The next time I see Louis, I have to kill him at first sight.
I get back home late enough for Father to be asleep with the record player singing old Russian songs in his room. Without his order, the security guards don’t touch me, and I go to Misha’s room to check that his door is locked before going to my own bedroom. I wish I could see him and make sure he’s alright, but it’s safer for him to stay in his room and away from Father’s eyes.
“I heard you last night,” Misha tells me the next morning, munching on a piece of waffle with a smear of whipped cream on his cheek.
It’s Sunday, which means no school for Misha and a lazy morning for me, so I’ve made some homemade Belgian waffles to share with him in the kitchen. Of course, we have a dining room for that, but Father likes to stop there for a snack, so we prefer to stay away from any place he might visit. It’s better to enjoy the warmth and vanilla scents of the kitchen anyway.
“Oh, did you?” I smile at him, reaching out to wipe the cream off his face, and Misha scrunches his nose and swats my hand away.
“Mom!”
“What?” I exclaim in an innocent tone, raising my eyebrows with a teasing grin and showing him the remnants of cream on my thumb. “I’m just trying to clean you up, baby.”
Of course, that makes Misha grimace even harder, and he purses his lips and glares at me through his round glasses. “I’m not a baby.”
Ah, it’s so tempting to keep teasing him. He’s always so cute when he tries to look mature, but I can see that he’s actually mad at me, so I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, my bad. So you said you heard me last night. Weren’t you asleep by then?”
Misha pretends to be offended for a few more minutes, but eventually he turns back to me, grabs another spoonful of pineapples with maple syrup, and mumbles, “No, I was reading.”
“The lights were off, though.” I purse my lips, tilting my head with a frown. “I’ve told you, it’s bad for your eyes to read in the darkness.”
He shrugs, cutting a piece of his waffle. “I know, but it’s safer like that. On Friday, Grandpa knocked on the door and said I shouldn’t stay up all night.”
My scolding expression immediately softens, and I watch Misha for a moment before sighing and digging into my own waffle. Yes, he knows better than to disobey Father’s orders, and I have to admit that it is safer that way. I still don’t like that he’s reading in the darkness, but right now, I can’t take away his favorite hobby.
We sit there for a bit more, talking about Misha’s school friends and upcoming math test while the servants start to get ready for lunch. It looks like it’s time for us to leave, so I invite Misha to spend some time outside before starting on his homework. He nods, carefully placing his plate in the dishwasher, and we go into the hallway-where one of the guards suddenly stops me.
“Nikolai Sergeyevich wants you to come to his cabinet.” The guard glances between me and Misha and adds, “Now.”
I can feel Misha grip my hand tighter, and when I look at him, I see fear in his gray eyes. He knows Father doesn’t call me for nothing, but I try to smile at him with as much reassurance as I can.
“It’s alright. Wait for me in your room.”
Misha nods and, after a hesitant glance at the guard, runs away. He’s been trying to rebel lately and go against my orders, but he knows when it’s better to keep quiet and do what I say. I wait for him to leave before turning to the stairs and going into Father’s part of the house.
With every step, my heart starts to beat faster, and I can feel sweat gathering in my clenched fists. Why would Father want to talk to me now? He probably has another task for me, that’s all.
But I can’t help the growing premonition in my chest. What if the guards told him about my late return yesterday? They don’t usually do that, but if they were in a bad mood…well, it’s not too bad anyway. I’ll just have to tell him that I spent a couple of hours in a bar. Father won’t like it, but it’s better than the truth.
When I reach the heavy dark door of his cabinet, I take a deep breath and knock on the door. Father hums something that sounds like an invitation, so I push the door open and carefully step inside.
“Did you want to see me, sir?”
Father looks up at me from the stack of papers on his desk and waves his hand. “Come in, Alexandra. I have a couple of questions for you.”
A couple of questions? Shit. I swallow and walk closer to the desk with my heart immediately picking up its pace. If he wants to ask me something, it means that I’m not here to get another task. I’m here to answer for whatever mistake he knows about.
“So first, tell me where you were last night.” He gets up from his chair with a quiet huff and slowly walks toward me as if I don’t know what he’s gonna do next.
I instinctively tense up from inside, ready for a strike at any moment, and respond as calmly and confidently as possible, “I went to a bar in West Town and had a couple more drinks than-”
Father’s palm lands right on my cheek, and I tighten my lips and swallow the rest of the sentence. Okay, I guess he knows more than I expected. But he doesn’t stop there. As soon as I turn back to him, Father swings his palm and slaps my other cheek, and this time the diamond on his ring tears my skin. The sting brings tears to my eyes, and I bite my lip, trying to keep them in.
“How dare you lie me in the eyes?” Father hisses, grabs my shoulders, and shoves me into the wall. My shoulder takes the impact, so it’s not that bad. I only hum through my tight lips, but he seems to catch it nevertheless. “What, does it hurt? You should be thankful I didn’t break your bones, you damn whore.”
Oh, I am. I push myself up against the wall and look at him, breathing through my nose. I’m so fucking thankful.
“The Messinas called me this morning,” Father says with a calmer tone, turning around as if nothing happened and walking to his desk to grab a pack of cigarettes. “Riccardo said they’d offered you a deal, and you dared to refuse.”
I look away and purse my lips, clenching my hands into fists. Has Louis told Riccardo about his offer? What an asshole. His stupid ideas could cost me my life!
“Now, you, Alexandra, should be glad that Riccardo decided to reach out to me.” Father turns on his heels and lights up a cigarette, looking at me with a pleased squint. “We had a lovely chat, and the matter has been resolved.”
Resolved? I frown and push myself off the wall, holding onto my sore shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that your wedding is next Friday.” What the fuck?
For a moment I can’t even move or say anything, frozen in the wave of shock. It must be a joke. What is he talking about? But when I see a smirk on Father’s face, I realize that he’s more than serious, and something inside of me bursts.
“No, I’m not gonna marry him,” I raise my voice, stepping toward him with a rush of agitation.
“Alexandra,” Father says with a quiet threat, giving me a cold look with his lips turned downward. But screw that, he can’t scare me now. We are talking about my life!
“No, I don’t care if you or anyone else thinks it’s a good idea.”
I point my finger at him, storming forward, unable to slow down even when I catch a glint of maniacal anger in his eyes. But my heart is raging, the ground under my feet is shaking, and I feel like the whole world is against me. I don’t want that, it can’t be true! He can’t just…give me to Louis like a toy!
“You can’t do that to me, you can’t force me to sign the papers!’
“You’re right,” Father says in a dangerously quiet voice, and I stop in my tracks, unsure what to think of it. Is he agreeing with me?
Using my surprise, Father moves forward and snatches my hand in the air, squeezing my fingers so hard that they hurt. I’m not ready for it, and unconsciously I allow my genuine reaction to slip through: I wince and instinctively try to pull my hand back. I hate giving Father the pleasure of seeing my pain.
“I can’t force you to marry Louis Messina,” he hisses, pulling me closer to him and twisting my finger so hard it feels like it’s gonna break any moment. “But I can force your son to spend his days in the basement until you, my dear, come back to your senses.”
What? No, he can’t do that, not again! I look at him with wide eyes while a wave of terror runs through my entire body.
I remember Misha’s face when Father let him out of the basement, dirty from dust and swollen from tears. He did it to punish Misha for failing his exams in second grade, and I still can’t forgive myself for not being able to stop him.
“So what?” Father chuckles and breathes a puff of smoke into my face. “Do you still want to test my patience?”