Chapter 1
1
“ M y son should be along any minute now,” Magnus says, tapping his index finger against the mahogany tabletop. It’s the only outward sign of his agitation at his son’s tardiness– his shoulders are relaxed, his lips drawn in an easy smile. Not a single gray hair is out of place atop his head. Nonetheless, that finger just keeps tap-tap-tapping, making my own anxiety spike.
My knee jumps beneath the table, falling into rhythm with the incessant tapping as I wring my hands nervously in my lap, glancing toward the closed door of the dining room for what feels like the hundredth time.
“We’re in no rush,” my father placates, beaming a friendly smile at the man seated across the table. His hand lands on my bouncing knee, squeezing it painfully in a signal for me to be still. I barely conceal my wince at the sting of his fingertips digging into my flesh, my back going ramrod straight against the antique dining chair.
All three of us perk up at the sound of footsteps against the hardwood floor in the hall, looking to the door as the knob turns with a creak before it’s thrust open and a man strides through.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him– because he’s simultaneously the most handsome and terrifying person I’ve ever laid eyes on, both everything and nothing like I expected.
He’s in his late twenties or early thirties; tall and broad-shouldered, outfitted in a black suit that’s perfectly tailored to fit him like a second skin. The charcoal gray dress shirt beneath it is neatly pressed, the top button undone so a hint of his tanned chest peeks from the collar. Prominent cheekbones and a sharp jawline accentuate the symmetry of his frighteningly gorgeous face, and, like his father, not a single hair on his head is out of place. Though where Magnus’ is gray, his is thick and inky black.
A pair of striking green eyes meet my own as he saunters into the room with confidence, the soles of his dress shoes clipping against the hardwood floor. He comes to a stop at the chair across from me and immediately drops his gaze from my face to tour my body– or what he can see of it, from where I’m sitting.
“This is my son, Roman,” Magnus says by way of introduction, chest puffing out with pride as he gestures to the dashing stranger.
My father’s grip on my knee tightens in a silent signal for me to play my part. I flinch at the pain of his grasp, jolting to my feet to introduce myself.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, my throat so tight that my voice sounds shrill. “I’m Eliza.”
Roman swipes a hand over his chin as he continues his perusal, giving me a slow once-over and assessing me with scrutiny. The silence in the room hangs heavy, and I do my best not to squirm beneath the intensity of his cold, soulless stare.
He doesn’t say hello back or give me any sort of greeting. When his eyes slowly traverse up to meet my own once more, he just gives me a shallow nod.
“I approve,” he announces, the deep timbre of his voice echoing through the dining room and sending a chill skittering up my spine. With that simple statement, he drops into his seat at the table, picking up the cloth napkin, fanning it out, and setting it on his lap. “Should we do it this afternoon?”
My mouth falls agape, shock and horror gripping me. I can’t believe he’s being so cavalier about this, like he’s simply trading stock rather than taking a wife.
“I’ll see if Father James is available,” Magnus replies eagerly, rising from his chair and buttoning his suit jacket. “Victor, shall we give these two some privacy?”
“Absolutely,” my father agrees happily. He stands and takes my hand, playing the role of the doting father and leaning in like he’s going to kiss my cheek. Instead, he squeezes my hand tightly in his grip, the bones of my knuckles grinding together as I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. “ Behave ,” he hisses in my ear before brushing his lips against my cheek, abruptly releasing my hand, and turning to follow Magnus out of the room.
“I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised when you came to me with this,” Magnus comments to my father as he pulls the door open and steps through. “I’d thought you already struck a deal with Ilya Belov.”
“All deals are up for negotiation, and you happened to outbid him,” my father responds diplomatically, following him out.
My hands clench into fists at my sides.
The door swings closed behind them and then it’s just me and Roman, alone in the dining room with four gorgeous plates of chicken kiev and roast vegetables spread out on the table. The older men’s meals remain untouched while Roman picks up his silverware and begins cutting into his chicken.
I sink back into my chair across from him, smoothing down the front of my dress and lifting my napkin to place it on my lap. The dining room is silent save for the scrape of Roman’s silverware against the plate as he carves off a piece of chicken, bringing his fork to his mouth to take a bite.
“So, um, this is a little weird, huh?” I ask, chuckling uncomfortably as I pick up my own silverware.
He doesn’t even look up. Roman just finishes chewing, swallows, and slices off another piece of meat.
My own stomach is painfully empty, and sitting in this room with a plate of food in front of me for the last twenty minutes was akin to torture. I delicately cut into a green bean, spearing a tiny piece with my fork and bringing it to my mouth.
It tastes like heaven. Buttery and fresh, with the perfect amount of seasoning. I chew it slowly, minding my table manners rather than wolfing down the meal in front of me like I really want to.
After I swallow the bite, I decide to make another attempt at conversation. “So, do you live nearby, or…?”
I flinch as he drops his fork to his plate with a heavy clatter, his emerald eyes darting up to meet mine.
“Do I look like the sort of man who would have any trouble getting a woman on my own?”
My mouth drops open in shock as I stare back at him, wondering if it’s a trick question. But he doesn’t elaborate further, and every tense beat of silence makes me grow increasingly uncomfortable as his gaze remains fixed on mine.
“No,” I finally respond.
He purses his lips, tilting his head. “So do you know why I agreed to this arrangement?”
“I… I’m not sure,” I stammer, my knee starting to bounce beneath the table again anxiously. “Alliances? Power?”
He lifts his knife, pointing the tip in my direction. “Because women in this life know their role. To be seen and not heard.”
Roman stares at me for a moment longer, as if to make sure his message sinks in. Then he picks up his fork, resuming eating his lunch.
I’ve lost my appetite.
Still, I pick up my own fork, pushing a green bean around my plate idly while I sneak another glance at the man seated across from me through my eyelashes.
He doesn’t look back.
He doesn’t speak again.
He just keeps eating his food, as if I’m not even in the room.
I’m not sure how much time passes. It can only be ten minutes or so, but it feels like hours. I nibble on another green bean, then pick up my water glass, wetting my parched throat with a sip.
Finally, the dining room door opens again and Magnus strides in with my father in tow, both looking positively gleeful.
“Father James just arrived,” Magnus provides.
“Excellent,” Roman replies with a nod, lifting his napkin from his lap and wiping the corner of his mouth. He pushes his chair back, the wooden legs screeching against the floorboards. “In the office, then?”
“What? Now?” I blurt, my panicked gaze darting between my husband-to-be and my father.
The latter shoots me a glare of disapproval and I snap my mouth closed, wishing the ground would just open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole.
This was supposed to be a simple meeting; an introduction to see if Magnus’ son was interested in taking me as his wife. They’re not really expecting us to take our vows right now, are they?
“Come, Eliza,” My father instructs, his sharp tone brokering no room for argument.
I slide my chair back and rise to my feet, smoothing down the front of my silk dress. It’s fitting that I wore black today. This feels more like a funeral than a wedding.
My knees wobble as I cross the room, my hand shaking as I place it in my father’s outstretched palm.
I don’t want to go through with this, but being damned to a life of misery is my penance, isn’t it? I behaved badly, falling into bed with the first man who gave me a crumb of his attention, much to my father’s embarrassment. No daughter of his should be fraternizing with the help. No daughter of an organized crime family should dare to think she has free will.
The walk through the darkened hallways to Magnus’ office feels like a march to my own execution. I know nothing about Roman Volkov; even less about the business he’s embroiled in with my father. All I do know is that he’s high-ranking in the Bratva and with this union, I’m doomed to a life marred with violence and heartache until the day I draw my last breath, just as my mother was.
I watched her grieve a series of tragedies– the loss of her brother, the loss of her father– before a tragic accident of her own took her from me when I was nine. I narrowly escaped my own death that day. She pushed me from the wreckage of our car before it became fully engulfed in flames, but her screams still haunt me.
The nasty burn scar covering my left bicep is an ever-present reminder of the accident and the reason I always wear sleeves. The sight of it triggers my father, so I’ve learned to cover up to appease my only remaining relative. I tried wearing something sleeveless to this meeting today just to spite him, but he took one look at me, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and ordered me to change. He doesn’t want my suitor to see that he’s peddling damaged goods, after all.
What will Roman think when he takes me to bed and I don’t bleed like a virgin?
I suppose it’ll be too late at that point. Apparently, we’re doing this right now, in a rushed ceremony in a damned office . It isn’t exactly the fairytale wedding most little girls dream of.
Not that I ever allowed myself to have those dreams.
Magnus and Roman walk side by side ahead of us, both their figures looming large in the hallway and eating up the width of it. My father’s hand is still gripped securely around mine, as if he’s afraid I’ll try to run.
Where would I go?
I resigned myself to this fate the moment I was caught with Wesley, a member of our household staff. My father put a pistol to his head and threatened to decorate the walls with his brain matter if I didn’t obey, so here I am, selling my soul because I dared to step a toe over the line. Because I was foolish enough to act on my own selfish impulses.
We’re led into a large office at the back of the house, the side walls lined with dark wooden bookcases and the rear wall adorned with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling gardens of the estate. It would almost be picturesque if it wasn’t for the aged priest standing in front of them, holding a bible in his hands and poised to sentence me to an eternity of suffering.
I stumble a step and my father squeezes my hand so tightly in his grip that my bones feel as if they could shatter. He darts me a warning glare– as if I need it– then relinquishes his grasp, nudging me to join Roman in standing before the priest.
The old man cracks a smile, flashing his yellowed teeth as his gaze slides from me to my betrothed. “Do you want the full version, or…?”
“Just make it quick,” Roman snaps, straightening his shirt cuffs impatiently.
The priest nods, clearing his throat and tipping his head down to read from the book in his hands, his raspy voice wavering. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
I feel like I disassociate from my body as he speaks. The only thing I can hear is the blood rushing to my ears; the only thing I can feel is the erratic pounding of my own heart. It isn’t until I find the priest looking to me expectantly that I come back into myself, right as he speaks the last line: ‘ til death do you part . My tongue feels like it’s stuck in molasses as my mouth moves to form the words, “I do.”
“Do you have rings?” the priest asks Roman.
He waves him off dismissively. “We’ll get them later.”
The old man nods uncertainly, snapping his book closed. “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He doesn’t tell Roman to kiss his bride, and I’m glad for it. With the way bile is currently crawling up my throat, I’d probably vomit all over his shiny Italian loafers.
Magnus approaches with a piece of paper, borrowing the priest’s bible for backing so we can scrawl our signatures on the marriage license. The ink hasn’t even dried before Roman abruptly turns on a heel, stalking toward the door.
“Let’s go,” he orders gruffly.
I stand there frozen for a moment, gawking after him.
Go where?
I turn to my father, the question on the tip of my tongue, but he just impatiently gestures for me to follow my new husband, mouthing the word ‘ GO’ .
So, I do. My movements are stiff as I follow the sound of Roman’s retreating footsteps out into the hall, trailing behind him through the house to the foyer, then outside to a black town car parked at the curb. A driver is there holding the door open for us, and Roman ducks in first, sliding all the way to the other side and pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I take a deep breath as I slip onto the cold leather seat, casting a nervous glance Roman’s way. The windows of the town car are blacked out, the light of his phone screen illuminating his face in an eerie glow. The door closes behind me, and moments later, the driver takes his seat up front, rolling up the partition to conceal himself from sight.
I flinch when the vehicle lurches forward, glancing out the darkened window as we pull away from the circle drive. I don’t dare to speak. I just watch out the window, memorizing the route we take while I fantasize about escaping this mess I’ve found myself in.
Not that I’d have anywhere to run to.
I can’t return to my father’s house. I have no money, nothing of my own. I could try to contact Wesley, but even if he did want to escape with me, we’d be doomed to a life on the run, constantly looking over our shoulders.
The only thing left to do is accept my fate and hope that my eventual death will be a quick one.
My mind slips away to a dark place as we travel, full of macabre memories and horrific imaginings of what lies ahead. After what feels like forever, the car finally turns up a long driveway framed by tall trees on either side. I look ahead expectantly, but I don’t see a house– it’s just an endless driveway that seems to go on for miles until finally, I make out the silhouette of a large castle-like building emerging ahead. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, knee bouncing anxiously.
The driver pulls up in the shadow of the crumbling old mansion, shifting the car in park, getting out, and coming around to open the door. Only then does Roman look up from his phone, turning his attention to me for the first time since we left his father’s house.
“I’ll arrange to have your things delivered this afternoon,” he states.
I nod, shuffling out of the back seat and rising to stand outside the car. I pause when I realize Roman hasn’t made any move to follow, glancing back in at him.
“You’re not coming?” I ask warily.
He frowns, the muscle in his jaw feathering in irritation. “I have somewhere to be.”
Before I can ask another question, Roman nods to the driver, who closes the car door to seal him off from me.
Drawing a shuddering breath, I turn to stare up at the ghoulish stone facade of the mansion, a deep sense of foreboding settling over me.
The driver steps up beside me, tipping his head toward the oversized front door. “Welcome home.”