Page 54 of Twisted Vows

Ari nods, her expression thoughtful. “And what stops you? From building something of your own?”

I chuckle softly, but there’s no humor in it. “It doesn’t work that way. In our world, power is passed down. Tradition dictates everything. Alexey’s the heir—challenging that means war, and we’re not in the business of tearing each other apart.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. “But you’ve earned your place, haven’t you? You’ve done the work, fought for the family. What do you think you deserve?”

Her words hit harder than I expect. I’ve never thought about it in those terms before. In my world, you don’t get what you deserve. You get what you can take, what you can hold. And I’ve been focused on solidifying our position for so long, I’ve stopped thinking about what might be out of reach.

I look at her, wondering if she’s trying to plant a seed. Maybe she’s testing me. Or maybe she’s just curious about what drives me. Either way, it’s unsettling to feel this exposed.

“Maybe,” I say, my voice low. “But in this life, what you deserve doesn’t always matter.”

Her hand moves up to my shoulder, fingers trailing lightly against my skin. It’s a gesture that’s both comforting and intimate, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to ease the tension or if she’s drawing me closer. Either way, it works. The frustration that’s been simmering inside me for years feels distant, softened by the warmth of her touch.

“I think,” she says softly, “you’re more than just the spare heir. More than whatever role has been carved out for you.”

The way she says it, like it’s a simple truth, catches me off guard. I’m not used to being seen like that—like there’s more to me than what the world has already decided.

It makes me wonder if maybe she’s right. I’ve never had a conversation with Alexey and perhaps it’s time.

The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. For a moment, I let myself consider what I actually want.

It’s not money. There is more than enough.

But I want something, and it’s time to consider what that might be.

I lean back into the pillows, my mind slipping into memories I’ve kept buried for too long. The room fades, and suddenly, I’mnot in the warm cocoon of this bedroom with Ari. I’m back in the cold stone halls of my family’s estate in Russia.

The weight of my father’s hand presses down on my shoulder, firm and unrelenting. His voice is as harsh as the winter wind howling outside.

The memory of my father’s command resurfaces, sharp and cold. I was twelve, barely old enough to understand the weight of his words but too afraid to show it. His hand clamped down on my shoulder, the pressure of his grip biting through my coat. ‘Follow your brother’s lead,’ he said, his voice like the icy wind howling through the stone corridors of the estate. ‘You’ll support him. Strengthen him. That is your role. Understand?’

I nodded, the weight of his expectations settling like chains around my chest. But deep down, a small part of me burned. Not resentment. Not yet. Just the quiet, gnawing realization that my place in this family had already been decided.

The scene shifts. I’m sixteen. Alexey’s word is law, and I’m sent on missions—the kind that requires a heavy hand and a cold heart. I remember the night he sent me to deal with a traitor. The biting cold seeped through my coat as I stood over the man, pistol heavy in my hand. His pleading eyes, the snow catching in his hair, the metallic taste of blood in the air.

But when the deed was done, it wasn’t me they praised. It was Alexey. He orchestrated the plan. I was just the one who executed it. I was the weapon—sharp and reliable—but never the one holding the hilt.

I feel the frustration simmering just beneath the surface like it always does in these memories. But there’s loyalty, too. I love Alexey. I respect him.

The memory fades, and I blink, pulling myself back to the present. Ari is still watching me, quiet, her face soft in the morning light.

Ari doesn’t say anything right away. She looks at me, her eyes holding mine, and there’s no pity in them—just understanding. That simple, patient silence does something to me.

She shifts closer, her hand coming to rest gently on my chest, right over my heart. The warmth of her palm cuts through the cold memories still lingering in my mind. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like more than I can put into words.

“You carry a great deal…just like my brother does.” Her fingers trace slow circles on my chest. “Don’t pretend like there isn’t a price for it.”

I’ve never thought about it like that. You don’t carry weight in our world—you shoulder it. You bear it without complaint because it’s what’s expected. It’s how you survive.

But hearing her say it like that—like it’s something to be respected and acknowledged—feels strange. Almost like she’s giving me permission to feel the weight I’ve been ignoring for years.

“It’s the life,” I say, my voice rough. “It’s what we’re born into.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she’s trying to see through my words. “Maybe. But it’s still hard. You shouldn’t have to pretend it’s not.”

I chuckle, but it’s not a real laugh. “There’s no room for hard. You either do it, or you don’t.”

She doesn’t argue. This is a life she understands, and for the first time, I appreciate how being married to the niece of thecapo di tutti capiis a huge advantage. And not just because she listens.

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