Prologue #2
I refuse to end up like my mother. I want to decide my own fate, but now I know my father has already written it for me. I’ve always known this might happen; but still, I clung to the foolish hope that somewhere along the way, something might change.
“The Sokolov family just moved here from Romania,” my father continues. “Our families are going into business together. And as a sign of trust and loyalty, we have drafted a marriage contract between you and one of Mr. Sokolov’s sons,” he explains.
“W-w-which son?” I stammer, desperately needing to know. Please say Pavel, I think in my head. He looks shy and innocent, whereas his older brother looks like a bona fide serial killer.
“Dimitri,” my father answers, popping my imaginary bubble of hope.
“No,” I blurt out. Quickly, I put a hand over my mouth when I realize I said it out loud.
Pavel shifts uneasily on his feet as he stares at the floor. And when I risk a glance at Dimitri, he is glaring at me with those icy blue eyes, like he’s looking right through me down to my very soul and ready to rip it out of my body with his bare hands.
“The deal has already been made,” my father tells me with finality. And then he’s scribbling his signature on the bottom of the contract before sliding it over to Anton, who also signs.
And then Mr. Sokolov slides the piece of paper across the desk to me. Handing me a pen, I take it from him in my trembling hand. I try to read the small, printed words on the paper, but they blur together as a headache pounds behind my eyes.
“P-P-Papà,” I begin to protest.
“Sign the paper, Savina,” he says with an exasperated sigh.
The pen shakes in my hand as I bring it down on the paper, hesitating once more.
“Sign it!” my father yells, slamming his fist down on his desk.
I jump, and then I’m scrawling my name on the dotted line, effectively sealing my fate. My entire body goes numb as the shock begins to set in as to what exactly just happened. I just signed my entire future away.
Breathing shallowly, I can feel his presence before I see him.
Dimitri snatches the pen out of my hand.
Our skin touches briefly, and I feel what can only be described as an electric shock.
I quickly pull back from him like I was just burned.
He watches my reaction, and then I see the corner of his mouth slowly lift.
He’s smirking. Smirking! Clearly, my fear excites him, and that definitely doesn’t bode well for me considering he’s going to be my husband someday.
Dimitri stares down at the contract. He hesitates only for a moment before he signs right beside my name.
Our signatures couldn’t look any more different.
Mine is all flowy and girly, and his is bold with sharp edges.
We are complete opposites in real life too, and I have no doubt this marriage will only end in violence and heartbreak.
It feels like Dimitri is consuming all the air around me, so I take a step back to get away from him. And only then, when there’s distance between us, can I breathe again.
“The marriage will happen when you are twenty-three and Dimitri is twenty-five,” my father announces to the room.
Twenty-three. That’s in ten years. A whole decade of waiting to be married to him.
A lot can change in that amount of time, however.
Maybe our story won’t unfold the way it’s been written.
Maybe I won’t have to marry him. I might have a chance to stop all of this, and I find myself holding onto that hope like a life preserver.
It’s the only thing that will keep me from drowning in all of this misery.
“You can go now Savina,” my father says quietly, dismissing me.
I risk one last glance at Dimitri. His blue eyes bore into mine as he whispers with a thick accent, “See you soon, Savina.”
I trip over my own feet on the way out, barely catching myself in time to keep from falling.
Tears fill my eyes as the weight of what just happened feels like it’s going to crush me with every step.
As I slowly walk back to my bedroom, Dimitri’s last and only words to me loop endlessly through my mind.
What he said didn’t sound like a normal goodbye. It sounded like a threat.
Dimitri Sokolov
LATER THAT NIGHT, I sneak out of my father’s compound and make my way back to the Cipriano’s mansion.
We hadn’t been there long when they shoved that absurd marriage contract at me and my future wife, but it was enough time for me to scope out the house, cataloging every potential weakness.
My father once told me that it’s my God-given talent — finding vulnerabilities in people and places and then breaking them quickly and efficiently.
I’ve been doing it since I was a child, and it just comes naturally to me now.
I climb the high metal fence with ease. Hell, I don’t even need any extra tools, because they don’t have barbed wire like you can find around every fence and window at my father’s compound.
My boots thump onto the dirt on the other side of the fence, and I stay low to the ground as I look left and right, surveying my surroundings.
The guards are in the middle of a shift change, so I slip right past them with no problems. And before I know it, I’m climbing the flowering vine and lattice on the side of the house that leads up to a second-story window.
I feel like Romeo in that stupid play our teacher made us read about in school, but I’m not seeking love from my Juliet.
No, I’m seeking her tears and her blood.
I want Savina to cry and beg before I snuff out her pathetic life.
I want to see the soul leave her pretty, green eyes.
God, those eyes. Dark emerald green, threaded with amber, like sunlight shining through the forests back home in Romania.
They remind me of my childhood, when life wasn’t so fucked up, and my mother was still around, pretending to love me.
Right before she abandoned us after calling my father a ruthless, unforgiving man and me a fucking monster.
Pulling on a pair of black gloves, I jimmy the window before easing it open one inch at a time, listening to the night breathe around me. Once it’s fully opened, I sit and wait for alarms to go off, for lights to flicker on, but nothing happens.
The curtains faintly rustle as I climb through the window, my heavy boots sinking into the plush carpet below me, concealing my movements. I pause, waiting patiently, counting breaths, and observing the quiet bedroom sprawled before me.
My footsteps don’t exist on the carpet, and I move through Savina’s room like a ghost, just like I was trained.
There’s a fancy dresser to my right and a writing desk tucked in the corner.
I can’t see many details since the room is mostly swallowed by darkness, save for a thin strip of light leaking from the adjoining bathroom door.
My eyes sweep over the four-poster bed a few feet in front of me. I had expected Savina to be in bed by now, sleeping; but when I approach, I see no sign of her there. It’s untouched and perfectly made; the covers smoothed out meticulously.
Leaning down, I fist the comforter in my hand before bringing it up to my face and inhaling deeply.
It smells like her. Sweet and innocent like wildflowers and vanilla.
Untouched by the evil in this world. A princess up in an ivory tower, not knowing exactly what horrors lie in wait for her in the shadows. Like me.
But Savina is about to learn what true evil is tonight. I know I can’t force my way out of this arranged union; but if I decide to kill my future bride, then the contract will automatically be null and void.
I vividly remember Savina’s reaction to learning that I would be her husband one day.
How she practically cried out in pure revulsion at the idea of being tied to me in any way.
It scraped something ugly loose inside my chest, and a dark, vicious part of me wanted to carve that fear into something real, right there in front of her family, just so she’d understand what terror actually looked like.
Suddenly, I hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom and the sound of water cascading against tile.
I slowly move closer to the cracked door.
Steam beads along the mirror above the sink, blurring the room into soft edges.
Savina’s silhouette passes by the glass, and I catch a glimpse of the curve of her delicate shoulder; her long, brown hair cascading down her smooth, pale back.
I don’t see anything explicit, and yet my pulse stutters like it’s been caught doing something nefarious.
Retreating, I sit down on her bed and decide to wait until she’s done. And then I’ll pounce when she least expects it, when she’s most vulnerable.
Withdrawing my favorite switchblade from my pocket, I begin to hash out a plan inside of my mind.
I know it’s important that I don’t leave anything behind that could incriminate me in Savina’s murder.
Maybe I’ll plant some evidence on one of the housekeepers or a guard just to make it more believable.
Some poor bastard will take the fall for her murder, but at least my hands will be clean; and my family won’t have to suffer the consequences.
I flick the knife open, the blade glinting in the beam of light shining through the crack in the door.
I smile down at my prized possession. I’ve always been a knife kind of guy.
That up close and personal style of fighting that leads to death really gives you the opportunity to see the emotion on someone’s face when they realize they’re losing the battle and that they’re going to die.
A shiver runs up my spine just at the thought of it.
That’s my favorite part. Watching someone’s soul leave their eyes when they’re on the brink of death.
The finality settling over their face when they realize I’m their own personal reaper.