Page 1 of Vitaly

PROLOGUE

VITALY

Nine years ago…

Iwonder if Mila Alexseev is truly a virgin.

Of all the thoughts I could have while staring out the window of my father’s study, this is the one that strikes me. The woman forced upon me could be a viper, a doe, or an absolute bore, but the only thing that truly matters in my culture, the only true dealbreaker, is if she doesn’t bleed on the wedding night.

How old-fashioned.

My lips lift as a burst of air blows through my nostrils, a chuckle trapped in my chest. I don’t know how humorous I find the situation, but the entire thing is so ridiculous, it’s almost comical.

When I feel my father’s eyes, I flatten my smile.

“Is something funny?” he asks, his voice hard as stone. It isn’t telling of anything. He always sounds like this. Hard.Serious.

“No, sir.” I turn my head to face him. “I’m just thinking about my new bride.”

He blinks at me, unsmiling, and doesn’t respond. I’m told we look so much alike, and in some ways, we do. His sharp, squared bone structure matches mine, as do his broad shoulders. I’ve grown past his six one frame, but only by an inch. You can certainly tell I’m his son.

But it’s my mother’s amber eyes I stare into when I brush my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror. In photographs, it’s her smile my lips pull into and her soft brown, curly hair I wear combed back. No one ever tells me I look like her, even though it’s obvious I do.

I wonder if my sons will look like Mila Alekseev. I wonder if everyone will say they look like me anyway.

I sigh. “I know things worked out for you and Mama. I do. I think it’s wonderful. But… Isn’t it possible that arranged marriages are getting to be a bit dated?”

That strong jaw of his clenches.

“Okay, you’re right, tradition is tradition. But…” I grip the back of my neck. “Does she have to be from Russia? I mean, does this girl even speak English?”

“If she doesn’t, you’ll teach her,” my father says, as if it’s that simple.

My shoulders slump with amazement. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

His eyes narrow, but he gives me no other response. This is his style. Silent criticism.

I grind my teeth and face the window.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t taking this seriously?” he asks.

I don’t answer. There is no respectful answer I could give. All I can think about is whether or not I’ll ever laugh again. If my father chose this woman, she’s bound to have the sense of humor of a brick.

What if she’s a shit cook? What if she’s one of those women who sings off-key at the tops of their lungs? What if she wants me to travel to Russia with her? What if… Oh Jesus Christ…

What if she’sugly? She could be a fucking dog. Am I really going to be expected to go through life with a woman I find grotesque in my bed? As the mother of my children? Fifty fucking percent of their DNA?

“What criteria did you have for choosing this woman?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Did you even look into her, or is her name all you cared about?”

When I turn to glare at him, he clasps his hands behind his back and wanders to the window. I turn to follow his gaze as an SUV pulls past the gate, making this dreadful fate real.

“In time, you’ll see why I’ve chosen her… For now, you only need to trust me.” He adjusts his collar as he turns to face me. “It’s time to grow up, Vitaly. Accept your responsibilities.”

I scoff and throw my hands up, pushing off the windowsill. “As if I haven’tbeggedyou for more responsibility. You want me to take on more, please, give me more. Let me prove myself. Managing a housewife isn’t going to teach me how to be Pakhan.”

My father shakes his head in disgust. “You are nothing but a spoiledboy. I’m trying to teach you to be a man. Aleader. That starts in your home. If you can’t lead your family, you’ll never be worthy of leading the Bratva.”

He steps up close, but he’s no longer capable of towering over me. Despite the constant criticism, my time as a boy has passed. I’m taller than him. Stronger than him. And soon, I’ll be the leader he fails to see I can be.

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