Page 7 of Bound to the Bratva
"Don't worry about it, Regina. He doesn't take orders well."
Regina smiles slightly and I walk off back to my office. I open the door and the second I do, I spot him sitting behind my desk. What a fucking egotistical bastard.
"It's a bit odd you tell Vera you're coming, but fail to tell me." I grit, walking over to the small table in front of my window. It's useless to confront him about being behind my desk. Knowing him, he'll tell me it's his desk since he owns the company, and I don't feel like dealing with him.
I take a seat and pull out my panini from the bag, unwrap it, and take a bite of the deliciously savory sandwich. It's insanely satisfying after the long morning I've had.
"If I told you why I was coming, you'd make some excuse to avoid seeing me," There's an underlying bitterness to his voice, and the bitterness distracts me until the weight of his words sink in.
I whip my head around to face him, taking in his appearance. He's in his mid-sixties and while most would suggest he might be powerless, there is so much unused power in his veins. His hair is as white as snow, which is a sharp contrast to his dark, piercing eyes. They're the deepest, darkest brown anyone has ever seen, though in the dim light of my office, they almost seem black.
"So, why are you here then?" This has nothing to do with Vera and I know it. It's quite the opposite: it's something to do with me.
"I've found a suitable woman for you to marry," I've always known he'd find someone, but he's never settled on anyone.
"I take it she comes from a powerful family?" I ask in between bites of my sandwich.
"Very powerful."
"Is she Russian?" She'd better be. I could never imagine myself being with someone else. Italian, Irish, Mexican, it doesn't matter. The cultural differences within our relationship would cause it to suffer.
"She is. She's the only daughter of Nikolai Zuyev,"
I narrow my eyes into razor-sharp slits, "You mean his bastard child? You're marrying me off to a fucking bastard?" Each word comes out with as much venom as the last.
"Yes,"
"You expect me to marry a filthy bastard, and not someone with power?"
He fucking lied. He just told me she came from a powerful family.
"I do. The power she has is that of her family's, and I want it. So, you will do as I fucking tell you and marry the Zuyev girl."
The thought of marrying someone lower than me causes bile to rise in my throat. I fight the urge to vomit, both furious and disgusted with my father's choice. How could he ever consider such an arrangement?
Three
Aria
I arrived at Antonio's ten minutes ago and I'm still sitting in my car. I can't shake the anxiousness that takes over me. Every minute that passes only makes it worse, but no matter how long I sit here, I can't avoid the inevitable. I have to go in and speak to my father. I have to face whatever this unexpected dinner invitation truly means.
But, why?
Why is it so hard for me?
Why am I so scared of what this dinner might entail? It's probably because I know anything with my father comes with a price.
Who knows, maybe since my father's getting older he wants Sasha and I to be closer to his other kids. Or, is there something else entirely behind this invitation? So many scenarios race through my mind, but the fact of the matter is I don't know.
The only way I will know is if I go inside and face it.
Fuck it, I can't hide in my car any longer. Even if my anxiety is making it hard to breathe, I have to go inside, and I need to do it right now before I chicken out.
I take a deep breath, gathering my keys, purse, and phone before finally exiting my vehicle. As I walk away I lock my car and soon enough I'm stepping on the pavement, about fifteen feet away from Antonio's front doors. My heart is pounding in my chest, not slowing down in the slightest.
Part of me wants to turn around and not waste my time, but there's another part of me that only wants answers.
As I approach the restaurant, I can see through the large front windows the bustling crowd inside. The sounds of clinking glasses and lively chatter spill out onto the street, beckoning me to come closer.
