Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I stare at him like he’s grown another head.
“Bigger than me?” I breathe. “I’m the one being manipulated like a pawn on a chessboard.”
“You were raised for this,” he says simply. “You knew this day would come.”
“I thought I would at least get a heads up. Maybe even the option to refuse.”
“This is your heads-up,” he responds calmly. “As for the option to refuse, I’m sorry you were under such a presumption. I assure you, that was never on the table.”
“So I just get sacrificed to a man twice my age so you two can toast and pat yourselves on the back for brokering peace?”
Papa’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays even. “This marriage will secure peace between the Kozlovs and Grinkovs for generations. It’s a strong move. A smart one.”
“Then you do it. You marry Isaac.”
He doesn’t blink. “I don’t think I’m really his type.”
“No, because you’re not a twenty-two-year-old virgin groomed to be traded like livestock.”
Oleg chuckles. “Isaac will be good to you. He’s a powerful man. You’ll be taken care of.”
“I don’t want to be ‘taken care of,’” I spit. “I want to choose who I marry. I want to marry someone I love.”
My father leans forward, eyes like honed steel. “Love is a luxury, and it won’t protect you when this world turns on you. What we’re offering is protection, security. You’ll wield more power as Isaac’s wife than you ever will chasing some fairy tale. You’ve had a good life so far, and you’ll find his way of living meets your standards.”
Good life? Try caged life. I remember slipping out with Evie, short skirts hidden under long coats, pretending to be anyone but myself. I remember every time a boy flirted with me and one of Papa’s guards materialized like a ghost to shut it down. I have no idea what it feels like to love a man, and be loved back, because I was raised to be a prize for some mobster.
I try to argue again with my father, but he puts his hand up to stop me.
“I’m tired of this argument, Katya,” he says in a dismissive tone. “This is happening, so I suggest you get used to the idea.”
That’s all I’ll get from him, and we both know it. Without another word, I rise, pivot on my heel and storm toward my room. Every fiber of my being is thrumming with anger.
When I reach my room, I slam the door and throw myself onto the bed. I want to cry, to scream, to smash something, anything to keep this nightmare from feeling real. But lashing out would only prove to my father that I’m a child that needs to be handled.
A thought sparks bright inside me. Risky, yes, but it might be my only exit. If I’m unbearable, the worst bride imaginable, Isaac will have to call off the wedding and send me packing. Then Papa will have no choice but to accept that this marriage isn’t happening.
If I’m ever going to live the life I want, I have to stop this marriage before it starts.
2
ISAAC
Oleg Grinkov wants a meeting. I don’t know what he has planned. My men act as if my death warrant is already stamped, some even swearing their mothers will light candles for me at Mass. They’re right to be uneasy, yet I doubt Oleg would summon me just to pull the trigger. Men like him prefer a stage.
Sergei Grinkov, his father, once ordered an entire wedding party burned alive just to make a point. I shook that bastard’s hand years ago, and it took every ounce of control not to crush his bones. Now he’s gone, dead of a heart attack in his sleep. Every account calls it a peaceful passing. Cowardly, if you ask me. A man like him deserved a hail of bullets, not a warm blanket.
Oleg, the son, now occupies the pakhan’s chair, and the whispers have already started. They say he’s smarter, more ambitious, maybe even deadlier than his father. Methodical to the core, he never moves without plotting five steps ahead. Whatever this meeting is, it’s strategic.
It’s a move, a test, maybe even a trap. Still, I agree because curiosity gets the better of me. After all, you can’t say no to the devil when he knocks. You can only choose how you’ll greet him.
I pour a glass of vodka and take a slow sip while I wait behind my desk. The liquor burns, though not enough. I need something stronger to get through this meeting. My shoulders bunch beneath the silk of my shirt, muscles coiled since the moment Oleg’s request landed on my desk. I don’t expect an olive branch, so I have to be ready for a fight if one breaks out.
The door swings open without a knock. Only one man has that privilege. Mikhail, my second-in-command, strolls in, loose-limbed and confident, sleeves rolled to the elbows and a grin that treats all this as mildly inconvenient rather than potentially catastrophic.