Page 13 of King’s Promise

“Thank you.” I take a seat as Nikolay hands him a short glass with a generous amount of vodka.

“I had no idea you two were together, or serious,” Konstantin mentions as he takes a sip of the alcohol before he sends me a quizzical glance. “I assumed you were in touch with your father, but he never mentioned this.” His voice conveys his surprise.

“I’ve been out of the house for some time.” I meet Konstantin’s hazel eyes, not sure of either man’s motives. He shrugs, as if it’s immaterial. “Papa and I didn’t see eye to eye on much; I’m not surprised.” I move one of the light blue throw pillows and sit on the off-white curvy sofa.

“I finished the funeral arrangements. The matter won’t be looked into. I’m sure we all knew to expect that,” he adds as if it’s an excuse for something.

“Do you have his list of contacts?” Nikolay asks as if it’s normal for him to know this.

“I can get them to you. I know your man, Liev, is collecting for you. I assure you I can handle my duties.”

“I’m sure you can, however, there have been shortages, I’m told. I’ll be taking over as Anya, and I are to be wed. It will be a small affair and only you know the try meaning behind the dinner invites going out shortly. Our families go back to Russia, I want to make sure you’re on board. I’ll keep you on as my councilor, but I have my own advisor as well, you understand.”

Nikolay delivers the demotion smoothly. Now I know why he wanted me here. I’m a pawn for him to take over my birthright. Not that I want to run it, but I’m the blood by which power will go to the Volkov family. My father had no sons to carry his name. Apparently, the ties to my father’s past spent in Russia weren't left behind with our home. Dad apparently was thick as thieves with contacts back home. It makes sense. I’m sure his associates all served a purpose. Far be it for my father to keep anyone in his life who didn’t serve his purpose.

I wonder how long I have before Nikolay wants me popping out blue-eyed Russian babies. It’s the oldest trick in the book to keep women subservient and compliant. Women in Russia live in a repressive society and I don’t care what luxuries Nikolay can afford, I won’t give up my voice to be with him.

Konstantin is older than Nikolay, his hair is slicked back and graying at the temples. His eye twitches as he realizes he’s been out played tonight and gulps down the vodka to help the sting of defeat.

“I understand, I met with Pavel. I assumed there was a contingency plan in place. Igor alluded to a will.”

I’m not sure if he’s saying this to put Nikolay at ease, or if he knew what was to take place should my father die. I don’t know who to trust.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks Nikolay.

“For now, we’re good. Thank you for taking care of the funeral arrangements. I’ll make sure you are compensated for your loyalty,” Nikolay replies guilelessly. It’s as if there is a conversation within a conversation. “We’ll meet after the funeral, and I would like an accounting from Liev and a list of all our obligations.”

“Consider it done.” Konstantin stands, taking this as his cue the short interview is over. I notice his suit is one worn by top Russian businessmen, but more expensive than Papa’s judging by the trademarked horsehair stitching. I know, as I love to ride horses and the suits are made in London. I may not wear many designers, but I read about in notable fashion magazines, likeVogue. It’s my one indulgence, paying for overpriced magazines with pictures of jewelry, purses, and clothes I’ll never be able to afford.

Until now, apparently.

My mind should be on my next class assignment. However, I love this room and I can’t wait to explore the other floors. I’ll wait until Nikolay has left for work tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be leaving the house in the morning. A Bratva Don never sleeps.

I stand when Konstantin rises, Nikolay pours himself another vodka from the serving tray sitting on the circular coffee table between us. The room has another modern couch, a sectional made of fabric, matching mine. Stuffed ottoman chairs are scattered around the room to to accommodate more people. I assume this room is to entertain guests and wonder if we’re allowed to have guests and make friends. For a moment I think of the possibilities of being a couple, of meeting others our age, and going to dinner parties and meeting at plays, or famous restaurants where the prices aren’t listed on the menus.

Nikolay observes the older man giving me good wishes on our engagement.

I thank Konstantin before he turns to my fiancé. “I assume the wedding will be soon?”

“Yes, I’ll fill you in after the funeral; to speak of it now would be inappropriate. We are keeping it a secret until the dust settles. I’d appreciate your support.”

Konstantin nods. Nikolay steps forward, the two shake hands and it’s as if they are new partners.

“You might want to put a ring on it, Nikolay,” Konstantin murmurs with his Russian accent. Rich Russian women are similar to the women in the Italian Mafia. They like their shiny jewels, bright colors, and anything with a designer label.

Pavel walks him out. I turn to Nikolay. “What are you fishing for?”

“I needed to get a read on him. I’m testing him to see if he mentions the wedding to anyone to see if he can be trusted. I’m trying to decide if someone inside your father’s organization is on the payroll of an enemy, or if there is dissension within the ranks. My goal is to figure it out before more bodies end up in the morgue.”

Saliva slides down my throat like sand. More bodies?

I shiver. I never asked to be involved. And yet, here I sit, asking difficult questions with no easy answers. Instinctively, I trust his judgment on all things Mafia.

Papa’s death could leave a power vacuum that would tempt many to take over our territory or worse, us. Papa mentioned the Irish are more active lately and he was anxious for the opening of the races this fall.

“A drink?” I’m not sure if he’s asking or telling.

I observe his calm demeanor, meanwhile I’m a wreck. “I’ll take a vodka.”

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