Page 13 of Vitaly

His face is different. There’s a scar across his cheek, and his skin looks so rough in comparison to the flawless face I saw nine years ago.

But those eyes... Those golden, relentless eyes.

Those I could never forget.

Nausea roils in my gut as I take a startled step back.

“Vitaly.”

Mila

Nine years ago…

In the backseat of the Petrov’s SUV, I rub at a splotch of brown on the skirt of my white dress.

It’s a tiny bit of coffee from the airplane. I hate coffee—it’s far too bitter for my tastes—but I’m told Americans love coffee, so I’ve been trying to adapt my tastebuds to it. Today, I regret the gesture. One careless swipe across my lips with a hand I then rested in my lap cost the symbolic white of this dress its purity. While my father hasn’t noticed the slip, there’s still the question of if my future husband will.

One half of me is terrified he will. Terrified he’ll rear his head in disgust, admonish me for my clumsiness. But the other half would be impressed at the attention to detail. This man will one day be Pakhan of the Petrov Bratva. Heneedsto be strong. Be observant. Accept nothing less than perfection from his people. Certainly nothing less from his wife.

My lungs constrict at the thought, and I continue to rub uselessly at the stain until my father’s hand lays over mine.

“You need to be still, Mila. Your new family will be able to feel your nervousness if you fidget.”

When he removes his hand, I lay my palms in my lap, lifting my head from the stain to stare at the back of the driver’s seat headrest. “Yes, sir.”

“You understand how important this is…” he adds, his voice low so the Petrov’s driver can’t hear. I nod to ease his mind, but his cryptic words weave a vine of anxiety around my spine.

My entire life, I’ve known my purpose was to be the wife of a powerful man. Every lesson of my upbringing pointed to it, every spare moment of the day a moment to train.

Everyone wants to have a boy, but my parents understood the opportunity that came from having a girl. They knew that one day my value would be even greater than my brothers, thatwith the proper presentation, the proper training, I would be able to bring more power to our family than either boy could.

And finally, six days after my thirteenth birthday, that day has come. The only son of a Pakhan heir has just turned eighteen, which means his father has been searching for a bride. The moment Papa caught wind of it, he flew me to America to stand in front of the man, along with five other candidates. Ultimately, I was chosen.

But nothing is set in stone. As the days have passed since that initial meeting with my future father-in-law, Papa has grown more and more anxious. None of us will be able to breathe easy until my vows are said and a wedding band is placed on my finger.

This marriage will mean power for my family, making my father a top lieutenant in the Petrov Bratva and the primary ambassador between them and our people back home. But if it doesn’t go through, it will make a mockery of us all.

My value will be diminished. No one will want to marry the rejected bride of a Petrov. They’ll trust his judgment, and they won’t see it as him only rejecting me, they’ll see it as him rejecting my family. My household will be disgraced right along with me, and a woman without value is not a woman worthy of family. I’ll be shunned, forced to live in foster care, probably in America because I doubt Papa would even take me back.

So yes, I understand how important this first impression is. There is nothing more he could say to make it any clearer.

When the SUV stops at a set of iron gates, I sit up straight and take steady, deep breaths to prepare myself.

I won the father’s approval. I will win the son’s.

If not today, then tomorrow.

“Bow your head,” Papa hisses next to my ear. “They like their women meek.”

I do as he says, the anxiety he puts off next to me fueling my own. I can tell he’s anxious because he’s repeating himself.

I know, Papa, I want to say.I remember everything. I’ll do well for you.

The car stops, and I wait for the driver to open the door. He helps me out then leads us inside a mansion that makes my nerves buzz. I don’t allow my eyes to wander, but when I imagine inheriting this home, raising a future Pakhan here…

It excites me.

My lips curve ever so slightly, but I push them down by reminding myself it could be decades before that happens. The grandfather and my future father-in-law both must die before this house is officially mine. I don’t know what those decades will consist of. For all I know, my mother-in-law could be as horrid as my grandmother who still lives in our home. Myoldhome.

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