Page 11 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
Her requests are reasonable, which makes them more dangerous than if she were demanding something obviously impossible. I can justify rejecting unreasonable demands. Reasonable requests require careful consideration. “Some of those accommodations are possible.” I pull out a legal pad and start making notes. “Others could compromise the political effectiveness of the ceremony.”
“Political effectiveness.” Zita watches me write like she’s observing a particularly distasteful specimen. “Is that what you call our wedding? A demonstration of political effectiveness?”
“We’ve been over this.” I set down my pen and look at her directly. “Do you really want to argue about something that’s settled?”
She snorts softly. “What benefits do I get from this alliance?” She doesn’t step back when I approach, which demonstrates either courage or foolishness. “What exactly am I supposed to gain from marrying someone who is going straight to hell when he dies?”
I want to laugh, but I fear she wants a real answer. I don’t want to mess this up before it’s even begun.
“You get influence over an organization that affects thousands of people.” I stop just close enough that she has to look up to maintain eye contact. “You get the opportunity to shape how we conduct business going forward and the chance to ensure any future expansion doesn’t repeat the mistakes that destroyed your neighborhood.”
“I get to be your ticket out of eternal damnation, in other words.” Zita’s response is delivered with bitter amusement. “Your personal moral advisor who helps you feel better about inheriting a criminal empire. The little angel on your shoulder.”
I sigh. “You get to be my partner in building something worthy of the power we’ll inherit together. Your intelligence and education could contribute to decisions that affect everyone in our sphere of influence.”
“What if I disagree with those decisions, and my moral advisory services conclude certain operations should be discontinued entirely? What then?”
“Then we’ll discuss the implications and find compromises that serve everyone’s interests.” I realize as I say it that this promise is more generous than anything my father would have offered. Nicky never consulted anyone about strategic decisions, especially not wives who might have conflicting priorities.
“Compromises like the wedding arrangements?” Zita’s challenge reminds me that we still haven’t resolved the immediate issue that brought her here this morning. “Where my preferences are accommodated as long as they don’t interfere with your political objectives?”
“Compromises like finding approaches that achieve necessary goals while addressing legitimate concerns.” I return to my desk and pick up the legal pad where I’ve been making notes. “What specific changes would make you feel like an equal partner in this ceremony rather than a conquered territory?”
The question seems to surprise her, and for the first time since she entered my office, Zita’s combative posture softens slightly. She takes the chair I offered earlier and considers her response carefully.
“Equal representation in the ceremony elements. Russian Orthodox traditions balanced with Italian Catholic ones, a guest list that includes people who matter to both of us personally, not just political allies, and a venue that feels welcoming to both families instead of emphasizing one over the other.”
I write down each request, noting how they could be accommodated without completely undermining the political purposes of the ceremony. “Anything else?”
“Vows that we write ourselves instead of traditional scripts that emphasize obedience and submission.” Zita’s addition catches me off guard. “If we’re going to promise partnership and mutual respect, I want those promises to be genuine rather than ceremonial.”
The idea of writing our own vows introduces an element of unpredictability that makes me nervous. Traditional weddingscripts are safe because everyone knows what to expect. Personal vows could reveal too much about our actual feelings toward each other and the arrangement that brought us together.
“That could be…complicated.” I set down my pen and consider the implications. “What if our vows contradict each other? What if yours emphasize resistance while mine emphasize cooperation?”
“Then our guests will hear what’s actually true instead of what sounds politically convenient.” Zita leans forward, and I see something that might be hope flickering behind her challenging expression. “Isn’t honesty supposed to be one of the improvements you’re implementing?”
She’s using my own words against me, which is both frustrating and impressive. I did promise more honesty and ethical behavior than my father practiced, and refusing to apply those principles to our own wedding would undermine my credibility completely.
“Personal vows, with the understanding that certain topics remain private regardless of our individual feelings.” I make another note, wondering what I’m committing myself to. “No references to the specific terms of our arrangement or details about family business operations.”
“Agreed.” Zita’s response comes quickly, as if she’s already thought through these parameters. “I’d like equal time for both our cultural traditions during the ceremony itself.”
“Agreed, within reason.” I close the legal pad and look at her directly. “Are these accommodations sufficient to make you a willing participant in our wedding planning?”
“They’re sufficient to make me a cooperative participant.” Zita’s distinction is subtle but important. “Willingness might take more time to develop.”
I understand her meaning. She’s agreeing to work with me on the ceremony arrangements, but she’s not promising to embrace our marriage with enthusiasm. It’s a realistic compromise that acknowledges our circumstances without demanding false sentiment from either of us.
“Cooperation is sufficient for now.” I extend my hand across the desk. “Partners?”
Zita considers the gesture for a long moment before reaching out to shake my hand. Her grip is firm and confident, lasting just long enough to seal our agreement without suggesting anything beyond professional alliance.
“Partners,” she agrees. “In wedding planning, at least.”
After she leaves, I sit alone in my office thinking about the woman who will become my wife in five weeks. Zita is everything the background reports suggested—intelligent, educated, and strong-willed—but she’s also something I didn’t expect. She’s unafraid of me in a way that’s both unsettling and intriguing.
Most people who challenge me do so from positions of weakness, lashing out because they feel cornered or desperate. Zita challenges me from a position of moral conviction, as if she genuinely believes her principles are worth defending regardless of the personal cost.
