Page 9 of Bred To Be Owned

I secretly watched as my father gathered his most trusted men and told my mother to check on Irini. Hiding my smile, I pretended to focus on my breakfast, but it was hard not to jump for joy. I wanted to dance on the table and run around the room, screaming with excitement. Junior was dead, and Irini was safe. Instead, I forced myself to finish my breakfast, acting as if I didn’t know what was happening around me.

“Get dressed.” My mother pointed at me. I cocked my finger and pointed at myself, looking around to make sure she was talking to me. “Don’t play games, Toula. Move. You have two minutes.”

I didn’t know why I was being involved, but I didn’t ask questions. My mother was in a mood, and it was easier to follow instructionsthan to draw attention to myself. I didn’t need her taking out her frustrations on me, and she would, without even missing a beat.

In the quiet confines of my hotel bedroom, I finally let my smile form. I was ecstatic, but there was a nagging voice that reminded me I wasn’t innocent. I tried to silence it, but it yelled louder until I couldn’t deny my part in all of this. My mind betrayed me. Instead of seeking a penance for my crimes, I thought about the Russian. I wasn’t afraid of him demanding more from me to settle my debt. I wanted him to, sooner rather than later.

I walked behind my mother as she entered the bridal suite with her own keycard. Stepping into the bedroom, she stopped just inside the door. My mother and I were the same height, and I wasn’t able to see anything from behind her. It wasn’t until she walked into the bedroom that I witnessed the carnage. Nothing could have prepared me for this. There was blood scattered across the torn sheets in little red dots. Dread settled in my stomach as I forced myself to look at my sister. I had to cover my mouth to stifle any sounds of distress.

Irini was sitting against the headboard with her knees tucked tightly to her chest. I didn’t know how long she’d been like that, but it had only been eight hours since they’d forced her to retire for the bedding. She was holding the layers of her wedding dress while she rocked. Irini was silent, but her eyes stared straight ahead, and I wasn’t sure she realized we were in the room. Her wrists were bright red, and I saw the restraints that were still looped around the bedposts. The fucker had tied her, and she hadn’t had a way to fight back. I told myself she would have fought back if she could have.

My mother squared her shoulders and made a beeline straight for the bed. I didn’t have the heart to move. My feet felt like lead in my heels.

“Irini,” my mother shouted, smacking my sister across the cheek.

She probably thought it would snap her out of her catatonic state, but all it did was make Irini shrink back towards the headboard. Tension poured off of her body.

“What happened?” My mother tried again, smacking her on the other cheek.

There was no response.

“You better tell me what happened before your father walks in here and your punishment is worse than it’s already going to be.” My mother slammed her hands against her hips, her toe tapping impatiently as she waited for an answer.

“I know nothing,” Irini whispered.

“That’s a lie. Junior’s dead, and you were the last one who saw him.” My mother grabbed Irini’s red wrist, squeezing until Irini let go of the dress’s fabric. It opened, exposing her. Junior had sliced the dress and all of her undergarments down the middle. “Your husband was here. This doesn’t just happen.” My mother flicked her hand, separating the sides of the dress.

“I know nothing,” Irini whispered again.

“Do you want them to torture it out of you?” My mother wasn’t playing around. If I tried to step in, she’d just focus her wrath on me. I had made a deal for Irini’s safety, and now we were both in danger.

“I know nothing,” Irini maintained, her voice cracking.

“Toula, get her cleaned up. Maybe she’ll remember something with a scalding hot shower.” My mother’s heels clicked as she stormed out the door of the bridal suite. I breathed a sigh of relief when the lock clicked in place.

I walked over to Irini and sat on the bed by her feet. “Do you want a shower? You might feel better.” I tried to infuse happiness into my tone, but it felt as fake as the flowers in the painting on thewall. I hadn’t asked for this, or if I had, I hadn’t realized what the consequences would actually be.

Irini’s head turned towards me. “He said, I know nothing.”

A chill ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure if I had helped the situation or aggravated it. There was no going back now, but the sister that I would’ve done anything for was gone. She was a ghost of a shell.

***

Ilya, the Russian

Three days had passed since the wedding, and there had been no talk of revenge on the streets. I’d ensured that the men present had kept their ears to the ground and their mouths shut, ready for damage control if needed, but there had been nothing. The Italians announced Junior’s death and then washed their hands of the situation. It was the best outcome for everyone.

I wasn’t worried that any of the other families or street gangs would seek revenge on behalf of the Italians. The only person with a personal interest in the situation was Don Petrakis, and he’d gained the most from his daughter’s meddling. The Greeks had already aligned themselves with the Italians, but the don had become a silent partner in their new casino. It was a win for him, and I would make sure that he didn’t turn me down when I asked for Irini. The Don would count his lucky stars when I sat in his office and offered my proposition. He wouldn’t figure it out until it was too late that he’d be losing the real prize: Toula.

There were rumors that the Yakuza were trying to gather evidence on the hit, but if they had anything concrete, they would have already been at my Pahkan’s door. With each day they didn’t show, Ibreathed a little easier. They would only try to blackmail us for silence if they had proof. Failure wasn’t an option. Failure meant death, and I planned on living a long life with my malenkaya lisichka.

I was sitting at my desk, watching the rain pound the window, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called, rushing through the list of suspects as the door opened. My men were at their assignments, and I hadn’t called for an emergency meeting. My brother had already dropped in a few hours earlier before heading out to check on operations. There was only one possibility, and I wasn’t sure how this would play out. As the door swung open, my Pahkan stood on the other side. I instantly stood to show my respect, stepping to the side to offer him my desk. He was the highest-ranking man in the cell, and I knew better than to be disrespectful, but a wave of tension rolled off of me. I wasn’t a weak man, but I couldn’t give him anything to hang me with.

“Sit. Sergei is on his way, and if you want straight lines, he’s going to need your desk.”

The Bratva had a long history of writing their crimes in tattoos for the rest of the world to read. I already had eight different black Xs inked on my knuckles, and my Pahkan had ordered one more.

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