“It’s easier to explain, then. Because yes, the way your father and I have cared for this family—” I didn’t miss the way she’dphrased it—like she wanted to make sure we knew she was involved as well— “has been through the help of thePakhan. The hotel suite is his gift to us, and the way we launder his money. And in return, we get to live the life we have now.” Her brows rose with the last words. She puffed out more smoke. “But now, your father… he… made a mistake.”
My pulse quickened, and I squeezed my sister’s hand harder.
I knew exactly what “a mistake” meant in this world. I’d seen enough movies, heard enough stories—gruesome ones—about the way the Bratva disposed of traitors. Anya and I shared a look, and it told me she’d heard the same.
“Why?” I asked. “We already had everything. Has he not made enough money? Why risk everything? For what?”
Mom snorted as she picked up a new cigarette from the pack. “You ask this as if you don’t know him. Greed took your father’s soul long ago, Victoria. It is what it is.”
“So… what does this mean for us?” Anya shook her head. “Do we leave the country? We’ve built a life here, Mom. We havefriends. We can’t just—”
“We’re not going anywhere,” she deadpanned, looking down at the ashtray on the table. “I know it will be hard to hear, but you’ve had lots of privileges up to this day. Both of you. Now is one of those times when you have to settle the balance.” Her gaze rose, pinning Anya down. “So we’ve arranged for you to marry into thePakhan’s family to make this all go away.”
The room fell silent.
Anya and I had never been very close. I wanted to, and often tried, but she preferred hanging out with her friends, leaving me to my own devices more times than I could count. But even so, she was my sister. And my parents were about to throw her to the wolves.
“What about her future? Mom… What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
A pained scoff filled the dirty air. “You think I want this? I’m powerless in this, just like you. I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to give away my daughter!” She sniffed, quickly regaining control over her emotions. I’d never seen her cry.
Anya shook with anger. How could our mother do this when she’d been subjected to the same treatment from her parents? I realized it was mostly Father’s doing, not her own, but still. She could’ve tried to do something about it—anything. Instead, she accepted it, gave up before even putting up a fight.
“No,” Anya said plainly. “No. I won’t do it.”
Mom’s jaw clenched. “It’s already settled.”
Anya shook her head, her hand retracting from mine in one swift motion as she got up.
“You can’t make me. I will run away. I would ratherdiethan marry some sleazy fossil past his expiration date. And why the fuck does it have to be me?!”
Her question slapped me across my face harder than she could’ve done it with her palm.
Sure, we had never been close, but this… this was a betrayal, because we were family, and I had never wished ill on her, ever, no matter how jealous I was of her being our parents’ favorite. I should’ve hated her for saying that, and yet… maybe it was better that she did.
Maybe if my parents married me off instead of her, they would finally see me as well.
Mom’s eyes shifted between the two of us. If she understood what had happened, how it made me feel, she said nothing about it.
“He wants to marry our heir,” she explained, puffing out more smoke.
Simple as that. No room for debate.
“Fuck this.” Anya stormed out, refusing to hear anything more.
Fuck this, indeed. If I was being honest, even through the haze of my pain, I couldn’t blame her for reacting this way. Hell, maybe I would’ve done the same thing. Neither of us was ready to be a bride, much less to a cruel man who had the power to ruin us.
Mom and I remained at the table in silence as I tried to make sense of all of this.
And maybe it was the many books Sasha had given me over the years—mentioning politics, and hidden intentions, and power plays—that made me consider everything was, somehow, connected. My encounter with the stranger, the gifted stallion, now this… Without second thoughts, I lifted my eyes from the table and pinned her with my gaze.
“Mom?” I asked. “Whose horse is in our stables right now?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she gulped the entirety of her scotch.
“It’s Wolfgang Rykov’s—thePakhan’seldest son.”
The way she said that name struck me as odd, because the word wasn’t English. And it wasn’t Russian either. She’d saidVolf-gung—clipped, foreign, the "W" softened into a "V," the last syllable hitting the back of her throat like a swallowed word. I wondered why that was because if he really was thePakhan’sson… his name made no sense at all.
