My parents’ palatial property should still feel like my childhood home, but it has been many years since I’ve been able to appreciate its splendor. Decades. Tonight, it feels like the kind of place I need to enter, carry out my duties, and leave again with as much haste as is acceptable without appearing disrespectful.
As always, I stand on the threshold, straighten my suit jacket, and run my fingers through my thick black hair.
“Here. Let me.” Tamara stands in front of me and straightens my tie, poking the dimple with her index finger, her lips quirked up in a lopsided smile. “Almost perfect.” She stands back to admire the view.
“Almost?” I arch an eyebrow.
“A smile would help, Pakhan.” She forces my lips upwards with her fingers, and I immediately drop it again.
“I will smile when I have something to smile about.”
“Says the man who has everything.”
She stands aside and waits for me to step inside first. The conversation is over, and as usual, she had the last word. It’s a skill that both sisters have perfected over the years, and one which irritates me more than I have ever let on. To anyone.
In the foyer, the polished marble floor gleams like a mirror, reflecting the light bouncing off the heavy crystal chandelier hanging high above our heads. The walls are polished wooden panels, each object on display chosen for its jewel-like vibrancy and history. Two Fabergé eggs, one in sapphire blue with an elaborate golden filigree design, the other in gold and silver. There are goblets and plates, imperial statuettes, and glossy feline ornaments studded with diamonds. My mother’s personal collection, and the only part of the house in which my father has no input.
My mother makes a grand entrance on the sweeping staircase wearing a floor-length ivory gown, the collar encrusted with tiny shimmering gems.
“Leonid.” Her face lights up as she approaches me and presents her cheeks for me to kiss. “And Tamara. Look at you. You grow more beautiful with every passing day.” She pinches Tamara’s cheeks leaving behind the imprint of her fingernails on the pale flesh.
“Thank you, Mama.” Anyone else would’ve had their hand batted away before it came anywhere near Tamara’s face, but she accepts my mother’s greeting with reverence and respect.
We have never spoken about what fate might’ve befallen them had I not discovered the twins in the shipping container that day. But they remember enough. That kind of childhood can never be erased.
“Leonid.” My mother’s eyes glitter. “Your father—”
“Is right here.”
My father emerges from his study, a fine mist of dirty-brown smoke from his stogie clinging to his immaculate black suit. It is the aroma that I have always associated with my father. His hair is gray but still thick. His face is craggier than it used to be, the grooves on his forehead like ruts on an unmade road, but he is still a handsome and imposing man.
I incline my head in his direction. “Father.”
They did not demand my presence at dinner for my pleasant company. Invitations to the Ivanov home are extended solely at the head of the family’s discretion, and usually when he has a demand or a warning to deliver.
He leads the way to the dining room where the table is set for four. My siblings are either not invited, or they have made their excuses to be elsewhere tonight because they know what this is all about.
Crystal bowls filled with ice contain tiny dishes of caviar, fish roe, and chopped egg yolk; a silver platter is filled with various types of homemade bread sliced into perfect miniature triangles. Valentina, my parents’ maid, fills our glasses with water, and my father dismisses her with a wave of his hand.
Tamara dutifully keeps her head down. My father is the first to help himself to food; once he has filled his plate, the rest of us are free to eat. I’ve lost my appetite, but I spoon caviar onto my plate and take some sourdough bread from the platter before filling a smaller glass with ice-cold vodka.
My father chews slowly and swallows. It is a habit that he has carried with him since he took over as Pakhan from his own father, this unhurried enjoyment of food as if every morsel might be his last. I scoop caviar onto the toasted bread, stuff the whole lot into my mouth, and swallow without tasting it. I am a busy man, and I have no time for unnecessary foreplay.
He washes his food down with neat vodka and sits back in his seat. I can feel his anger emanating like molten lava from his pores. “Talk to me, Leonid.”
Tamara continues to chew her food, but her hackles are up like a cat sensing the approach of a ferocious dog. She wouldn’t dare to disrespect me or my father, but she and Ivana have spent their entire lives in fight-or-flight mode. It’s a tough habit to crack.
“We lost more men today.” I refill my vodka glass and study the clear liquid. I can feel the burn before I raise it to my lips. “So, I am doing what I do best: I am ensuring that I am the winner in this war against the Sicilians.”
My father’s expression is neutral. His movements when he raises his eyes from his vodka glass to me are slow and purposeful. “By abducting the youngest Sedric daughter.” He blinks slowly like a lizard basking in the sun. “Did you or did you not just say that we are at war with the Sicilians?”
“Correct, father.”
“So, please explain to me what the fuck you are doing.” His tone is neutral too, low and measured leaving the emphasis on his words.
“She is Sedric’s printzessa.” I match his tone. “She is also Xander’s sister-in-law. Melissa will do whatever it takes to protect her baby sister from the way of life they were born into, and what Melissa wants, Melissa gets. Or so I’ve heard.”
My father processes this information. “The plan?”
“The plan is to make sure that I deliver baby Sedric to her brother-in-law, shall we say a little more tainted than she was when she arrived.”
My mother gasps out loud. Tamara suppresses a smirk that no one else notices.
“Tainted?” My father grips his glass so tightly I wait for it to crack. “Fucking tainted? This is your plan to win the war?”
“She is a bargaining tool. Leverage. No more than that. She is pledged to the Irish contingent. A potential ally against the Sicilians if I choose not to corrupt her completely.”
“Leonid.” My mother releases a sigh and rubs her left temple the way she always does when she is trying to resolve a minor problem in her head. “We did not raise you to be the kind of man who corrupts innocent women.”
“What kind of man did you raise me to be?” I swallow at the look of disappointment that flashes into her eyes.
“A leader,” my father interjects before my mother can respond. “A fighter. A pakhan worthy of the family name. Not a lowlife who bargains with little girls.”
It’s a low blow, and Tamara instantly bristles. I can’t see her hands beneath the table, but I instinctively know that they are balled into fists. She and Ivana were little girls when I saved them from a way of life that would’ve seen them dead before they were thirty, and I would rather slit my own throat than barter with their lives.
I wipe my lips with a crisp white napkin. “Is that all, father?”
He motions for me to remain seated. “What do you intend to do with this printzessa once you are finished with her?”
“I will return her to where she belongs, naturally. Once she has served her purpose.”
“This isn’t a game, Leonid.” He narrows his dark eyes at me. “I trust you have thought about the consequences of your actions.”
“No, this isn’t a game. This is war. Didn’t you teach me never to turn a blind eye to an angry poke? I know what I am doing, father. My eyes are wide open, and if the way to checkmate is by taking the opposition’s printzessa, then that’s what I intend to do.”
“Checkmate, printzessa, eyes wide open…” My father waves a finger in the air in a circular motion. “You say that it is war, and then you talk about games.” His accent is more prominent when he is angry. “You put all of us in danger to soothe your pride.”
“This is not about my pride. This is about putting Xander Amory in his place.”
He shakes his head. “In my day, this would have already been resolved. And do you know why?”
I can take a pretty good guess, but I keep quiet.
“Because I had a family to protect. Family comes first. Always.” He inhales deeply. “I have chosen a bride for you. Maybe once you have a family to protect, you will stop moving pawns around a chess board and start acting like the leader I thought you were.”
I refill my glass and swallow the icy liquid in one gulp. The burn doesn’t even touch the sides. “I will choose my own bride when the time is right.”
He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “This is a suitable match. One that I should have considered long ago. The daughter of a powerful ally. It will strengthen our position, and then—” he makes an explosive gesture with his hands “—you will be ready to go to war.”
“I am already at war, father. An Ivanov does not turn his back on his enemy and depend on his wife’s family to back him up.”
“Please, Leonid.” My mother’s voice is little more than a whisper. “Listen to your father. In time, you may grow to love your wife.”
“Like you did with father?” The words slice through the air before I can think about what I’m saying. And right on cue, her face crumples.
Before I can apologize, my father’s fist thumps the table. “Your mother and I have always loved each other. It is a shame that you are too stubborn to see that.”
I glare at him. “Oh, I see it. Why do you think that I’m attacking Xander through his wife and her family? Melissa is his Achilles heel. His weakness. His blind spot. I prefer to remain stubborn and alive.”
I stand, my chair scraping across the polished wooden floor. Tamara stands too, shooting an apologetic glance in my mother’s direction.
“I wish that you would talk about Elena.” My mother has an almost angelic look about her, but she always knows how to stick the knife in and twist until it bleeds. And fuck that name still hurts.
“There is nothing to talk about.” I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. “It was over years ago.”
“But you still feel it in here.” My mother places a hand above her heart. “I worry about you, Leonid.”
I circle the table and lean over my mother to give her a hug. “You have nothing to worry about. I am fine.”
But she clings to my hand, forcing me to look her in the eye. “Never forget that love can also be a strength. It can give you something—or someone—worth fighting for.”
I have never yet met a woman worth fighting for. Not since Elena. And she proved herself unworthy of that honor.
“I will bear it in mind, mother, but I doubt that person will be the daughter of a powerful ally, and I can guarantee that I will win this war without her assistance.” I straighten and make for the door. “Goodnight, Papa.”
He doesn’t try to stop me.
Behind me, I hear Tamara saying goodbye. I imagine my mother embracing the younger woman and whispering in her ear to try talking some sense into me, knowing this is one that she will never win.
