Chapter 27
“There’s no way Antonio can know,” Aleksy says calmly, lounging behind his desk as if there were no problem. “You’re being paranoid. We’re the only ones who know about this plan.”
I place my hands on the arms of the cracked leather chair, leaning forward. “What is the plan?”
He scratches the back of his neck, not saying a word.
For the past five days, dread has been my closest friend. My appetite is gone again, sleep is a stranger, and I’m almost positive Antonio Lombardi has painted a target on my back.
Emilio’s fever broke that same night. He muttered a simple, “Thanks,” before leaving and not coming home for two days.
I’ve barely seen him, and when I do, he’s quiet and distant. I’ve caught him talking on the phone behind closed doors again, but at this point, I’m too scared to even question him about it.
What little connection we made is gone now.
After Antonio left that day, Maggie asked what he was talking about.
I told her the truth. “I have no idea.”
While not as much as Emilio, Maggie has also become distant. She still shows up every day, makes small talk, and helps clean the home. So far, we’ve mopped and swept all the floors, cleared out all the cobwebs, and cleaned all the windows.
Emilio said he could hire a company to do it, like he does the outside, but I told him I wanted to do it myself. It gets my mind off the mess that is my life.
The night of Emilio’s fever, I texted Aleksy, telling him we needed to talk.
He never replied. Jerk couldn’t even give me a thumbs-up emoji.
We’re only speaking now because my mother called and demanded I attend Uncle Yaroslav’s birthday memorial party. She also insisted I bring Emilio.
He told me he’d rather drink bleach.
I throw my arms out, waiting for Aleksy to speak.
Someone knocks on the door, and Aleksy rocks back in his chair, relieved at the interruption. Anything to prevent him from answering my life-and-death question.
“Come in,” he calls out.
Lev steps inside, standing tall and straightening his suit collar when he notices me. He jerks his chin up and winks in my direction.
I shrivel in my chair, looking away from him, and hold back the urge to roll my eyes. If he’d done that prior to Aleksy becoming boss, I’d have flipped him off.
But now that Aleksy has given him power, I don’t know what he’d do if I did.
I’m not a Lev fan. Not only because he was the first boy I made out with, via a dare. He used soo much tongue, traumatizing me enough to avoid kissing a boy again for a solid year.
He also asked Yaroslav to marry me, which my uncle promptly said no to—thank God. It was the only time I ever appreciated a decision he’d made.
Aleksy stands from his chair. “Come on. The party is waiting.”
I do the same with a disgruntled sigh.
Lev is the first to leave, then me, and Aleksy. We walk straight outside to where the party is.
Not many people showed up to celebrate a man who was truly hated. A few kids are in the pool, a group in the corner is singing karaoke, and others are seated at tables.
I ignore Lev trying to talk to me and slump in the chair beside my mother.
She pinches her lips together.
When I don’t ask her why she’s giving me that look, she does it even more exaggerated, scooting closer to my face.
I turn to her friend, Rita, and start a conversation.
My mother taps my arm. “I think it’s very disrespectful for Emilio not to show up.”
I peer over my shoulder at her and roll my eyes.
“I bet he wouldn’t allow you to miss a Lombardi event,” she adds, swatting a wasp away from her face.
I sink deeper into my chair, not answering to avoid an argument.
“Well?” she pushes. “Do you go to them?”
“Emilio is sick,” I grumble.
“Not too sick to drop you off.”
“Would you have preferred I walk the twenty-five miles?” I fold my arms across my chest, leaning back to pin my glare on her.
“He could’ve at least come in and said hello.”
“I’m sure he’d have felt so welcome,” I say, rolling my eyes again.
Luckily, Rita chimes in on the conversation, asking my mother about the sale of the house. I jerk forward. So much has happened that I forgot she’d sold our home.
“Why’d you sell?” I ask her.
“It’s too big a house to live there alone,” she replies, playing with the gold bracelet on her wrist. “You know how people downsize when their children move out.”
I mirror her pinched expression. “Where do you live now then?”
She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Here, of course.” A breath leaves her. “Well, the pool house.”
“Aleksy wouldn’t even give you your own wing?” I bring my glass to my lips and hold back a smile. “This home has, like, fourteen of them.”
“Your brother needs his privacy to focus on work,” she argues.
I set my glass down to prop my chin up with my fist. “I overheard three women—one of them Dima’s favorite hooker—bragging that Aleksy moved them in and gave them their own wing.”
My mother has always wanted to be the matriarch of the Bratva. She complained to Uncle Yaroslav about it regularly. She wanted the respect he received from other members.
While she may have their so-called respect now, she’ll never have mine, especially after not stopping Aleksy from forcing me down the aisle.
Aleksy cuts the music, stands, and raises his glass to make a toast. I slouch in the chair, rolling my head back, as he rambles on about loyalty, pride, and how the Morozovas will be the most powerful family in the city soon. I start to tune him out until I hear my name.
Everyone turns to look at me, and I grind my teeth.
“And to my dear sister Liliya,” Aleksy says with fake sincerity, “who’s made the ultimate sacrifice for this family. We appreciate everything you have done and will continue to do.”
I rub at my elbows as my ears ring.
“To Liliya,” everyone says, raising their glasses.
I don’t bother with mine.
I don’t even smile.
He’s right about one thing: I have made the ultimate sacrifice for this family.
But what he’s wrong about? The Morozovas will never be the most powerful family in the city, even if I succeed in killing my husband.
The Bratva will die under my brother.
I have to make a choice. Am I a Morozova or a Lastro?