Page 6 of Mafia Christmas Vows

Unfortunately, having a wife solves many problems for me.

But that still does not mean I wish to answer the buzzing from my phone.

“Is the Little Prince too good to provide input on this?” I hear Boris snap at me from the video call.

I focus my attention on the screen.I’ll fucking kill him.

“Call me that again, cousin, and you’ll have more holes than your financial model,” I snarl.

A couple of other members of our family snicker, and Boris turns as red as the sunset. I lean back as another family member picks apart Boris’ idiotic plan, pleased that I’m not the only one who sees through his moronic plans.

Eventually, the buzzing of the phone becomes too insistent. I sigh and click the call off, then pick up the phone.

Anatoly, my driver, is on the call.

“Boss,” he mutters in Russian.

The girl must be around. “Yes?”

“The girl has no idea about any of this.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

“She was just talking to her mother. I got the impression that not only was this not her choice, but she didn’t even know Kozlov was her father until recently. Polina told me that she didn’t even pack more than a coat, and she didn’t bring a scrap of clothing other than what’s on her body or what is in her backpack.”

I sigh. I get the impression that Anatoly feels bad for her. “And?”

He pauses. “And, she has no idea what she’s walking into.”

“That is not my fault, Anatoly. I was not the one who decided to marry my child off for protection, and to atone for the sins of my kinsmen.”

“The Kozlov you killed and the Kozlov sitting in this car are very different people.”

I don’t care. I simply don’t. I require a wife for nothing more than the estate that’s been in my family since the dawn of time, and no matter what he says, I’m not going to care about how she feels.

“How close are you to Orlov House?”

“Minutes,” Anatoly rumbles.

“Good. See that she’s settled.”

“When will you be arriving?” he asks.

I sigh. I can tell that he’s asking when I’ll greet my bride-to-be, but I can’t guarantee anything. “When my business in Novgorod is complete, Anatoly.”

“She doesn’t know anyone, boss. Doesn’t even speak Russian.”

“And that’s the way it will stay,” I bark.

Anatoly’s silence makes a thread of guilt worm in my stomach.

“Get her settled. Keep her warm.”

“Boss. It’s almost Christmas.”

A fact that has slipped my mind. The holiday is three weeks away, I note as I glance at the calendar.

“And?”

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