The Vendetti Soldier (The Vendetti Famiglia #7)

Prologue

Maybe I’m too late to be your first. But right now, I’m preparing myself to be your last. - Unknown

Mischa

I can’t stop scanning the various articles on the latest Vendetti wedding. Dante Vendetti married Emilia Morelli, merging two powerful Italian families, both with strong ties to the mafia. It’s all the talk of the underground, according to Papa.

“Mischa! Did you see what FashionUSA just posted?” my brother, Rorik, practically screams as he runs into my room. He tends to be a bit dramatic about the Vendetti weddings, as do I.

“What? No?” I ask, not sure if I have or haven’t actually seen what he’s talking about.

We’ve always been kind of obsessed with the various mafia families and learning whatever we could about them. Most of them grew up feuding in America, whereas Rorik and I were stuck in Russia until we could convince Papa we wanted to attend an Ivy League college in the States. He allowed us to go to business school, all in favor of the Bratva becoming more business-savvy because of it. Anyway, Rorik and I had the time of our lives with the leash Papa wields over us finally being loosened. We both received our degrees, but Papa is not on board with us going for our master’s degrees, so he’s made us come home, stuck to online university. I think we’re both going a little stir-crazy being stuck back home, and the fact that we missed out on the wedding of the century has us both a little hostile toward our family.

Rorik sits beside me on my bed, setting his laptop down in front of us. I have mine open to the dark web, scanning through various coded chats. I’m being nosy, waiting to see if someone orders a hit out on the newest Vendetti wife. The Vendetti Devil is known to be as devastating a killer as the head of the Empire, Ruthless Vendetti. I pity the fool who stands against them, and that’s coming from a Bratva printsessa who’s grown up in the life.

My brother hits the spacebar, and his laptop screen comes back on. Right there on the lighted display is the most stunning wedding picture. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all beautiful; every single Vendetti couple is pretty to the point you’d think they were vampires or something. But this dress…

“ Blood red ?” I gasp. “Her gown is blood red? I know her ring is, but this is…”

“I know. Dante looks like he’s ready to raze down the world for her.”

“Do you think she wore red lace on purpose?” I ponder, staring hard at the screen as if I can possibly work out what she was thinking. What would I do if I were in her position? Dante Vendetti has been a hot commodity ever since the head of the family was married off and became the Capo.

“As in she wore it on purpose for a red wedding ?” His voice is wistful with the words as his eyes light up at my suggestion. “Fucking epic! They’re next level. I bet it was a dare, seeing if anyone would step forward and get bloody.”

“A Morelli and a Vendetti. Merging as one , you know the power trip is real in that house.”

He nods, scrolling through the page so we can both read the entire article. He offhandedly mumbles while reading, “The only couple more powerful right now would be if a Bratva member married a Vendetti. I know it’s already arranged for the next generation with our cousin, but a marriage now would be a bigger union than a Morelli. The power of those two families would be untouchable, especially if the roots were deep enough to run straight from Moscow.”

His words ring true to the point I can envision them as if they were my own. The moment I saw her dress, I knew I wanted to be in the next .

Standing in the most beautiful gown I can find, holding onto the arm of my very own Vendetti.

I’d already been working on something before Rorik showed me this article, but it’s set my plans in stone now. Without a word, I stand, set my laptop on my desk, and grab my robe. Papa would be pissed if anyone saw me in my pajamas, even if they aren’t revealing, and I’m an adult.

“Where are you going?” I pause at Rorik’s question. He glances at me, his eyes bugging out with my determined expression. “No way, Mischa! You’re already betrothed; you’re only going to piss Papa off.”

“Am I?”

“What?”

“Betrothed.”

He huffs. “You haven’t fought it before, and now is definitely not the time to begin. I beg you, don’t do this. It’s been set in stone since you were ten years old.”

Shrugging, I grin. “Not anymore.” I take off in a jog, calling, “Papa! I need to speak to you, please. You’ll never guess what I’ve found out.”

“What is it, printsessa?” Papa asks the moment I’m over the threshold to his office. I don’t spare a glance at the men he has around; they’ve practically become part of the décor. I’m so used to their presence.

I offer him a sympathetic smile, attempting to look as sorry as possible. “Can we?” I gesture to his men, playing up the severity of my news.

He nods immediately, “Of course, my girl. I always have time for you, you know this.” He sends the men away with a flick of his wrist, and I close the door behind them. His brows scrunch as I come around his desk and take his hand in mine. I pop a kiss on his cheek as I’ve done since I was a little girl. “What is this, Mischa?” His concern has me biting back my pleased smirk at his unwavering attention when it comes to me.

“Papa, you’ll never guess what I’ve learned on the dark web.”

He releases a breath, frowning. “You know I told you to stay off of there. It is no place for you to be poking around, we have many enemies. You are too smart, my daughter. I do not wish for anyone to learn as much.”

I continue, unperturbed by his underhanded compliment on my intelligence. I know he silently prides himself on me being highly intelligent. “It’s your accountant, Papa. He’s been stealing from you and selling information.”

His cheeks grow ruddy, our Russian temper coming out in full force as he bursts from his seat, flinging everything from his desk while swearing. I silently watch for a few beats, enjoying the fact he trusts me implicitly to not even question the information I’ve given him. That old man I’m supposed to marry will be dead in no time, and I’ll be free, for a new husband .

“You must be miserable inside, after all this time expecting to marry, and now you will be alone until I can find another who may be suitable. I’m sorry, printsessa; forgive your papa for making a poor choice. I will do better with the next, I promise you.”

“I knew you’d be beside yourself when you heard the news. Anyway, Papa, it got me thinking on who could possibly benefit you and the organization the most.”

He pats my hand, smiling lovingly at me as he takes a seat again, ignoring the new mess on the opposite side of his desk. “ Da ? And what did you learn, my smart Mischa?”

“I want to marry a Vendetti, Papa.”

“ Anything for my girl.”