Chapter 4
Liliya Lastro.
I don’t like the sound of it at all.
It sounds fake.
Doesn’t roll off the tongue well.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
I’m back in the bridal suite, trying to collect my thoughts after Emilio kicked everyone out.
While I hope they don’t kill Aleksy, fingers crossed he at least gets punched once.
Hard and right in his smug, controlling face.
He needs a good blow to knock some of the arrogance out of him. He’s never had power like this before, and he’s relishing it. It’s getting rather annoying.
The Morozovas run the Russian Bratva in New York City. My dedushka started it in Russia before sending my Uncle Yaroslav to the States to run a sector of the crime organization here. His son and my cousin, Dima, wanted the boss title for himself and recently killed Yaroslav.
Dima’s run as boss didn’t last long. He was killed shortly after by a woman he’d kidnapped.
Karma’s a bitch.
With Uncle Yaroslav and Dima dead, the only man in the States with Morozova blood was Aleksy.
He’s gone from being a mere foot soldier to boss, making life-and-death decisions for a dangerous crime organization. His new position has made him reckless and cruel.
Aleksy’s first power move, as he called it, was setting up an alliance via a marriage contract with the Lombardis. A peace offering on their end since Dima died at the hands of a Lombardi capo’s wife.
I plop down on the sofa in the bridal suite and touch my lips, remembering how Emilio’s felt against them.
I liked it more than I should’ve. For a moment, when his mouth was on mine, I felt peace. I convinced myself that his gentleness meant I was safe from murder.
It was all just a mind game for him.
The door flings open, and my mother walks inside the room. She’s breathless, like the walk to the bridal suite was miles long, and clutches a folded paper against her chest.
She shuts the door and eyes me uneasily while holding out the note in my direction. “Emilio told me to give you this.”
I stare at the note as if it contains anthrax.
She thrusts it closer, so similar to how she had the wedding gown earlier.
I slowly take the note from her and unfold it. My head grows dizzy as I read it.
Pack your bags, my deceitful wife.
You’re mine now.
This note is so on-brand for my new husband.
Of course, he’d send a threat as our newlywed present.
“What does it say?” my mother asks.
I hand her the note without a word. Let her read it herself.
“Wait,” she says in alarm while reading, lowering the note to look at me. “Does this mean …”
“I’m not moving in with him,” I declare, standing to snatch the note back and march across the room. “Absolutely fucking not.”
I refuse to live under Emilio’s roof like some prisoner.
Especially after his little note.
The door opens again, and Aleksy stumbles inside, clutching a bloody tissue to his lip. His blazer is gone, his shirt now wrinkled, and blood speckles the collar. He shuts the door. Mom winces when he kisses her cheeks, and his eyes lock on me.
“No,” I immediately say, already knowing what’s coming.
“Liliya, we have no choice,” he says, his voice nasally. “He’s pissed we didn’t tell him Dasha ran off.”
“Oh, he’s pissed about that?” I seethe, shaking with rage. “What a shocker. It’s almost like I warned you something like this would happen. I begged you to listen to me.”
“We did what we had to do.” His voice turns harsh. “For the family.”
I violently shake my head.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Liliya.” His glare darkens. “It’s happening whether you like it or not. But you will pretend to like it when you’re with Emilio.”
I take deep breaths to stop myself from crying.
“What if I refuse?” I ask as my mother takes my abandoned seat.
“Then Emilio kills you,” he replies with no hesitation, no softness.
Just the truth, stabbing me like a knife to my throat.
“He made that crystal clear. You think I changed the deal? It was him.” Aleksy steps forward, sweat dripping down his forehead.
“If we refuse, he said he’ll kill all of us and hunt down Dasha. ”
A shiver rips down my spine.
“Change into the reception dress,” he instructs before turning on his heel and leaving the bridal suite.
It’s done.
My voice doesn’t matter.
I don’t matter.
I flip off the door, wishing it were to Aleksy’s face and Emilio’s.
As I rip the wedding gown over my head, I know what I have to do.
I’ll go to this reception dinner and pretend to be a good wife, and then, like Dasha, I’ll run.