Not here.
Not now.
The whole family looks at Renata expectantly. She looks directly at Lorenzo, says his name, and tells him something in Italian.
He nods and glances at me and Olivia on either side of him, then at Kostya across the table. “She’s going to speak in Italian for the family. I will translate in English for you.”
I give a single nod of understanding. Lorenzo may translate her words, but I’ll be watching Renata—cataloging every twitch of her features, every flicker of her eyes, every movement of her body. She begins to speak slowly and clearly in her native language, and Lorenzo speaks quietly after her, translating in English.
“The events surrounding Vigo’s death have been settled with the four families,” Lorenzo begins. “There will be some changes to leadership.” Renata pauses, as does Lorenzo, and quiet settles over the room for a few brief, tense moments. She begins again and Lorenzo’s translations follow. “Lorenzo and I will serve together as Vittori Head of House to maintain our status and continue our business as one of the four families.”
Someone I don’t recognize shouts out something in Italian, and though I don’t understand all the words, I clearly hear the name Nikolai Mikhailov.
I tense immediately.
Renata nods, then continues, as does Lorenzo. “Yes, it’s true. Nikolai Mikhailov is dead. His former talent slave will be taking his place. As it turns out, she is his wife.” The crowd breaks into a murmur of chatter.
Renata holds up a hand to silence the group, then gestures toward me. Lorenzo doesn’t need to translate when she says my name. “Anya Mikhailov.”
“Kostya Federov and Anya will serve together as Mikhailov Head of House. The Vittori and Mikhailov Heads of House will operate as a joint family board to make business decisions on behalf of both of our families. I know this is unexpected, but it has already been decided and it cannot be questioned. Anya is pregnant and the child may be of Vittori or Mikhailov blood.”
More chatter comes with the thick tension in the room, all directed at me—as if I had any choice or say in what has happened to me in this life. I feel like shrinking, melting into the seat, dripping like liquid onto the floor and pooling safely beneath the table.
“Anya is to remain unharmed and treated with the same respect you would treat any Mikhailov with. I will hear no arguments to the contrary. Things will continue this way until we learn the paternity of the baby—the board will reconvene and evaluate the situation at our next quarterly meeting.” Renata pauses, taking a beat too long to take in a steadying breath. “Funeral arrangements for Vigo are being made and I’ll share that with you shortly. But first, I think some happy news is in order. Something our family can look forward to as we face these difficult challenges ahead.”
Renata looks at Lorenzo and he nods, pushing to his feet. He speaks to the room in Italian, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Then, he gestures for Olivia to stand and she does.
What’s happening?
Olivia smiles, looks at Lorenzo, then at Renata, who nods and smiles at her. Lorenzo snakes his arm around her waist and excitedly, Olivia announces, “We’re having a baby!”
Lorenzo quickly translates to the room and there’s an eruption of happiness—cheers and claps and overdramatic expressions of joy. I want to scream, puke, run from the room. My chest aches for the hypocrisy; the happiness over one former talent slave’s pregnancy but not over another’s.
Why should Olivia find happiness while I’m met with eternal dismay?
I recognize the jealousy and how it feeds my anger and I know I can’t let it. I know it will only diminish my power.
Olivia glances at me with a sheepish grin and I force myself to grant her a small smile. I nod in acknowledgment of her…happy news. I don’t care to interpret the pitying look she throws my way. I can’t afford to give away any more of my power.
Lorenzo translates as Renata begins to share the details of the funeral arrangements being made for Vigo—a vigil and mass that will be held in his honor. I breathe deeply through it, struggling to swallow the bile that rises in my throat from the thought of him being honored.
Fuck Vigo Vittori and his fucking family.
I feel the way my lips pull into a hard line across my face, my cheeks pulling and tugging my features into a look of disgust as I listen. I know how my face is twisting and contorting in hatred and agony. But I also know I can’t let my feelings show. Somehow, I manage to force calm indifference to my expression.
Before Lorenzo translates Renata’s final sentence, people break into chatter and those not at the table filter out of the room.
Lorenzo leans in close so I can hear him over the noise. “She’s sending them away to fill their plates in the kitchen. Only the immediate family is served here.”
Quietly, I ask him, “Do they all know what the four families do?”
“They only know of the hierarchy. They know that our family’s wealth is generated by the business. I think most of them have figured it out for themselves, but it’s a precious secret. Our extended family would have nothing without the work of the four families. No one questions it.”
“Won’t the secret find its way to the authorities? These people don’t all live here, do they?”
“No, most of them have their own homes. There’s never a concern for the authorities, Anya. You should know that by now. The four families own everything that’s important in the world. We’re unstoppable.” He says it with pride.
I glance at Olivia, who suddenly looks upset. She tucks a strand of golden-blond hair behind her ear as her gaze darts uncomfortably around the room.
She should feel uncomfortable. Her happiness is traitorous to all the other talent slaves who have served the four families, just like her. She got lucky, fucking lucky that Lorenzo fell for her—even luckier that the family accepted it, embraced it even, and are allowing her to become one of them. I shouldn’t be angry at Olivia—it’s not her fault—but I am angry.
Suddenly, Lorenzo’s face falls and he pushes to his feet angrily. “Bianca!” he yells across the room at my former cell mate, who is still sitting behind the harp. “You should be playing right now. Why aren’t you playing?” His anger switched on so quickly, it’s jarring.
Bianca jumps, straightening her spine and nodding before reaching forward to tickle the strings of the instrument. She creates a beautiful melody that drifts around the room and a cloud of music covers us with her haunting tune.
Olivia bites her fingernail, her eyes flickering up to watch Lorenzo’s anger-shrouded face before he finally settles back into his seat. She stiffens with tension, but then she smiles, relaxing a little when he returns his lavish attention to her, petting her, kissing her, holding her hand.