CHAPTER SEVEN
You’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep.
Ari
Ma’s voice drones on, each word a needle pricking my skin. I sit in the library, back rigid, hands clenched in my lap, while my mother paces before the fireplace. The room is suffocating with its heavy drapes, ornate furniture, and shelves crammed with books no one touches.
“You will not embarrass this family during the wedding, Arianna,” she snaps, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Every step is a reminder of all the times I’ve disappointed her.
I swallow the retort burning on my tongue. There’s no point. This isn’t a conversation. It’s an execution. But one that I thankfully won’t have to endure for much longer.
The door swings open, and Franco strides in, his presence as sharp as a blade cutting through Ma’s cold lecture. She stops mid-sentence, a rare sight, her dominance shrinking the moment her oldest son enters the room. I feel the tension shift, the balance of power tipping.
“No need to keep whipping the horse, Ma. It’s already hitched to the cart.” Turning to me, I see his expression soften.
“Thanks for the equine comparison. It makes me feel all warm inside.”
“I do what I can.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s go, I’m gonna drive you to Gianna’s so you can see your goddaughter.”
I try to keep the surprise from my expression as I stand and take his hand. “What happened to all your minions?”
“I need to talk to Alexey, so we might as well carpool.”
“We’re becoming environmentalists; how lovely.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He leads me out of the room. “Save the world, blah, blah, blah.”
Once we’re in the car and Vince is driving like the devil is chasing us, I turn and study my brother. “What’s really going on?”
Franco’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it, turning his full attention to me for the first time. His eyes soften just a fraction, and it’s enough to catch me off guard. “Ari… you’re a warrior. Always have been.” He pauses, his expression tightening as if he’s fighting to say what’s next. “I want you to take your fucking sword into this marriage and protect yourself at all costs.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “And here, I thought you were done protecting me and happy to send me off to the Russian prison.”
He looks out the window. “Never. And don’t underestimate what you can do in this marriage. You’re not a pawn in this, Ari. You’re a Bianchi, and Bianchis carve their own way, even in the worst situations.”
“True.” I lean back and silently vow not to become the first casualty in the alliance.
Minutes later we pull through the gates that protect the Pakhan’ s estate. I count six bratoks at the gate and another dozen as we make our way down the lane. Will I soon be living under similar circumstances?
I see two soldiers standing in front of the doors and wonder if I will ever get used to living among the cold Russians.
Vincenzo’s hand stays on his holster as he opens the car door for me. Is this my future? Being constantly judged by people who were enemies until recently?
Franco nods, and I slide across the seat and see two bratoks glare at me as I straighten my dress. “Jeez. Talk about a warm welcome.”
Franco joins me. “We’ve been taking shots at one another for years, so it would be strange if they acted differently.”
“And how does the Bratva treat Gianna?”
“Like the Pakhan’ s wife,” my brother replies succinctly. “They will lay down their lives if it means savings hers.”
I silently question if that would be true if push came to shove.
“Ari!” Gianna stands inside the door with a big smile. “The principessa is waiting to see her godmother.”
“Coming.” I grab the pink bag filled with gifts and walk quickly into my cousin’s open arms. Hugging her tightly, I silently appreciate that I have someone to help me navigate the dangerous waters I’m about to enter.
Ten minutes later, we are settled in the library, and I am holding a beautiful infant who bears the unimaginable responsibility of keeping two families from tearing each other apart. “Sophia, you have no idea what rests on your tiny shoulders.”
“Like any Bianchi, she is up to the challenge,” Gianna remarks as she pours two espressos from a small pot.
“What about the Volkov side?” I ask, tracing the baby’s soft cheek. “What will that do for her?”
“When she’s ready to rule a kingdom, she will have the tenacity to succeed.” Gianna winks and holds out her hands. “Let me put her in the bassinet while we have coffee.”
With surprising reluctance, I hand Sophia to her mother. “You are glowing cousin. Is motherhood responsible?” She covers the baby with a light blanket and smiles as though she knows the world’s secrets.
“Partly.” She hands me a demitasse of coffee. “I also have a wonderful husband who’s an attentive father.”
I picture Maxsim’s brother and wonder how such a brutal man can be described with such glowing adjectives. “I suppose that should give me some comfort since I’m about to join you in the gulag .”
“Alexey told me last night.” Gianna covers my hand. “And given what Gio did, I think it’s good news.”
“A cage is a cage.” I sip my coffee slowly. “Does it really matter who’s holding the key?”
Gianna watches Sophia sleep, her expression soft but her words sharper than before. “Maxsim isn’t a monster—at least, not the kind you’re thinking. He’s ruthless, yes, but there’s a method to it. He values strength, loyalty, and control above all else. He’s not like the men who let their emotions rule them. You’ll know where you stand. Just don’t expect it to be on equal footing—at least not at first.” She looks up. “The Bratva is colder than what we grew up with, but the Volkov men burn hotter than most Sicilians.”
Her words cut deeper than I expect. “I’m not afraid of him, Gianna.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “But that’s not the problem, is it?”
I look down at my hands. “I would love to say he’s nothing more than a well-dressed black hole that extinguishes all the light around him, but it wouldn’t be the whole truth.”
“You told me two years ago at my birthday party that he was the sexiest man you’d ever encountered.” She smiles knowingly and I shake my head.
“He’s going to expect immediate obedience, which I cannot give.”
“I think that’s exactly what he’s banking on.” She adjusts the baby’s blanket, and I notice the Pakhan standing in the doorway. “Arianna, your brother needs you in the other room.”
“Alright.” I push myself to my feet. “Be back in a second, G.”
“Second door on your left,” Alexey adds, pointing toward a door down the hall.
I follow his directions and see a Brava soldier standing outside the door. Why would he be guarding my brother? Are they afraid Frano will wander the halls and discover all their Russian secrets?
The man nods to me as I approach, and something niggles my memory. Was this the one I saw chatting up Gio’s father at the party? I shake it off. I’ve been imagining threats around every corner lately.
“Ms. Bianchi.” Opening the door, he gives me a respectful tip of his head.
I step inside and let out a little gasp. Maxsim stands by the window, his back to me as he surveys the grounds like a king studying his kingdom.
The atmosphere holds a charge, and I wonder if it’s simply the result of two combustible forces being in close proximity.
Or the thing we refuse to acknowledge.
He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. We just stare at each other. The next moment could be anything. An explosion. A war of words. Or an argument so damaging that we never make it down the aisle.
Maxsim finally speaks; his voice is quiet but sharp as a blade. “Arianna.”
“The devil himself.” His eyes lock onto mine, unblinking, as if he’s trying to see through me. “What did you do with your horns and tale?”
“Left them at home.” He steps closer, and I still. “And for the record, I’m more Hades than Satan.”
“Seems accurate.” I tilt my head slightly, letting the silence stretch just enough to show I’m not intimidated. “Your chilly lord of the underworld vibe is impossible to ignore.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“I’m not surprised.” His thumb slides over the corner of his mouth as his lips form a smirk.
“Why are you doing this, Max?” Impatience and frustration swirl in my chest, and I notice for someone so adept at violence, his gaze is remarkably warm.
“There’s a lot at stake, Ari.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, despite knowing exactly what he’s getting at. Control. Power. And the precarious balance between the two.
“Everything.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “This isn’t a game. One wrong move and both our families will pay the price.”
“I have no interest in games,” I shoot back sharply.
His eyes narrow slightly, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something—surprise, maybe? Respect? It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same unreadable mask he always wears. “Good,” he says finally. “Because I don’t lose.”
“Neither do I,” I reply, the words coming out more like a promise than a statement.
He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and opens it with a quiet click. An emerald ring sparkles in the dim light. My pulse quickens, and I ignore it just like I always do.
He holds out the ring, his expression impassive. “This is yours if you accept it.”
It’s beautiful but feels more like a shackle than a symbol of anything good. Maxsim watches me carefully, not saying a word. He’s testing me, waiting to see how I’ll react. “And if I don’t?”
His expression doesn’t change. “Then you walk away, and we both deal with the consequences.”
Confused by the open door he’s offering, I focus on the gravity of the decision in front of me. Wearing the ring means accepting the marriage, the alliance, and everything that comes with it. “Are you sure about that?” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
Maxsim’s gaze never wavers. “I’m sure of the outcome,” he replies, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But the choice is yours.”
My hand trembles, an involuntary betrayal of the fear simmering beneath my carefully constructed facade.
He slowly lifts it, and I can’t help but notice the warmth of his fingers. “This isn’t a prison sentence.” His eyes hold mine, unblinking, and I know he’s testing me—waiting for my response, waiting to see if I’ll falter.
“It feels like one,” I say, forcing the words out with more strength than I feel. His expression doesn’t change, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Interest? Amusement? I can’t tell. But it’s enough to know he’s watching closely, waiting for me to make a move.
“You’re tougher than you look, Arianna.” His voice is smooth, like a blade cutting through the tension between us.
“And you’re more predictable than you think,” I shoot back. His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds out the ring, waiting for me to accept.
I stare at the ring, its emerald catching the light like a promise I don’t trust. It’s beautiful, but beauty doesn’t make it any less of a shackle. If I take it, I’m binding myself to him, to this alliance, to everything I’ve fought against my entire life. But refusing isn’t freedom—it’s just another cage, one with cold stone walls and whispered prayers.
I finally nod, letting him slip it onto my finger. “Don’t expect me to play by your rules,” I say quietly, my voice laced with defiance.
Maxsim leans down, sending a shiver down my spine as he whispers against my ear, “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
As the cool metal of the ring settles against my skin, I feel a mix of resignation and something I can’t name.
“You’ve made the right choice,” he says, his voice low and steady. There’s no gloating, no satisfaction in his tone—just a calm certainty that grates on my nerves.
I see my brother standing at the door and realize he brought me here so I could have the conversation away from my mother. Looking down at the ring, I swallow the uncertainty rising in my throat.
This isn’t the life I wanted. But it’s the I’ve been given, and if Franco thinks this ring is my salvation, he’s wrong.
It’s just another weapon I’ll use wisely.