Chapter Twelve
In which sometimes, only another woman married to an insanely hot Bratva guy understands you.
Later that evening…
Liria…
This is such a good night.
Violet called, inviting me over to help consume what she claimed was the biggest charcuterie board ever created.
"I was shopping at Agata it takes only seconds to like her.
"I really can't tell you how much we appreciate this," she says, fidgeting with the napkin on her lap.
"You all have every reason to hate us…" her lip trembles, but she carries on.
"What happened between our families was horrifying and yet, you've been nothing but welcoming to us.
I can't tell you the relief of knowing that my daughter is going to be here with you. "
The unspoken part, of course, is that it's lucky because my husband is a hateful bastard who wants nothing to do with me. It's unspoken, but it's the truth, laid out on the table, uncomfortable and exposed.
"We completely understand the anger and the bitterness, even though we've been out of that life for so long.
My half-brother was a stupid, greedy, bloodthirsty bastard.
I'm so sorry that your family had to suffer because of him, and if I can be of any value to your Bratva…
" I'm floundering here, not sure what to say.
What value do I have? "If there's anything I can do that would help redeem your faith in Mom and me. I would be happy to," I finish lamely.
Violet smiles, her amber eyes are warm and kind. "You don't know it yet, but you are lucky enough to have landed in the best family in North America."
"Not just an organized crime family, but any family," Ava adds. "They accepted me, and then Violet without hesitation. In fact, Violet, tell her about your re-wedding in St. Petersburg in two weeks."
"You're getting married again?" I ask.
Violet launches into the explanation of how Roman had tricked her into signing a marriage license. "A little fact that I didn't discover until a corporate bastard tried to force me to marry him a few weeks later."
"Oh, that is epic!" I'm laughing again. "I can picture the expression on that nasty prick's face!"
She nodded. "It was almost worth getting kidnapped just for that moment."
"You're so delightfully spiteful," Rose says approvingly. "I think we might bring you to the dark side yet, my dear sister."
It's well after midnight when we hear cars pull up outside.
Roman and Violet live in a beautiful residential neighborhood, one of the prettiest streets in New York.
With nice, well-bred wealthy neighbors. Who are no doubt peeking out their windows in horror.
Because the black, rolling tanks that pull up to the house, I realize with rising nausea, belong to my father when the car door opens, and he steps out.
The human version of the black plague here to spread his blight over the first happiness we've found since he left his Albanian lair.
It starts as aggressive words, uttered low, the men trying to keep their voices down and then rises into something far more threatening.
"I will let Mrs. Morozova know that you are here," the loudest voice is one of Violet's personal guards, I think.
We all rise and head for the front windows until another guard hastily steps over and urges us back.
I can see at least twelve Krasniqi men facing off against the Morozov contingent.
Hands are already in jackets, threateningly holding onto guns.
Dritan Krasniqi stands there, the evil bastard, enjoying the rising tension.
I'm not thinking, that's clear, because I stride down the hall before the guard can catch me and slam open the front door. "What are you doing here!" I shout and he turns to me, his mouth drawing tight, his glittering black eyes promising some kind of punishment for this.
"We're having a simple dinner with our new in-laws," I say. "Developing relationships, wasn't that what you wanted, Papa?" I emphasize the "P," spitting it out like it tastes bad.
He glides closer, the click of his cane on the sidewalk is painfully clear, both sides standing alert, waiting for the next move.
"You've grown quite a temper in the last twenty-four hours," he observes.
"Thinking that you can disrespect me this way?
Thinking, no doubt…" He steps closer and my breath freezes in my chest, standing in front of him like I'm that sixteen-year-old girl again, begging him not to let his men hurt me.
"Thinking that your husband might protect you? "
A long, cruel smile spreads across his lips and I flush, humiliated. I doubt my husband would protect me from anything. Last night could not have made it more painfully clear, the contempt that the male contingent of the Morozov Bratva has for this marriage. Most specifically, Alexsey.