“And?”
I frowned in pretense. “She was attractive.” I shrugged. “I can understand her allure. And if what I hear is correct, she was pure too. A woman like that wouldn't normally look twice at a man like Ivan. Half his age and ten times as innocent. But, apparently, he was in talks with her parents for her hand before their treachery was revealed, was he not?”
“So you think that makes it okay then, Alexander? A man can betray his family and everything he stands for over a woman?” he admonished.
“No,” I replied thoughtfully. He raised an eyebrow at me. “No, not at all, but sometimes, the siren call of a woman is enough to make a man do stupid things. Did you see her last night? She was a frightened mouse, and he was a lion ready to pounce. I don’t think either of them are happy. Perhaps the union is punishment in and of itself, Father.”
My father laughed heartily and stood up. He moved to stand by the window, looking down on the large expanse of land below. He shook his head and turned back to me.
“A happy marriage is second to an heir, Son.” He smiled now, but his words were yet another push. Yet another reminder.
A prince who would be king must beget yet another prince who would be king.
And on into eternity.
Love was not important. A new body to assume the throne was.
I held out my hands in surrender. “And yet all men aspire to be as lucky as you, Father. Love as a lucky product of duty.”
My father and mother had met as children. They had been a perfect match from day one. Their families had agreed to the wedding, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way; my father would have had my mother as his wife regardless of what anyone else decided.
Love. We all sought it out, but many rarely found it. Especially in this life.
My father smirked, happy with my answer, but not so happy that he had no reply to it. He could not disagree with history. And we both knew, in this singular matter, he was a hypocrite. To judge others for the follies of love, yet not face his own heart.
He would have broken Bratva law to love her.
If I were to do the same, he would call me a cruel disappointment.
“So,” he finally continued, “you think I should forgive Ivan because his bride is pretty and he was blinded by her?”
It was my turn to laugh now. “Perhaps not forgive, but leniency would be better. Cutting him off completely serves to hurt us too, correct? His foothold in the shipping industry will ease product movement and we need the lead into the European market to keep supply and demand strong.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “You remind me of myself when I was your age, Alexander. Young and naive,” he said the words calmly, like they weren’t a huge insult to me. I scowled and he held a hand up. “Now, now, you’re not a child anymore. A man can take criticism without losing his head, and he knows when a lesson is better learned. Set up a meeting with Ivan. I’ll meet with him and we’ll see what happens. Perhaps I will embrace this leniency you speak of.”
“I am not so naïve as to completely trust anyone outside our immediate fold, Father.” I shrugged, erasing the scowl upon my face. “We have had eyes on Ivan well before now, and I will instruct them to be ever more vigilant. To see all and miss nothing.”
Father nodded, his face still holding a note of humor.
I was momentarily insulted by his words calling me unseasoned, but I’d learned to trust his wisdom over the years. After all, you didn’t become the Bratva King by accident. Besides, I was getting my own way; he was meeting with Ivan and I would be meeting with Ivan’s wife.
I’d take her body; her kisses, her pussy and everything in between, and then I’d move on. One quick fuck and all would be well in my world again.
Yes, Marisha Zolotov would bend to my whim and then she could go back to her boorish husband and live her sad little life, kept company by the memories of being with me. A dream she could never have again.
Chapter Eight
Marisha
“Marisha, order something new to wear,” Ivan spoke casually as he ate his steak and eggs, flipping through the news on his tablet.
“Yes, Ivan,” I replied, glancing up at him.
Suddenly, he slammed his hand down on the glossy screen. “Dammit, Stefan Semenov’s been arrested.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a second, then standing abruptly and leaving his food unfinished. “I need to call my lawyers. I should have been notified immediately. I am so fucking tired of the Bratva morons I am forced to employ.”
Apparently, the Semenov family, longstanding Bratva blood, ran Ivan’s shipping business in New Jersey. Stefan was the youngest son. Trustworthy to a fault, but dumb as a box of rocks. He’d easily be manipulated by police. And if he was, the anvil would fall on Ivan and his cohort’s heads. Or so I had overheard from one of Ivan’s many business meals here. I heard a lot at these things. Men seemed to think that women were deaf to it all. That they didn’t hear the things they said. But we did. We heard it all and stored it away for future reference.
Before he was out of the dining room, Ivan turned around. “Nothing too showy. Evelina is not fond of women who dress like whores.”
