Page 18 of Merciless Queen

I wouldn’t beme.

I wouldn’t be Pakhan of the Russian Bratva.

Months after taking over, I realized what theFamigliatruly did. Instead of bringing war to New York as I’d promised Erico Rossi on that fateful day, I called a ceasefire in the form of a gift and a letter.

On the one-year anniversary of Papa’s death, a large bouquet of white and black-dyed roses were delivered to the Rossis’ front step, along with a hand written note and a dress fit for a baby girl. A couple months prior, my spies in the United Statesreported Erico and Ariella adopted a child, so the dress was a sign of good faith. The letter is where I broke it all down.

Mr. and Mrs. Rossi,

White roses symbolize innocence and new beginnings.

Black roses symbolize death and rebirth.

I promised a war, but instead accept these flowers as my ceasefire. You may have stolen my father from me, but you also cemented a new beginning. A rebirth of myself. And a new direction for Russia.

For that, you have my personal thanks.

I can’t promise our guns won’t cross in the future, but for now, we have no business with the Famiglia. I wish you both prosperity.

Ariella, teach your daughter to slap as hard as you do. Trust me, it’ll benefit her one day.

—Vanessa Volkov, Pakhan of the Bratva

After it was delivered, it took three months before their response came, wrapped around a bouquet of calla lilies.

After that, theFamigliaand I never communicated again, but we hadn’t had a need to. We’re two organizations existing on opposite sides of the world, the same way we did before Papa got it in his mind to blend us. With spies stationed in the U.S., I track what I can of them, ensuring Rossi doesn’t decide to attack, thinking I’d be vulnerable.

With an exhausted sigh, I push off the door and strip my clothing on the way to my ensuite bathroom, heading straight into the shower to wash up from this disappointing evening. The bookkeeper might have given a promising lead, but it’s not enough. Not when I was hoping for so much more after all this time huntinghim.

Two years.

Two motherfuckingyearsand there’s no trace of him.

The steamy shower muffles my agonized scream. So many screams I’ve released for that man. Today…and when I was fifteen.

Two of Papa’s soldiers push me into a spare bedroom and immediately position themselves in front as a barrier I know I won’t be able to fight through. And something tells me, I’ll be wanting to soon.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Papa’s smooth voice comes from behind me, and I turn. My heart rate increases, gaze flicking around the guest room, trying to piece together why we’re here out of all the rooms in our home.

Ever since I’d gotten back from boarding school last week, Papa’s been acting weird, making the winter holiday break tense. Well, tenserthan normal, because spending time with my father isn’t exactly like what friends describe with their own parents. Which is love and smiles and actually enjoying each other’s company.

“What’s going on?”

He paces toward me slowly, his head ticking to the side. “In business, what’s one of the main rules I’ve taught you?”

My back prickles with a strange awareness, an instinct to take a step back for every three of Papa’s approaching ones. Through dry lips, I force out, “Know your worth and the worth of others.”

He nods, stopping when he’s halfway between me and the bed looming behind him. “Very good,doch’.” Daughter. “You know, when you were born and the doctors revealed you were a girl, I was ashamed my firstborn wasn’t a male. Your mother was murdered before we could try for a second child, and after her, I lost all desire to wed another. As years passed, I realized your worth.”

My breath stalls as he steps closer, coming within two feet of me. Somehow, I know where this is going. I’d known for a while because he’s never hidden his plans, but at fifteen, I assumed an arranged marriage wouldn’t happen for a few more years.

I scan to my right and left, searching for the stranger who’s presumably about to leap out from the corner, shove a diamond ring on my finger, and drag me to the altar before Papa finds a better offer.

Papa tips my chin up, forcing my eyes back on him, and the man looking at me is a stranger. His smile stating a business proposal has been signed, the gleam in his dark eyes a malicious promise that makes bile fill my throat.

“Papa…”

He ignores my soft plea. “The virginal daughter of the Pakhan surely brings in a suitable connection, but I feel—and will gamble on this guarantee—that the Pakhan’s daughter is enough.You, Vanessa, are a commodity with or without your purity. Which means, it too, has an additional price we can profit from.”

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