing? It had been a year.. a whole year.. and I was still hung up on this. No matter what- the tarnishes of my past wouldn't smear off, no matter what I did.
No matter how terrible the memories were, or how hard they hit me every night, it was simply a part of me now, whether I liked it or not. And I had to deal with it.
Get it fucking together. You're not an ice-princess who was gifted to cry snowflakes.
Hell, I haven't even cried since then. Petrov Vassiliev took his sweet time soaking them all up, using manipulation to turn my past-self into an object he used whenever he pleased. However he pleased.
I make the tingle between my eyes disappear, like always, and sit up straight. Just then, something tingles a bulb the back of my head.
An idea.
It's as if the vines were only broken and needed to be tied up together. It all joined, into one coherent plan, within the time-frame of one second. Something risky, but doable. Something that would end with me getting what I wanted, as well as Papa, Nikolas, and the whole goddamn world if they wished it. My point was.. I'd found a crack within this whole ordeal. One I had every quality, piece of evidence, and trait to glue back together. Hopefully, it would all end with no mess left behind.
My eyes shoot up to Layla, filled with a new-found spark.
"I hereby declare you, Layla Rodriguez, my Maid of Honor."
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Papa stared at me from across the desk, gaze frisked with doubt. He took a pen and continued filling out papers, but flickered suspicious eyes up to me every few seconds.
"What, you expected me to say no?" I made sure my voice carried the same Adriana forged-edge I used whenever something wasn't up to par according to me.
I sat, flat-faced, doing my best to seem at odds with the agreement. Like I had no choice but to agree. Which was the case, except for there being one slight advantage no one knew about other than me.
"Your my daughter. I can tell when you're doing something for your own benefit."
"Apparently, you don't know me enough to tell that I don't wanna sell myself to a Russian assassin capable of slitting my throat the moment I step into his house."
"He can't. If he did.." His pen levitated in mid-air of the paper, looking more like a dagger than a writing utensil. "It would mean full out war. I don't make promises I know the other side can't keep." Warning carries a harsh edge in his words.
Enzo stands in the corner, arms crossed and eyes on Papa like he'd much rather walk over and land a punch than stand with no purpose.
"I'm doing it for the family." I speak the words and they settle into the middle of the room, soaking into everyone's ears for longer than they should. Partially, I was right. I had my reasons, and they made enough sense to me that I could speak without having to hide the reasoning in my voice. Papa dips his chin, responding with a gesture instead of any words. A paper lands in front of me, a blank line at the very bottom.
I took the pen, glanced at the line for a mere second, and scribbled off my signature before something compelled me to change my mind.
Signing my life off wasn't as demoralizing as I thought it would be- not when the cunning beginnings of something absolutely beautiful was beginning to form a thousand piece puzzle in the back of my head.
The pen clicks as I press the top and set it down. "Great. What's next?" I blink, snake-like thoughts forming on the tip of my tongue. "Other than, you know, the expectance of an heir the second I finish saying my vows?"
Having a kid was no foreseeable future for me, even before all of this. Papa's eyes tightened as if the retort was something worse than selling me to a man. "I'm not going to torture you to have a child, Adriana."
Wow. Thanks for that, Papa, really.
He leans back in the office chair. "This is simply for your own protection. There were many suitors in line before this, including the Fonti's. Would you rather have been tied to them?"
I almost cringe thinking of marrying twenty-eight year old Mattia Fonti, a professor look-alike from the mentioned family. Framed glasses, greasy, slicked-back hair, and an ego so big his father had been forced to keep him in check at multiple Cosa Nostra events.
"Nikolas won't lay a hand on you." Papa says it like it's a threat and my soon-to-be husband himself is standing right behind me. Drawing the line when it came to violence against women might be the bare minimum, but in the Cosa Nostra it was as common as men smoking weed in an alley.
Enzo gruffs out an indecipherable murmur, making me jump in my seat. He had a somewhat super-power, becoming invisible in rooms and shit. It wasn't until he spoke that the demanding, power-seeping aura came off in detrimental waves.
"Not unless he's willing to find more of his soldiers missing."
I picture the immense war that would break if that happened, and the sheer idea of Nikolas with a gun made me shake my head. God, I don't know what the hell he'd do, but I knew whatever would be left by the end of it would ensure the Cosa Nostra's population was lessened by at least three-quarters.
"You both act like I'm some helpless, born-for-bad teenager who doesn't know how to stimulate her strength." The self-defense classes I'd taken under my cousin, Matteo's supervision, six months ago, were still ready on the tips of my fingers, switched on green whenever Layla and me took our weekly nights off. One red light was all I needed for me to put on a show definitely worth watching. I don't think I needed to worry about whether Nikolas was some abusive hot-head behind doors. By the looks of it, he'd be too worried about the idea of someone else in his space rather than fortifying anger by throwing it on me.
Provocation was one of my many talents, and I wondered just how far it would take me with Nikolas. Maybe if I tested his patience enough.. he'd bundle up this whole mess, including me, and throw it back to Papa. I don't know if he'd accept with open arms, but at least the marriage would end in a way without hundreds dead and blood sprawled across the walls.
I tuck the plan into the back of my head. Stand up, wipe down my full-sleeve turtleneck, and clear my throat. Nervousness bubbled in the back of my throat, and sweat collected on my neck when I deciphered my actions from within the last five minutes. "All right. So, when do I have to see him?" He hands me a small slip of paper, with a 10-digit number separated between three dashes. "He says he won't be able to make it today, so call instead."
Never, in my years of living, have I ever acquired a male's phone number like this.
Firstly, why the hell do I have to call him? At least give me one fucking day to process all of this- and to finalize that I'll have to condemn myself to a prison worse than Azkaban itself. Bellatrix was borderline psychotic, yet she didn't get the chance to escape until Dementors broke down the cell. I don't know if I was just as insane, but the ravens from my past surely were enough to fuel the rage I'd feel once something set me off.
I go to pick up the paper, but Papa's voice stops me. "Be sensible about this." His voice is firm, but not rough. His attempt at giving me advice, it seems. "The way you talk, the way you act, all determine whether he's satisfied with his choice, and whether that means we land in deeper shit than we already are."
I nod, swallowing at how serious he was making it seem- surely a simple sentence wouldn't set of the Russian mobster, right?
Without a second glance, I ignored my father's heavy gaze and slipped out of the door, the paper a sudden weight in between my fingers.
The door to my room closed with a swift click, and I sat on the edge of my bed, glaring at the number as if it was a piece of magma from Hell itself and would ring up Satan the moment I entered it.
Was Nikolas any better, though?
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OOOOOHHHHH GIRLY SAID YESSSS 😝😝😱🤭
bye cutie pies