Page 29 of Pretty Little Princess

Then I flee, ready to bury my head in the sand and hope whatever they’re arguing about has nothing to do with me.

11

PYOTR

“You’re not even trying to make it work with the Marchetti girl,” my mother states flatly, maintaining our argument in Russian as she closes her cherry wood office door behind her and strides across the room.

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me,” I counter, my Russian clipped with the intensity of my irritation. I follow her with my eyes as she stops behind her desk to stare me down. “I transferred schools. I’m keeping a close eye on her. I have kept her in check and away from any potential threats to our betrothal–no matter how minute the threat might seem. I’ve ensured her obedience–”

“You’re still resistant to the whole thing. I can see it in the way you interact with her–or rather, don’t. You don’t have to like it, Pyotr. But youwilldo what it takes to ensure you marry Silvia Marchetti.” My mother stabs her dark wood desk with a manicured finger to punctuate her point. Her classic version of a disciplinary parent.

“Why?” I demand, my voice raising a decibel. “Why is it so important that I marrythatgirl? I would like some free will every now and again, especially when it comes to a decision as permanent as marriage.”

My mother tsks with deep disappointment in me. “Sometimes marriage isn’t about love or getting what you want,” she says, speaking to me like a child who needs a simple concept to be explained. “Marriage is about what’s right for the family. Your father knew that. You think he took me as a bride just because he wanted to?”

I’ve heard this story many times before. It’s the one she pulls out whenever she feels the need to lecture me on duty and how it strengthens the family far more than something as flimsy as love. We protect our own and do what it takes to make the business grow.

“Your father never even met me before our wedding day. But our marriage brought together two New York families, uniting us into such an empire as the city has never seen. We’ve claimed more territory in the past twenty years than either of our families did over a century.” The pride in her voice grates like sandpaper on my nerves.

“It hardly seems like a fair comparison when they were in Russia, fighting families with far deeper roots in trafficking and drugs than ours.” Sarcasm drips from my words as I cross my arms over my chest with a bland look.

Her eyes narrow, assessing me with distaste. “Your father’s strategic maneuvers as the head of the Veles family created an empire you should feel blessed to inherit.”

I sigh heavily, then disengage. Pushing her buttons won’t get either of us anywhere. “I know.” I release my arms, letting them fall to my sides as I look at the gold-and-blue Persian area rug in front of me.

She’s not wrong. Even with the number of territory disputes we’ve fought and lost in the last ten years since my father died, our family still runs a powerful franchise out of one of the most lucrative cities in the United States. I have a lot to be thankful for. And I do appreciate my mother for all she’s done to keep it in one piece.

From my peripheral, I catch my mother’s posture softening. She stands straight, letting her hands slide from their splayed position, planted on her desk. She watches me intently for a moment, letting the silence draw out. “I know it’s been hard becoming a man without a father figure,” she says finally, her tone softer.

I glance up, surprised that she’s giving me an inch. Normally, my mother stands her ground and drives the point home until I’m buried neck deep. But when I meet her eyes, they’re almost… sad. There goes my heart, twisting in my chest again. My unexpected sympathy has been far too frequent lately, and I blame Silvia. I never had moments of weakness before now.

“You have a hard path to walk without a proper father andpakhanto guide you. But I’m all you have, Pyotr. So, you need to start acting like the man of the family.” The momentary gentleness seems to melt away, and my mother’s lips press into a thin line. “You’ll be taking over soon after your graduation, but you’re still acting like a petulant child. You need to stop thinking about what’s best for yourself and consider what’s best for your family.”

I scowl as she drives the knife deep, targeting my guilt and calling me weak all at once. “I’m doing what’s best for our family. Have I ever done something for myself that would jeopardize that?” I challenge, outraged that she’s questioning my sense of honor.

I would do anything for my family–including marrying a complete stranger to help strengthen us against our enemies. I have given everything I have to follow in my father’s footsteps, to earn respect from a man who’s long been dead and buried.And she wants to call me a petulant child?A strong sense of irony hits me as I fight the urge to smash something–like a child having a temper tantrum.

Perhaps my mother’s right in some regard. But I don’t think it’s fair to say I only think about what’s best for me. This is the only thing I’ve asked for myself. In all my years of growing up under her strict instruction.

“Well, your behavior tonight was abhorrent. How do you expect the girl to want to sleep with you if you don’t say more than two words to her? She must think you’re a complete imbecile.” My mother shuffles the papers on her desk absent-mindedly, keeping her hands and eyes busy, though she’s clearly not reading what’s on the page.

“Sleep with her?” I question, bristling.

“Have you not had sex with her yet?” Her eyes snap up at me.

“No,” I growl through clenched teeth.

Again with a look of utter disappointment. My mother could rule the expression. “I thought you said you had her obedience.”

“You told me to make a statement, not take the last of her innocence. Why the fuck are we talking about this anyway? It’s not a topic I particularly want to discuss with you.” My skin crawls just thinking about a sex conversation with my mother. The closest thing we’ve come to this in the past was when my mother warned me not to knock a girl up by accident.

But she doesn’t even acknowledge my protest. “You need to take the Marchetti girl’s virginity before she goes back to Chicago. That’s the only way we can guarantee Lorenzo’s cooperation since the wedding isn’t supposed to happen until after you graduate.”

“How can you even be sure she’s a virgin?” Not that I disagree. My betrothed screams innocence. I’m confident my mother’s right just from the way Silvia blew me in the art supply closet. But I don’t see how my mother could be so sure.

She snorts. “Her father’s had her under lock and key. The girl’s in college and not even allowed to live near campus. Don Lorenzo has kept a close eye on her to ensure she would sell for more than a pretty penny. I’m sure of it. That’s why, if Lorenzo finds out that his daughter is ruined, he’ll be more inclined to shorten the engagement. He won’t be able to sell her off to another family for a better deal before you get married.”

Sometimes, I fuckinghatehow good my mother is at strategy. She sees everything and accounts for it all. She might be the only woman in the world smart enough to take up the role of apakhanand succeed with the amount of backlash and the number of doubters she’s faced.

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