Page 22 of The Councilor

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t, Raphaella.” He hissed at me, another first. “This is an important contract, one that will cement your place in the family history.” He finally opened the file, removing a group of papers that had been stapled together.

“What is that?”

“This is a contract that you are required to sign. I’ve already done so, which means your signature is nothing more than a formality.” He pushed it across the desk, sliding a pen beside it.

I was no longer just lightheaded. I was certain I’d vomit right here.

Not a ladylike thing to do.

I honestly didn’t care. Now my fingers were shaking as I picked up the contract, trying my best to keep tears from welling in my eyes. The wetness won out, the salt burning my eyes and making it difficult to read let alone comprehend what I was reading. I flipped to page two and three, still struggling with my emotions. There was no way he was serious about this. There couldn’t be.

“Now, I admit that the name of the person you’re going to marry has yet to be determined, but at minimum I’ve been assured thesecond party will be of an elite societal status, worthy of your hand in marriage.”

Marriage.

Wait a minute. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand? You’re going to be married to a representative of the Bratva. In doing so, the insidious war that’s been started between the two parties will come to an end. The tedious act of battle, the spilling of blood on the streets will cease, the alliance good for both parties.”

“Just out of curiosity. What do you get personally out of this horrific contract?” I couldn’t believe I was able to speak at all. I didn’t care if I displeased him or if my question was considered disloyal. It did not matter. My life did.

“That’s enough.” He slammed his fist on the table. “You are doing this for your family. Now, sign the goddamn contract. You’ll have some autonomy as to the events occurring around the upcoming wedding but don’t get your hopes up too high. The idea is simply to provide a pathway to the future.”

A pathway to the future. I took another look at the contract, the blank space where a name would be filled in giving me cold shivers. As I sat quietly, my mind needed to reflect on the good times I’d shared with my father and my entire family. There had been laughter and normal activities as any family would have.

I could remember when I was very young how he’d crowd me onto his lap, his favorite chair always positioned in front of the fire. He’d read me whatever book I wanted, usually one or two that I preferred hearing again and again. He’d been animated,acting as if reading to his little girl was more important than anything else in life.

I could remember his laughter when it was a birthday event and how he used to love dressing up asBabbo Natale, the Italian version of Santa Claus.

The shock was continuous, the reality of what he was suggesting dragging all the energy from me.

“Please note that you will be required to produce an heir within a year. That will continue the alliance well into the future.”

My father was continuing on with details I couldn’t stomach listening to much less live with. I’d never raised my voice to my father and had tried my best not to completely defy his wishes. My mother had taught me compromise was always in my best interest, but there was nothing about this sordid contract where I could find any middle ground.

I stood slowly, angrier than I’d been in my life. I had a difficult time believing this was real or that my mother had condoned it. Then again, my mother was nothing but a sheep, just a woman in his kinglike empire.

I knew what I was about to do would lose me my trust fund, but I refused to accept such a reprehensible and filthy alliance.

“No. I will not do it.” I was interrupting him in mid conversation. Too bad. He needed to know right now where I stood. Blood in the streets of New York wasn’t my concern.

He sucked in his breath, slowly lifting his head in my direction. I could tell I’d shocked him likely for the first time in my life. As he rose to his feet, I could see steam coming out of his ears. The phenomenon was a real thing. I’d expected him to yell andscream but I learned quickly that even my father could still shock me.

He backhanded me with so much force, I was jetted to the floor, the area just beneath one eye screaming from blinding pain. My father had never hit me. This was humiliating, a not-so-subtle reminder I was considered little more than a possession in this house.

He didn’t come to gather me into his arms and I knew he wouldn’t apologize. He stood staring down at me with his hands on his hips.

Still stunned, it took every scrap of energy to struggle to my feet, forced to grip the edge of his desk.

He cracked his neck, the sound unmistakable.

“I don’t know what to say about you any longer, Raphaella, other than you’re a disappointment.”

“I’m a disappointment? You’re now kowtowing to the Russian mob, yet you say that to me?” When he lifted his arm a second time, I was certain the next blow would knock me unconscious.

He stopped short, flexing then curling his fingers before pulling his arm away.