Page 78 of Mafia King's Bride

“I let that pride get the better of me. I couldn’t see that I was hurting you, my own child, even when Daria and Viktor pointed it out. I have no excuse. I’m just hoping you can forgive this old man for putting his ego before the only thing that truly matters.”

And just like that, the dam breaks. Tears start flowing, and I hate myself for it. I hate that even after everything, his words still have this effect on me.

“What changed?” I manage to choke out.

He takes my hand, and it’s so achingly familiar that, for a moment, I’m that little girl again, looking up at her dad like he hung the moon. “Would you believe me if I said there was nothing behind it? That I woke up one day and realized I might lose my child forever?”

I want to believe him. God, I want to so badly. “I guess,” I mumble. “But on mom’s anniversary, you never showed.”

He shakes his head, looking pained. “I did come. I saw you there, at her grave. I couldn’t face you then. I’m so sorry,dochka. Your father failed you, and I’m regretting it every minute of every day.”

And just like that, my resolve crumbles. I might have Dmitri, Yelena, and Viktor now, but this man in front of me? He’s been my rock for most of my life. How can I shut him out completely?

“It’s okay,” I sigh, feeling the weight of months of anger start to lift. “I don’t...I can’t hate you. You’re my father, after all. I was hurt, and I still don’t like this whole lifestyle, but...I love you.”

Next thing I know, I’m wrapped in a bear hug, sobbing into his shoulder like I’m five years old again.

“There, there,” he murmurs, patting my back awkwardly. Always the emotional genius, my Papa. “What can I do to make it better? Shopping, perhaps? I’ll pay for whatever you want.”

I almost say no, but then I think of Yelena. If anyone deserves a shopping spree, it’s the two of us. “Alright,” I agree. “It’s a start.”

An hour later, I’m watching Yelena’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as I wave Papa’s credit card in her face. “This is the best day of my life!” she squeals, dragging me into Christian Dior like she’s on a mission.

As we browsethrough outrageously priced dresses, Yelena gives me a sidelong glance. “So, you made up with your dad? No more freezing you out?”

I snort. “I’m still pissed. Months of silence aren’t fixed by one teary conversation and a blank check. But it’s something.”

She squeezes my hand. “Well, let’s focus on the now. We’re here for therapy. Retail therapy!”

We spend the next hour trying on ridiculous gowns, giggling like schoolgirls, and generally making nuisances of ourselves. By the time we’re done, I’ve swiped Papa’s card for an amount that makes me wince, but hey, he offered, right?

As we’re settling in at Palomar for a post-shopping feast, Yelena brings it up again. “You know, it’s a little weird that your dad bribed you with a shopping spree. I mean, shouldn’t it be more like, I don’t know, a family dinner or something?”

And just like that, the doubts come creeping back in. She’s right. Papa didn’t even ask when I’d visit again. So why did he really call me over?

I push the thought away. “Maybe that’s just what happens when your daughter gets married? You forget how to be normal?”

Yelena laughs. “I guess. The men in our lives are a special breed.” Then she claps a hand over her mouth, giggling. “Oh God, I forgot for a second that my brother is your husband. You’re like a sister to me, and sometimes I have to remind myself that this sister has an ‘in-law’ attached to it.”

We stare at each other for a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter, drawing stares from nearby diners.

“They might kick us out,” Yelena whispers conspiratorially.

I grin. “Good thing we are rich, beautiful and don’t give a damn.”

As we dig into our obscenely expensive steaks, I can’t help but notice how Yelena’s eyes light up whenever Viktor’s name comes up in conversation.

Oh boy. Looks like Cupid’s been busy.

I eyeYelena over the rim of my wine glass. She’s got that look, the one that screams “I’m hiding something juicy.” Time to poke the bear.

“Alright, spill it,” I say, setting down my glass with a dramatic clink. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

She hesitates, chewing her lip. “I don’t want to hurt Viktor, Ana.”

Here it comes.

“He’s just so hot!” she blurts out, and I almost choke on my drink. When I collect myself, I nod, smirking. I’ve never looked at Viktor that way, but it’s hard to argue with Yelena’s assessment.

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