Chapter 6
DOVE
That motherfucker.
My face is white as I stare at the celebrity gossip show on TV, playing that fucking clip of Bane and I locked in what looks like a passionate kiss yet again.
I knew he was dangerous. I knew he was and cold, and ruthless, and possibly insane.
But Jesus Christ. What happened last night on that roof was some next level psycho shit.
All of that—all of it—just to fuck me over. To lure me in and have me drop my guard, which I never do except when it comes to Lark. And he got me on that fucking night of all nights.
He wasn’t up there to jump. He’s not depressed and tired of the world, of going through the motions. He’s not haunted by survivor guilt, or the demons of addiction.
He was just there because I was, for all the above reasons.
And now he’s nailing me to the fucking wall.
The video and pictures of us are everywhere.
We’re a trending meme, for fuck’s sake. There’s even a clip of it on TikTok set to that goddamn Celine Dion song from Sleepless in Seattle, which for some reason pisses me off even more than the memes, because fuck that stupid movie, and fuck that TikTok video, and fuck the one point two MILLION assholes who’ve watched it already.
I’ve had my phone off all day to avoid the furtive, prodding texts from the girls at ballet. My...friends, I guess you could call them? I’m not really capable of friends, or of letting people in.
Brooklyn gets the closest. But even she doesn’t truly realize how many walls I still have up between us. She doesn’t know that two nights ago, I was flushing a torn-up suicide note down the toilet after barely not jumping.
Because of Bane.
“Should have fucking jumped, little bird.”
That mother. Fucking. Fuckhead.
I’m going to kill him.
“Dove…honey…” My dad sighs heavily, leaning back in his office chair. He’s smiling.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s an easy solution to the problem. Actually, it’s a great solution to the problem. The Antonov family, tied to us through marriage—”
“No,” I spit. “Not fucking happening.”
Standing next to and slightly behind Dad, my stepmother Felicity sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes, petting the little shit of a dog in arms like a comic book villain. “There’s that delightful sailor mouth, as usual—”
“Go fuck yourself, Felicity.”
Dad chuckles as he leans forward, drumming his fingers on the desk.
Felicity scowls when she notices the expression on his face. “You’re amused by the idea of her destroying this family’s reputation?”
“Oh, I think you’ve done a spectacular job of that yourself, Felicity!” I beam at her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing your thunder.”
Her eyes narrow as her overly-filled lips curl. “You little cunt—”
“Felicity…” Dad growls warningly.
“Yeah, Felicity,” I smile sweetly at her. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, young lady? It’s nine PM. Do your parents even know where you are?”
My dad shoots me cold look. Felicity, who’s all of five years older than me, gives me the finger. Chanel, her sewer-rat of a lap-dog, bares her ugly little teeth.
I glance over at my half-sister, Chiara. She's decided to drag herself away from playing wifey to Gio, the son of a mid-level Sicilian don based out of New Jersey, to watch this train wreck unfold back here at home.
She slowly shakes her head while staring fixedly at me. I’m not sure if she’s telling me to stop antagonizing Felicity or if she’s agreeing with me that this is complete bullshit.
“Cesare!” Felicity hisses, aggressively stroking Chanel. “Get angry! Your daughter is out there on TMZ sucking face with some Russian gangster’s kid! He's not even Italian!”
“Aren’t you German and like, Scottish or something, Felicity?” I sigh.
“I’m married to your father!” she screeches. “That makes me Italian!”
“No, that makes you a poster girl for better science education in public school—”
“Enough,” my father grunts. He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his rounded stomach. “This is a blessing in disguise. That’s why I’m not angry.” He shrugs, looking right at me. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to marry you off.”
“No, I would think the general crack-whore aesthetic and junkie background probably would have something to do with—”
“FELICITY!” Dad thunders, turning to glare at his wife. “I said enough.”
He inhales slowly, drumming his fingers on his belly.
“She's right, though.” He lifts his shoulders. “I haven’t seen you up till now as…an option. For marriage.”
“You mean for personal gain,” I mutter.
“For the gain of this family,” Dad growls. “Like your sister has already done.”
I glance at my sister again, aka Mrs. Ferrari.
That’s actually her married name. It’s insane.
Chiara and I have never really been super close. Partly it might be the different moms thing. Mine died during childbirth. Hers was a club bunny dad was married to just long enough to knock up, cheat on, then divorce.
We’ve never really gotten along. Well, maybe we did at one point, but those parts of my memories have never returned.
Honestly, I doubt we ever did.
Maybe that’s why I never felt guilty all the times I secretly snuck back to New York to honor Lark on the 83rd floor—well, except the one year when I was in lock-down at rehab—and never called my own half-sister.
Dad frowns pensively, stroking his chin. “A marriage to the Antonov family,” he muses. “It’s actually…quite appealing.”
“The fuck it is,” I snap.
His smile fades. “I didn’t mean for you,” he mutters. “But for our family…” He starts to grin. “The Antonovs have firepower and men.”
Felicity scowls. “Sugar-bear, we have our own men—”
“Not like they do,” Dad grunts. “The Antonov Bratva is another animal, and it would be foolish to turn this opportunity down.”
Felicity turns her gaze on me, glaring. “But baby, Dove's reputation?”
Dad shrugs. “Her reputation is already trashed. I’m not worried about that.”
Gee, thanks a lot.
He clears his throat and looks at me. “I’ve already spoken to Nikolai. I gave him what he expected—the angry father demanding his son’s balls.” He smirks. “But I know what he’s really after: he wants access to the new waterfront property with its shipping logistics.”
Felicity frowns—or at least I think she’s trying to muscle her botox-frozen forehead into that expression.
“Sugar-bear—”
“He can have it, too. Because he has what we need: the manpower to hold it should any of our enemies decide to get cute and try to take it away.” He shrugs.
“I already know what he’ll propose: firepower and protection, so long as he can use the port too.
” He tilts his head. “Honestly, that’s a great deal. ”
My mouth sours. “So I’m a bargaining chip.”
Chiara snorts quietly in the corner. “Welcome to the conversation, Dove,” she mutters. “Glad you could join us.”
I flip her off as my dad snickers.
“A bargaining chip? You bet your ass that's what you are. That’s a step up from being a reclusive junkie living in my garage, wouldn’t you say?” he snaps.
That hurts. I don’t know why it still hurts after all these years, but it does. But I swallow the lump in my throat and do my best to shrug off the comment.
“Oh, and Dr. Caruso will be by later.”
I flinch when I hear our family doctor’s name. I’ve known the man my entire life, and I’ve never once lost that creep vibe I get from him.
“I just saw him,” I mumble. “My prescriptions are all filled—”
“Not for that.” Dad grunts and clears his throat, looking vaguely amused. “He’ll be running a full STD panel.”
My jaw hits the floor as Felicity snickers.
“Excuse me?!”
Dad shrugs. “The Antonov family is insisting on it.”
I stare at him. “Why are—”
“Please!” Felicity snaps. “You know goddamn well why!”
I glare death at her. “No, Felicity,” I say icily. “I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten—”
“Because you’re a drug addict!” she shrieks. “And God only knows what you might have caught from all the men you’ve—”
“That’s enough,” Dad grunts, making a face and raising a hand to stop Felicity.
“I don’t have any fucking STDs!!!” I spit venomously.
Dad’s face sours again. “That’s a conversation I don’t need to take part in. Regardless, Dr. Caruso will be running a full panel.”
“The fuck does it matter anyway?!” I snap. “It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping with Bane fucking Antonov!”
Chiara snorts again from her spot in the corner.
I whip my head around to glare at her. “I’m not.”
She sighs. “You’re marrying him, Dove.”
“And?!”
She smiles. “And I think you have a lot to learn about arranged marriages.”
I shake my head. “Well, it’s still not happening. And I am not taking any fucking STD—”
“Yes, you are,” Dad says flatly. “But it’s your choice if you want to be sedated for it or not.”
My jaw clenches tightly as my hands close to fists. “And if I say no?”
Dad glares at me coolly. “To?”
“To all of it! To getting a swab jammed up my vag to find non-existent STDs!! To fucking marrying Bane, all because—”
“You were caught with your tongue down his throat!” Felicity hisses shrilly at me. “You stupid little—”
She shrieks, clutching Chanel to her chest and darting behind Dad’s chair as I rush her. Then Dad stands abruptly and stomps in front of me, blocking my path.
“STOP!” he roars.
I do so, my skin on fire and my pulse thundering in my ears.
Dad draws in a slow breath and then lets it out again.
“Everybody out.”
Chiara shrugs, stands, and walks out the door. Felicity lingers for a few seconds, stroking her pet rat, until my dad turns to her and sends her on her way with a “pretty little kitty” that makes me want to puke.
When Felicity finally stops blowing my dad kisses over her shoulder and shaking her Brazilian butt lift at him, and we’re alone, he sighs heavily.
“Sit down, Dove.”
When I don’t, he rolls his eyes as he takes his own seat. “Or not. I don't care either way.”
He leans on his desk, glaring at me. The seconds tick by.
“What?” I finally mumble. “I’m not doing it. And there’s nothing you can threaten me with to force me.”
He snorts. “I could kick you out of the carriage house?”
I shrug. “Fine. I’ll pack tonight. I’m not marrying Bane.”
He looks at me with a bored expression. “You have no money, no job to support your dancing and your fucking painting, both of which pay peanuts—”
“I’ll sell my body for cash before I marry—”
“Or I could simply make a phone call to that fancy rehab facility in Italy and mention that I found needles in your bedroom and that you’re relapsing. You know they’d be happy to take my money to bring you back there, voluntarily or involuntarily. ”
The words hit me like a knife plunging into my heart. Acid and poison seep through my veins. I shiver as my face sours, and I glare right at him.
“Fuck you,” I choke.
Dad just smiles coldly. “I'm sorry, Dove. This is what they call check fucking mate.” He leans his elbows on the table and steeples his hands as he levels an icy gaze at me. “You’re marrying the Antonov boy, or I will burn your world to the fucking ground. Is that clear.”
I look away, doing everything I can to hold back the tears.
“Say it, Dove.”
I swallow past the bitter lump in my throat.
“Clear,” I choke.
“Good. This is happening,” Dad mutters. “You’re marrying Bane, and that's final.”