hey cuties
Adriana's POV
When I said I hated family dinners, I fucking meant it.
The old pool radio hummed Mama's favorite, a single written by the one and only Julie Lavarde- the Italian "Sarah Vaughan" of her childhood. With ice-cold glasses of negronis and a nice chill breeze blowing across the patio, the clouds' shading sketched a dark shadow over white plates filled with barely touched food. Purple Asters and white roses made their trek through bushes lining the yard, still not enough to keep the tense smile off Mama's face.
The table of fifteen carried hushed chatter, most of it being swept up by the wind. Leo and Enzo sat next to uncle Marcello and his sons, Matteo and Lorenzo. Papa's seat at the end radiated with tension, and I felt his gaze hit me and my untouched food every five seconds. Of course, Nikolas and Mikhail sat in front of my brothers, looking like they had much better things to do than sit outside on a nice fall day and eat homemade Italian food.
Aurora nudged me. "At least act like you're enjoying this." I glanced at her plate to see it also full- but with everything poked around like she was a picky toddler.
I scoffed a little too loud- and a heavy gaze hit me from down the table. I didn't need to look up to realize it was Nikolas. Him and his cold expression made the silence on the women's side of the table somehow more rigid- or maybe it was his looks. He looked even scarier somehow with the shade of clouds covering his face, making the grey in his eyes more pronounced and piercing. His hair, even blacker, just like mine.
Mikhail sat down with a face peaked in boredom, his eyes only lagging on my sister every minute. Why, I had no clue. Aurora merely looked down in her lap, twiddling the fabric of her pink sweater dress.
After a few more seconds of staring at the polenta on my plate, I decided to change my field of view. To what? Nikolas, of course.
His hands were the first thing I was drawn to. Veiny, rough, and the perfect fit to hold a gun, it was hard not to imagine them on my skin again, like at our engagement when he kissed me like he was out of his goddamn mind. The feel of his hands resting on my waist, barely teasing my ass- I suddenly shook the thought away, embarrassed to be acting so brazen around family, and instead realized he was still looking at me. And, because I wasn't a coward, I held his gaze, no matter how hot it made me feel. He narrowed them at me for a split second, as if trying to search my head. I valued privacy, however, so instead I struck up a conversation with my best friend across me.
"You wanna head to the mall this weekend? Hugo's delivery of magazines came in this morning and I caught a glimpse of Luxevo's new silk collection." Layla sat next to her barren husband, who had an arm slunk around the back of her chair. Until now- ever since she'd been forced into the marriage, I'd felt bad. But even to me, the tolerance she had was incomparable to my own, wherein she somehow managed to brush off every glance and chuckle Hugo shot her way.
"Sure. We can hitch a ride with Leo when he heads to practice."
"No need." A deep, powerful statement rose from the end of the table.
Speak of the devil.
I took a silent breath in and shot Nikolas a toothy grin. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
His eye twitched, and that's when I realized he was still able to see through my fakeness five seats down a dinner table.
"Now that you live with me, I don't find it necessary to give anyone else the responsibility of escorting you places."
Responsibilty? He said it -and I heard it loud and clear- like I was a job and task rather than his wife-to-be.
Fuck that.
I was about to reword that and tell him exactly why, but Aurora's hand shot to my knee and she cleared her throat, loud enough for the whole table to hear.
"I got the Kingsworth scholarship."
Silence.
I whipped my neck towards her, surprise deafening. "You got in?" She'd been raving about the English and Art joint-opportunity in one of Los Angeles's most elite schools, and I half expected her to brush it off in the end, because no way in fucking hell was Papa going to let her go. Plus, a scholarship? When he had all the money he needed to pay her in? My sister was too pure to let him do that, so she decided to do all the work herself, no bending the rules. I would've lied if I said I wasn't proud.
"Oh, mio, congratulations! I'm so proud of you." Layla stretched out a hand and squeezed hers.
My uncle Marcello's voice rose up from next to my Papa, and he made some lengthy inquiries about her sudden announcement. I knew, in the back of my sister's head, droves of alerts waited for Papa to trigger an argument. Our secret conversations at night for the past two months told me he wasn't even aware of it. So for Aurora's sake, I slid a couple of carrots onto my fork and chewed, no matter how much it tasted like cardboard.
Meanwhile all fifteen eyes honed in on the girl that was perfection, everyone's pride and true. Aurora smiled that pretty smile, and nodded. "The campus is pretty nice- real safe and secure." She emphasized that last part.
I sipped my negroni. Ugh. Too fruity.
I scanned the table for a bottle of gin, picked it up, and poured about a shot's worth into my glass. I sipped it. Better, but not perfect. Perfection was a bar I only rarely tried to reach- my limits only stretched so far.
"English, huh? A stern subject for someone so soft." My eyes shot towards a suddenly speaking Mikhail. What part did he have in this? I knew we had similar tendencies, but that was more the reason for him to stay quiet.
The chatter dissipated, and Mama let out a forced chuckle. "She's been an avid reader since her childhood- reading books and that." Of course, it was a mother's job to defend her child, although the slight fear in her eyes gave away that she wasn't up for a bloodbath tonight. Balancing things was the best option.
Mikhail raised a brow. "Your favorite book?"
Aurora looked at him, half dazed and half in confusion. "Well.. I mean- I'd have to say any of Jane Austen's."
He made a sound of approval, but the dark amusement in his eyes made an alarm go off in the back of my head. "Love stories, huh?"
Aurora's lips parted, and I waited for her to spew nonsense about the book and how he was utterly wrong- but she stayed silent. The hell?
"They don't exactly play out in your world, do they, Volkov?" A hint of accusation coated Leo's voice.
Uh-oh.
My youngest brother never stepped back from a fight- no matter the sensibility ratio, and if provoked, Enzo made it worse. I closed my eyes and sighed. Either Papa would let it happen, or he'd call a spiff and interrupt.
A minute passed and I realized I'd skip out on any entertainment tonight.
"Has the date been set for the wedding?" I stiffened at Mama's proposal of conversation.
"Two weeks." I would've forgotten about Nikolas, but the weird sheen of sweat on my neck since I'd sat down said otherwise.
My eyes almost bulged out of my head. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks? My gut twisted, and a bead of sweat collected on the back of my neck.
"Isn't that rather early?" I asked.
He looked at me like I was a thorn in his palm- if he even liked mother nature. I think the only dirt he'd appreciate was in his grave.
"I don't see how timing is relevant when there are other risks at play." His voice carried a twinge of power, hidden underneath something like intended amusement. He was getting at me. Trying to make me break, like I was close to doing before Aurora didn't let me.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. You wouldn't.
His eyes said he would. And for some reason- maybe it was his suddenly commanding presence whenever it was his turn to talk, I forced myself to believe him.
The lunch continued with meaningless chatter, plates emptying, but the brick in everyone's stomach still heavy. The tension never left. It sat there, thick and heavy, while lips parted and the sun occasionally provided slivers of warmth between the chill.
Me, Layla and Aurora continued to rave about new trends and clothes- but the occasional heavy beat on the side of my face never really left. His gaze lingered on me for the rest of the time, inspecting. I hated that about him- that he could stare and peer into me while I sat there, helpless.
Layla left early, something about Hugo needing to take his meds that she rolled her eyes explaining, and Aurora had gone to the bathroom.
I sat there, trying to ignore Mama's hundred or so mentions about my wedding dress and how she was disappointed in my decision to wear black. I might as well throw my life out the window the day I say my vows, so why not? Plus, red lipstick stands out when I wear it.
I glanced at my nails a few times. Tried to make a flower out of the pastel blue napkin. Debated whether I should try to drink the rest of my negroni like a shot, but fell out of that once because I'd look stupid.
I'd done enough stupid in front of Nikolas.
Nikolas's POV
For the past thirty minutes I'd been watching Adriana, she'd invented nearly six new activities to do during a family lunch.
Of course, that may as well be the result of an extra shot of gin she hadn't thought twice before pouring.
Or maybe it was her empty ring finger that made her forget what her purpose was here.
The first thing I noticed when I arrived was that she'd chosen not to wear the engagement ring. I didn't find it disrespectful. I found it amusing how she did it to prove to me how worthless this marriage was. Not just to her, but to her dead-set of a father that had no choice but to let it happen.
Marcello raved about some new shooting range he bought, and my brother listened intently only because he had a knowledge of weapons that far surpassed his common sense.
Then he pulled out a Zippo lighter and a pack of Java's from his pocket.
The wind blew, eyes shifted, and I ran the back of my hand over my mouth to hide my amusement.
I would tell him he was an idiot for doing that, because he was. Who knew if Andre held the same control he had towards me with him?
Adriana stared at me like she'd grab the butterknife on the left of her plate and slit my throat.
My brother seemed to have intercepted the look. "What, you want one?"
Her eyes widened, and she glanced at her Papa before looking at Mikhail with fake, sharp disbelief.
"Excuse me? I don't- I don't smoke. I'd never."
I couldn't help it.
I smiled. Very quickly, it rubbed me the wrong way, so I used a knuckle and looked down at my plate to wipe it off.
The smoke covered Adriana's face for a second but when it dissipated, the look on her face remained dead-set on the idea that she would yank the cigarette out from between my lips. She was done with me. Done with the fact that I'd made her crack in front of her father already, and now I was testing her patience again. I waited for her to get up and use her sister as an excuse to leave; I know she wanted to. It was clear in her stiff shoulders and narrowed gaze.
She simply turned to her Mama and asked her to pass the tiramisu.
I had no family other than my brother. Plus a half-cousin in Moscow who arranged weapon deals with him. Some people assumed that meant we were powerless. Truth was, brutality never ran through the same kinds of blood. In the Bratva, the loyalty built into us long before we considered ourselves men was the one thing that mattered more than blood. Blood that, when spilled, was considered a lost limb for each of us.
I'd lose a limb for my brother.
I nearly did, every night for three years. When our father would come home drunk and choose to let it out on our mother, I'd deflect it towards me. And when he grew bored because I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of fear, it was Mikhail's turn.
I was a mold my father and the Bratva created. A combination worse than gunpowder and minefields.
A combination that still made every night a fucking pain to spend asleep.
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cya 💕💕