Ruthless Reign: A Dark Mafia Forbidden Romance (Tarnished Reign Book 1)

Chapter 27

“Elizaveta, please focus,”my mother chastises, her tone laced with frustration. We’re at the wedding planner’s office, deciding on the many details I have no interest in.

I huff out a sigh, my gaze darting back to my phone to keep an eye on a tech stock I picked up yesterday. The stock”s price is climbing, so it’s time to sell. “The lemon cream was my favorite,” I offer, distracted.

“It”s lemon curd,” she corrects as if I care.

“Right, curd. Tastes amazing either way. Perfect choice for the wedding cake.”

Yeah, perfect for a wedding that’s not going to be happening. At one time, I would have felt guilty that my mother is going to such lengths for an event which will be canceled if I’m successful. But not anymore. My parents have never prioritized my needs or what”s best for me. Roman is right—it’s time to let them fend for themselves.

How long can I keep sacrificing my happiness for theirs? If left to them, it would be indefinitely. That’s the problem. They will continue taking from me until there’s nothing left.

“Maybe it’s better to go with vanilla,” my mother frets, worry creasing her brow. “It”s usually safer to keep things traditional.”

I barely suppress an eye roll. “Sure, Mama. Whatever you prefer.”

I’m glued to my phone hidden under the table as the stock price steadily climbs. Shit, I’m going to need to sell soon.

“I can’t decide on the tablecloths, though. White, off-white, or cream?”

My finger hovers over the sell button, ready to act as soon as the price hits my target.

“Liza, did you hear me?” my mother snaps peevishly.

With a quick tap, I sell, locking in a tidy profit of twenty thousand dollars. It’s been a week since I started trading, but the results are already impressive. I’ve made two hundred thousand dollars off my initial capital. It’s a good start, but I”ll need to pick up the pace if I’m going to make a million dollars before this wedding in under two weeks.

“Pick whichever, Mama. It”s fine.”

I glance up to find her frowning at me.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but this is your wedding. The most important day of your life—of all of our lives—and your lack of interest is concerning. All of Moscow”s elite will attend. You ought to prioritize planning over whatever it is you”re constantly doing on your phone.”

I sigh and make sure the trade has gone through before lowering my phone into my lap. “I was texting Kira.” The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue. “She asked if I needed any help with the planning, but I’d say you have it under control. You and Mrs. Petrovich seem to be more than happy to handle the details.”

“Speaking of which… Talya and Katerina will be here any second, and I won’t have you acting like a sullen teenager. Show that you actually want to be part of their family.” She sniffs. “You have no idea what a privilege it is to take the Petrovich name.”

An honor for her. The woman who doesn’t actually have to marry Anatoly.

“I don’t care about privilege and a good name. That’s your concern,” I bite back, unable to keep the anger from bubbling to the surface.

“How can you be so selfish?” my mother snaps, her low voice filled with indignation.

The wedding planner enters the room, but one look from my mother sends her scurrying away.

“Do you think I married for love? No. Marriages are unions; they’re meant to strengthen families and secure futures. It”s about duty, not personal happiness.”

“That’s not true. At least, not always,” I point out. “Kira and Maxim are crazy in love.”

Her eyes turn to slits. “Didn’t their marriage start as a business arrangement?”

I gnash my teeth. I don’t know why I’m bothering with this conversation because my mother won’t be swayed.

“Your sister needs this union more than anyone.” My mother slams her hand down on the table. “If we sank into poverty, do you think there’d be a chance in hell anyone would want to marry Sofiya?”

My grip tightens around my phone. “What if we don”t need the Petroviches” money? What if I found a way to be financially independent from them?”

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with an alert for a promising stock. I ignore it.

The frown marring my mother’s perfectly made-up face isn”t what I hoped for. “What are you talking about, Liza? Have you lost your mind?”

What she really means is, Where’s my sweet, obedient daughter who never pushes back, never questions, and never wants anything for herself? That’s who I was for so long: the dutiful daughter, living her life to clean up everyone else’s mistakes.

My mother continues to stare at me as if I’m an alien. It’s my fault, in a way, because I’ve never stood up to her before.

“I insist that the maid of honor’s dress be red, Mother. It’s my best color.” Katerina’s whiny voice is heard before she even enters the room. Moments later, she steps in, greeting us with a frown. “Oh. You’re both here.”

My back straightens with irritation.

Talya Petrovich gives her daughter an admonishing look. “It’s the bride and mother of the bride, so of course they’re both here.” The older woman steps forward, offering us both air kisses.

“I think red for the bridesmaid’s dresses sounds lovely,” my mother gushes as the two women sit down. “Don’t you think, Liza?” Her kick under the table is a not-so-subtle nudge to agree.

“Sure.” My grin lacks any genuine warmth.

Katerina flares her nostrils and flips her long golden hair behind her back. “I wasn’t talking about the bridesmaid dresses. I don’t care what they wear. As the maid of honor, I should be the only one wearing red.”

“Red for a wedding? You’ll look like a harlot.” Talya frowns.

I have to bite my lip to keep in my laughter. I respect her bluntness.

“Maybe something softer,” my mother jumps in. “Like a pink blush?”

“Maybe not.” Katerina pulls a face and checks the time on her phone. “Anyhow, what do we need to do here? I have a facial in an hour.”

“I thought you might want a say in the color scheme we choose, considering it will greatly influence the floral arrangements,” my mother offers. “Your taste is impeccable, and it would mean so much to have your input.”

My God. Could she suck up any harder?

While Talya and my mother start discussing the merits of lilies versus white roses, I lean back in my chair and sneak a quick glance at my phone, checking on my trades.

“So, do you have your outfit sorted for the opera this weekend?” Katerina leans closer, putting on a falsely sweet tone that immediately has me on edge. She doesn”t wait for my response. “I have a few designer dresses from last season, which you”re welcome to borrow. You don”t mind wearing last season”s fashion, do you?” Her tone is casual, but there’s a mocking undercurrent.

Like Anatoly, his sister loves to remind me how indebted I am to her family. How much less fortunate we are.

“I’m fine,” I answer back cooly. “I’ll just wear something from my closet.” I give her a blank smile and hope she takes the message to fuck off. I’m not interested in playing her power games, especially right now.

She gives a nonchalant shrug and examines her manicure. “It’s just that my brother will expect you to look the part of a Petrovich. All of Moscow will be watching your first time out together since announcing your wedding date. It’s important you look”—her eyes rake over me critically—“polished.”

I fight a very strong instinct to push her face-first into the bouquet of hydrangeas in the center of the table.

“I’ll manage with what I have,” I respond, my voice frosty.

“Oh, sure, whatever you want.”

I can sense her eyes still on me, like a vulture circling before the kill.

“I can send my aesthetician over to your place. She’s amazing at threading, you know. She can help you with that facial hair.” Katerina grins like the cat that ate the canary and motions to my upper lip.

I bite my cheek, not allowing her veiled insults to get to me. “Sure,” I say. “How kind of you.”

“I’ll send her over to your house once I’m done. You probably don’t know this, but guys go wild for a full wax—everywhere.” Her eyebrows do a little dance to emphasize her point. “Considering who my date is, I”m aiming for silky smooth.” Her tone drips with insinuation.

I do my best to not take the bait. She obviously has an agenda.

When I say nothing, her mouth tightens and she leans in closer like I’m hard of hearing. “Roman Vasiliev is taking me. He’s been asking me out forever, and I just couldn’t say no any longer.” She shrugs, takes a tube of red lipstick out of her purse, and applies it slowly.

Her news hits me like a punch to the gut.

Roman and Katerina? Out on a date?

Envy flares like an itch under my skin. I don’t like it one bit.

I reach for my water glass in front of me, trying to react like my heart isn’t slamming against my rib cage.

“When a man looks like that,” she purrs, “you know he’ll be amazing in bed. So what if he’s bratva; there’s nothing wrong with a little danger.”

My nails dig into my palms underneath the table. “Roman, really? I had no idea you were his type.”

“Oh, you”d be surprised. Men like Roman—real men—are looking for a woman they know can rule by their side. They”re not interested in”—she makes a flicking motion with her hand that is clearly aimed at me—“a meek little mouse. They want a woman who”s confident and experienced. Up for anything.”

My expression is brittle. “In that case, I hope your date is a success. Seems like you and Roman are a perfect match.”

She gives me an indulgent smile. “You’ll see for yourself, won’t you.” She checks her watch. “I must run. And just a friendly tip: don’t wear red. It makes you look sallow.”

I fight the rush of jealousy flickering in my chest.

Katerina is despicable, and there’s nothing to envy about her. Except for one thing—she’ll be on Roman’s arm, and I won’t.

That alone sets my blood on fire.