04
Each time I cross paths with Torren Costa, he disrupts the fabric of my reality. Tears my life into irrecoverable pieces, then sets each piece alight — with a front row ticket to watch it all go up in flames.
I always disliked the Costas for the way they treated us. Like outsiders. Something to be stepped and trampled on, even when my Papa paid his dues. They fed us lies about how we’d benefit from it in the form of protection.
Protection. I scoff. The only protection we ever needed was from the Costas themselves. I disliked them, but after today, there’s a red hot hatred festering deep in my chest. It grows wilder each second, chewing up my insides.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
He pulled a gun on Papa without any remorse then watched as Morozov blood spilled, the corner of his lips tipped up, like he enjoyed it. Lived off of it — a sadist with nothing to lose. Vicious. Feral.
And when I’d met his gaze, his dark eyes were void of emotion. Dead. Like the men who bled out on the carpets in Papa’s office. But somehow . . . somehow he was still condescending. He looked at me like I was beneath him. Like I was as good as the ground he walked on.
Anxiety brews in my chest as I place my fingers on the locket around my neck. The Costas left, and we’re all still in the lounge, soaking up the situation while waiting for the family doctor to allow us to see Papa, who’s getting treated.
Right now, Ana’s perched on the edge of the food table, heels discarded as her bare feet swing back and forth.
Her white Chanel off-shoulder sundress is creased and hangs low, showing a bit too much cleavage.
She stares at no one in particular as she says, “I dieted for a whole week to look good for this engagement.”
She stuffs her face with the strawberry cheesecake she baked for the engagement. “I made this amazing cheesecake and I resisted the urge to eat it the whole time. Do you know how hard it was?”
There are rare moments when she drops the I’m perfect act. This is one of them.
“I was so hungry,” she wails.
I ignore her breakdown.
Somehow, she still looks pretty with her cheeks stuffed. Like an angry squirrel girl. A deep frown mars her face. “And he didn’t even look at it, Frey!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure he would’ve loved your cheesecake, Ana. Unfortunately, he was too busy shooting our father.”
Annoyed, she pouts, not bothering to dust away the cheesecake crumbs at the side of her mouth.
Next to her on the couch, Mama seethes as she takes a long drag from her cigarette before her cold gaze settles on me. “What have you done, malen’kaya ved’ma?”
I try to still my shaking hands, blinking back tears as the view of the ring on my finger turns blurry. “I didn’t do anything.”
It’s a beautiful ring, but the diamond is too big. Too gaudy for me. Big, bold, bright. It’s more my sister’s style.
There’s dried blood on my skin from helping Papa to the room, and I keep trying to pull the ring off, but it won’t budge, so I give up.
Ana swings her legs as she stares blankly at the floor. “What am I supposed to do now?”
I lift a brow as I glance up at her. “You wanted to marry him?”
She sighs. “I don’t know, Freya. I’m . . . confused. And tired. I just want this to be over. It’s been the story of my life for five years now.” She looks up at me. “I wonder if he’ll change his mind.”
A knot forms in my throat. She wants the devil to change his mind? After everything she went through? A frown touches my lips. “Have you ever heard of Torren Costa changing his mind?”
“He changed his mind for you,” she points out.
I scowl. “Not for me. To piss Papa off.”
Mama intervenes. “Just shut it, Freya. We will stitch up your father and try to fix things. I’ve already sent Sergei to the Costas for damage control.”
It’s always been like this. Papa takes my side and Mama takes Ana’s. Sometimes I wonder how we even made it this far as a family.
As I look between my sister and mother, I let out a harsh breath. It’s almost scary, how similar they are. Ana is a younger replica of Mama. Both have blonde hair with green eyes and model-like features.
Leaning against the wall, I flip my back to them, shielding myself from the suffocating weight of Mama’s hurtful gaze. Her hand on Ana’s is etched in my memory. When was the last time Mama held my hand? The last time she looked at me with something other than anger? Resentment?
I touch my locket as cold pain spreads through my chest. It feels as if my heart is being stretched in a million directions, and I’m not sure if it can survive another pull.
Down the corridor, I catch sight of Sergei’s salt and pepper hair. Ripe with hope that he was able to make amendments with the Costas, I waste no time rushing to him. “What did they say?”
He’s silent, and I see my crestfallen expression reflected in his eyes. My heart plummets. “How did he know about me? About my age?”
“Your father kept you as a secret very well, devochka. But even he can’t help rumors from spreading.”
I frown. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who believes rumors.”
“Rumors combined with . . . deduction.”
I knit my brows. “What do you mean?”
Sergei shifts on his feet. “The way your father defends you? It’s not the same for anyone else. He hasn’t touched his gun in years. Dimitri and I handle that part just fine. The hellhound must have put two and two together.”
Anger pours out of my veins as I pace the marble floors. “How dare he? He shot Papa, Sergei! In his own house. That rude, arrogant asshole!”
“I agree, but listen, Freya—”
My head whips to him. “You agree?”
“Well, yes,” Sergei shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “He is an asshole.”
An amused breath leaves me, despite everything.
But there’s no jest in Sergei’s eyes. He just shakes his head sombrely. “You’re to meet with him tomorrow for lunch before the official engagement party.”
My smile dies.
“Lunch?” I exclaim, “Engagement party?!”
“For PR,” Mama says calmly from behind me, “You know how much the Costas like to keep appearances. Feds are cracking down. They need to maintain their image.”
“If he wanted a proper engagement—” I grit my teeth, turning to face her. “Then why did he shove this stupid fucking ring on my hand?!”
Anger fills Mama’s gaze. “Watch your mouth, Freya! I warned you to stay away from the engagement, but you did not! And now look what you’ve done. You’ve created a mess! Blyad’!”
“The dog chased me, Mama!” I cry, throwing my hands in the air. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Then you should have stayed in the garage and let that dog maul you to death before you even thought of disobeying an order!”
I draw a harsh breath, staring at her in disbelief.
“Mama,” Ana placates.
But she ignores everyone, steamrolling ahead. “This is all your Papa’s fault! He’s spoilt you rotten! Now what is your poor sister meant to do?”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Ana chimes.
I roll my eyes. “You finished an entire damn cheesecake, of course you’re—”
“Greta?”
The doctor in charge of treating Papa emerges from the guest room, looking between us like a fish out of water.
“He’ll be alright,” he says, “Don’t put too much strain on the arm and make sure you bandage the wound properly. We don’t want an infection to develop.” His gaze lands on Dimitri. “Here’s the prescription.”
Sergei and Mama share a breath of relief. Dimitri reaches forward, taking the piece of paper with the prescription from the doctor. He motions to two men guarding the guest room to follow him before leaving.
“Freya,” Papa rasps from inside the room. I look to Mama, but she ignores me. Sighing, I walk inside. Sergei follows me, stopping just at the door.
Inside the guest room, Papa lays in bed, his cut and bloodied dress shirt replaced with a fresh cotton one, a thick white bandage wound around his arm. His grey hair is pushed out of his face.
The bullet only pierced flesh, but Papa is old. I don’t want to think about what it would mean if were to have lodged itself somewhere else.
Papa’s gaze is fixed on the ring on my finger. He shoots me a forlorn look, brow furrowed. Eyes downturned. “I’m sorry, lisenok.”
My vision blurs.
His jaw is clenched. “You won’t go through with this. Sergei —”
“Mama already sent him to them.” I clamp down on my jaw. “They’re standing by their decision.”
Papa exhales deeply. There’s a long pause before he finally speaks again. “Our family is in a weak position until I recover. The boy knew what he was doing.”
“Why can’t we tell him the truth?” I knit my brows. “He won’t want me anymore if he knows.”
Papa shakes his head. “You do not understand. The truth makes no difference because—” He takes a labored breath. “He knows what you mean to me. I never should have let my emotions get the better of me.”
Sinking into the armchair opposite his bedside, I bury my face in my hands. How did Torren figure it all out so quickly? What we’d spent five years trying to build — how did he manage to crumble it in seconds?
“Listen to me, Freya,” Papa manages, “Look at me.”
I listen this time, meeting his gaze. His eyes are tired. Weary. “I never wanted you to go through what Ana would be forced to go through. I never wanted that for either of you. But she was older than you, and it was inevitable, and I made my peace with it, even though I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Papa—”
“Listen. She is trained to handle those hot-blooded Italians. But you? I—” He stutters. “I thought I had a few more years left with you. Do not marry him. Your Papa will make a plan. I am still here. Still alive. And I am asking you to wait. We’ve already stalled them this long.”
“At a price.” I grip the arms of my chair, frustrated. “He shot you, Papa. The Costas don’t honor their agreements, and they don’t care for negotiations. They have no loyalties. I won’t stand by and watch anymore. Not when I’m old enough to do something this time.”
Papa closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Do not do it, Freya.”
I was seven when the nightmares got bad — when Papa swore he’d keep me as far away from the family business as he could. And he did. He kept me a secret and gave me a normal life.
“You can’t keep me safe forever,” I say, swallowing the knot at my throat.
I should’ve known I’d have to pay for taking so much of the freedom I didn’t deserve. Ana was never afforded the same opportunity as me. Our father never coddled or protected her from her nightmares. Maybe it was time for me to take the weight off her shoulders.
“Let me do this.” I strengthen my voice. “Let me save Ana.”
My father shakes his head, an implacable emotion in his eyes.
“If you agree to meet him, it will be too late, Freya. It will show them that it was your choice—”
I shake my head. We both know that it’s futile hanging on to pieces of thread. There’s no such thing as choice. Ana never had a choice, and neither do I.
I agreed to this engagement to save my father from that volatile Costa asshole, but I’ll never get into a white dress for him at the altar.
I won’t marry anyone, let alone a blood-mongering psychopath.
I’m going to find a way out of this engagement. One way or another. If Torren wants to meet, fine. We’ll meet.
But on my terms.
I turn to Sergei, who’s stationed at the door, quietly listening. “Tell him I can’t do tomorrow.”