Page 10 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“We’ve tried. This was the fourth planner in two days.” Viktor pauses, and I can hear him shuffling papers in the background. “Miss Lo Duca has developed something of a reputation among event coordinators. Word travels fast in that industry.”
Four wedding planners in two days. Even for someone as demanding as I can be, that seems excessive. Then again, Zita Lo Duca proved at our first meeting that she has no interest in conforming to anyone’s expectations, including mine. “What exactly is she objecting to?” I set down my pen and give Viktor my full attention. If I’m going to manage this situation, I need to understand what we’re dealing with.
“Everything.” Viktor’s response is delivered with the weary tone of a man who’s spent too much time mediating between incompatible forces. “The venue we selected is too grand and intimidating. The Russian Orthodox ceremony is too foreign and exclusionary. The traditional menu doesn’t accommodate Italian dietary preferences. The guest list includes too many business associates and not enough family friends.”
Each objection makes perfect sense from Zita’s perspective, which is exactly what makes them so problematic. She’snot being difficult for the sake of causing trouble. She’s systematically dismantling every aspect of the wedding that connects it to my family’s traditions and influence.
“And her alternatives?” I already know this answer will be worse than her objections.
“A small ceremony at the cathedral where her parents were married, Italian catering with options for Russian guests, and guests limited to immediate family and close personal friends only. Flowers that reflect both cultural backgrounds instead of exclusively Russian arrangements.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache building behind my temples. Zita wants a wedding that celebrates both our backgrounds equally, which sounds reasonable until you consider the political implications. This ceremony isn’t just a personal celebration. It’s a public demonstration of the alliance between our families, a signal to both our allies and our enemies that the Belsky organization has successfully expanded its influence through marriage.
“Schedule a meeting.” I reach for my calendar, scanning the appointments already scheduled for the rest of the week. “If she wants to discuss alternatives, we’ll discuss them, but she needs to understand some compromises aren’t possible.”
“When would you like to meet?” Viktor’s question carries a hint of concern. “Your schedule is already packed with the Federoff situation and the shipping contract negotiations.”
Avgar has been quiet for the past few days, which makes me more nervous than if he’d launched another obvious provocation. Quiet enemies are planning something, and I can’t afford to be distracted by wedding arrangements when he finallymakes his move. I also can’t afford to let Zita derail our marriage completely. Too much depends on this alliance for me to allow her personal preferences to undermine its political effectiveness.
“Tomorrow afternoon at her father’s house, so she feels comfortable enough to speak freely.” I make a note in my calendar and return my attention to the contracts. “Find a wedding planner who specializes in multicultural ceremonies. Someone who understands compromise doesn’t mean surrender.”
The call ends, and I’m left alone with my thoughts about the woman who will share my name in five weeks. Last night, I reviewed the background report Claude provided when our families first discussed this arrangement. Zita Lo Duca graduated summa cum laude from Northwestern with a business degree, speaks three languages fluently, and has been involved in her father’s operations since childhood. On paper, she’s exactly the kind of intelligent, educated partner who could contribute meaningfully to our expanded empire.
In person, she’s a force of nature determined to challenge every assumption I’ve made about how this marriage will work. The intercom buzzes, interrupting my analysis. “Mr. Belsky? Miss Lo Duca is here to see you.”
I check my watch and realize it’s barely past nine in the morning. Our meeting isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, which means this visit is either spontaneous or designed to catch me off guard. Knowing what I’ve learned about Zita’s personality, I suspect it’s both.
“Send her in.”
I stand and straighten my tie, preparing for whatever confrontation she’s planned for this morning. The door opens, and she enters my office with the confident stride of someone who owns every room she enters. She wears a charcoal gray business suit that emphasizes her professional credentials while making it clear that she’s not here for a social visit.
“Mr. Belsky.” She approaches my desk without waiting for an invitation to sit down. “You’re having trouble finding an appropriate wedding planner.”
“Miss Lo Duca.” I gesture toward the leather chairs arranged in front of my desk. “This is unexpected. I asked Viktor to schedule a meeting for tomorrow.”
“I decided not to wait for an appointment and haven’t heard from your…assistant.” She remains standing, maintaining the psychological advantage of height while I’m forced to look up at her. “We need to discuss the parameters of this arrangement before more people quit their jobs.”
The directness of her approach is both irritating and impressive. Most people who enter my office do so with careful deference, acknowledging the power dynamics involved in seeking meetings with the head of a major criminal organization. Zita treats me like a business partner who happens to be inconveniently located rather than someone whose displeasure could have serious consequences.
“Please, sit.” I settle back into my chair and wait for her to accept the invitation. “We have several issues to address.”
“We have one issue to address.” Zita finally sits, but she perches on the edge of the chair like she’s prepared to leave at any moment. “You’re planning a Russian wedding with Italiandecorations. I want a ceremony that actually reflects both our backgrounds instead of one that pays lip service to mine while celebrating yours.”
Her assessment is accurate, which makes it harder to dismiss than if she were simply being unreasonable. The wedding arrangements I approved do emphasize Russian traditions while making minimal accommodations for her Italian heritage. From a political standpoint, this makes perfect sense. The ceremony needs to demonstrate she’s joining my world, not that we’re creating some new hybrid organization.
From a personal standpoint, I can understand why she finds it insulting. “This wedding serves purposes beyond our personal preferences.” I lean forward, meeting her challenging stare directly. “Our guests will include political allies, business partners, and potential enemies who need to understand the nature of our alliance.”
“Our alliance.” Zita repeats the phrase with obvious distaste. “You mean my absorption into your empire.”
“I mean the combination of two influential families into something stronger than either could achieve independently.” I keep my voice level and professional, though her tone is starting to test my patience. “Your father understands these dynamics. Perhaps you should discuss them with him.”
“My father understands he needed protection and was willing to trade his daughter to get it.” Zita’s response carries a sharp edge of someone who’s had time to think about her situation and doesn’t like the conclusions she’s reached. “I understand you got a business alliance and a wife for the price of a single contract.”
The accuracy of her analysis is uncomfortably close to the truth. Claude Lo Duca needed the security that comes with Belsky protection, and I needed the political legitimacy that comes with marrying into an established American family. The arrangement benefits everyone except the woman who was traded to make it possible.
“What do you want?” I ask, deciding that direct negotiation might be more productive than dancing around the obvious power imbalances involved.
“I want a wedding that doesn’t make me feel like a conquered territory being formally annexed.” Zita’s metaphor is brutally accurate. “I want ceremony elements that honor both our families equally. I want a guest list that includes people who actually care about us personally, not just business associates looking for networking opportunities.”
