Chapter Three
Elena
“This way, Miss Marino.”
I tear my eyes from the closed door and turn to Thornton, who has worked for my family for as long as I can remember. His face is often etched with lines of a thousand silent judgments, but never more so than it is in this moment. For a moment, I question if all my secrets are written on my face.
Can he tell what I did last night with my bodyguard? Does it show on my face?
No, whatever the case, he has no right to treat Roarke this way. I firm my mouth, my eyes darting back to the door. “It’s rude to leave my bodyguard standing in the foyer.”
“Your father asked that he meet you alone, without your constant shadow.” The last word is muttered in a sneer that raises my hackles.
“Surely Roarke can wait in the lounge or somewhere more comfortable in this massive home. He doesn’t need—”
“Elena!”
I wince at my mother’s shrill voice, slowly turning around to face her.
A former runway model, my mother has always been stunning.
Her brown hair is pulled back from her face, not a strand out of place, and reveals a stunning face that she was gracious enough to lend to her daughters.
She has on red lipstick that matches those red nails she keeps long.
Her beautiful siren-green eyes carry not one ounce of warmth.
“Your father and I have been waiting all morning,” she says, running her eyes disapprovingly over my outfit.
She and my sister, Sofia, have always been the fashion-forward and wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but designer clothes and impeccably done makeup.
Even now, at noon, when it’s clear she doesn’t plan on going anywhere, her makeup is fully done, and her body is adorned in expensive jewelry.
“Come on now, you’ve kept us waiting long enough. ”
“Mama, I was just asking Thornton to let Roarke in—”
“That man is not a guest, so he can wait by the door until we’re finished,” she raises her perfectly manicured hand to stop me when I start to speak. “We have very important things to discuss. Come.”
She turns and walks away, leaving me no choice but to follow. I glance back at the Roarke and bite my lip, feeling unsettled by my family’s treatment of the man who has been protecting me for weeks. Still, I decide the sooner I hear what my parents want, the faster I can get back to him.
And then what?
I’ve been avoiding the man all morning. The memory of his lips on my body is burned in my brain, and I can’t get it out. Even more unsettling is the fact that I want him, despite the way he left last night—so sudden, almost cruel. I can’t help that my body craves his touch.
“Elena, take a seat.”
My father’s voice booms when I walk into his office to find him seated behind a large mahogany desk. A position of power and authority, and I’ve always found it interesting that he assumes it even when addressing his children.
I don’t speak as I walk to join my mother on the sofa, sitting properly and folding my hands on my lap.
My mother’s dark floral scent hits me when I settle in.
A signature of hers. It’s the scent of control and cold beauty—everything she values and everything I’ve learned not to mimic.
I knew as a child that seeking comfort and affection from her would get me nowhere.
Silent, I wait for one of them to address me. This is clearly some kind of intervention, and I learned from them to never speak first, so I sit quietly and wait.
“Cara,” It’s my mother who breaks the silence. “Your father and I called you here because we wanted to discuss your future. Now that your sister is married, it’s your turn to settle down and start a family.”
I shake my head, suddenly confused about why everyone is dead set on pairing me with someone. They married off my sister just a few months ago, and I figured I had some time before my parents brought up marriage again.
“Mama, you know I’m working on my doctorate—”
“You’ve spent your whole life studying, cara. It’s time to end this foolish little distraction and focus on what really matters. Family.”
“I will think about that, Mama, after I complete my PhD and finally become a professor in art history. Then, I’ll need time to become tenured. I’m sure you’ll both be proud when I achieve that—”
“Your father and I have found a suitable husband for you.”
I freeze, my eyes widening as they turn to my father, seated silently behind his desk, not opposing the insanity spewing from my mother’s lips.
“He is a powerful man who will elevate our family’s position. Yuri Balshov, I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
I shake my head, unwilling to hear anything else they have to say. To acknowledge them. “I’m not ready to get married, Mama, I…” My voice trails off when my brain finally registers the name she just spoke. “Yuri Balshov!”
“He is very successful and powerful, cara. A strategic match for our family.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
A picture of an older man with cruel eyes flashes through my mind, sending a chill running down my spine.
Yuri Balshov is the pakhan of a NYC bratva family, the Balshovs, known for his sadistic personality.
He’s in his sixties, still powerfully built, and objectively handsome, if I remember correctly.
But his image still makes my skin crawl.
He’s been married—and widowed—four times, and his last three wives died mysteriously.
I’ve heard the rumors of his possible involvement.
No one I know has ever had a positive thing to say about the man.
I would be wife number five to a very dangerous man. I’d be lucky to make it to my twenty-fourth birthday as the next Mrs. Yuri Balshov.
Jesus Christ, I didn’t think my parents could sink any lower after selling Sofia off to the Mafia, but apparently, I was wrong.
“No,” I whisper, jumping to my feet. “You cannot ask me to marry a man four decades older than me!” But age is the least of my concerns.
“We’re not asking.”
My father’s steely voice has my head whipping toward him. This is the first time he’s spoken, almost like he hoped my mother’s icy voice would make me fall in line. “Papa.”
“You are marrying Yuri Balshov, and that’s the end of this discussion.”
“How can you make such a decision for me? Isn’t it enough that you forced Sofia to marry Matteo Rossi knowing full well his reputation of being a dangerous man? Yuri Balshov is a thousand times worse than Matteo! You can’t wish that future for me!”
“Your sister is happy, isn’t she?” my mother cuts in. “Look at her, enjoying her honeymoon with a man she didn’t want in the first place. You will come around too, cara.”
“No,” I argue, shaking my head. Matteo turning out to be a good husband to my sister was sheer luck.
He has a reputation for being vicious and cutthroat, but everyone knows he has a moral code, lines he won’t cross.
I’m sure Yuri doesn’t. He is a man who seems to do whatever he wants and treats the world like it exists purely for his amusement. “No,” I repeat.
“You are under the impression that you have a choice in this, Elena. You do not,” my father says, reaching for a paper and flipping it around for me to see.
“We’ve already acquired the marriage license.
Yuri should be arriving any moment now with the officiant.
This marriage is happening whether or not you want it to. ”
“Why the rush? Surely a man like Yuri wants a formal wedding,” I ask, stalling.
“Yuri and I are working out a certain…business deal. One of his conditions for signing the contract is that he marry into the family. You’re the next daughter in line.
,” my father says with a careless wave of his hand, as though I shouldn’t be concerned about such details.
“Besides, the man has been married four times already. He’s over the extravagance of it all.
Elena, Yuri wants a beautiful young bride.
He doesn’t care who it is. You have two sisters.
If you refuse, it’ll be Gia or Bella instead. ”
My blood chills at his words, and I study my father’s face, looking for the bluff. Bella is only seventeen, still in her senior year of high school, and they can’t force a minor to marry, at least not in New York now. State laws are in her favor, at least.
But Gia…
Christ, my sweet and naive sister whose head is always in the clouds just earned a spot as the principal dancer with the American Ballet Theatre and is on the cusp of achieving her dreams. She’s getting ready to leave for her first tour.
But she’s soft, a bit of people pleaser, and despite our childhood, she’s never stopped seeking our parents’ approval, so I can’t be certain she wouldn’t sacrifice everything and agree.
I shudder at the thought that the innocent light that always burns in her eyes gets snuffed out.
And me, I’ll just die. In the most literal sense.
I know it, and my parents probably do too. Yuri Balshov will kill me like he did his other wives.
“Can I at least have a day to think about it? Why does the wedding have to happen today?”
“What is there to think about, cara?” my mother says, her voice cool and measured as she stands and smooths her skirt. “You’re here now, and Yuri is ready to marry you. Why wait?”
Are they afraid that I’ll run away? No, that doesn’t feel right. Sofia was against her marriage too, but they still gave her a month to prepare for her wedding to Matteo…
Matteo!
My eyes widen when I realize why they’re in a hurry to marry me off, and why they locked my bodyguard out of this meeting.
They’re hoping my very ruthless brother-in-law doesn’t find out and try to stop them.
Sofia would never let them do this. Not to mention that the Balshovs and the Rossis are enemies.
She’d get her husband to stop the wedding, and it wouldn’t take much convincing.
This also explains why they insisted on seeing me as soon as I got off the plane—while Matteo and Sofia are still on their honeymoon.