“Amara,” my father said in a tone that he’d never used with me before. Gentle.
He held his hand out and beckoned me.
I felt a nudge from behind, my mother gently pushing me further into the room. I took a couple steps forward and looked over my shoulder at her. She stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, her head down. The perfect submissive Italian wife for my father. It made me nauseous.
“Amara,” my father’s voice turned a little harder, a little sterner.
I knew my lack of obeying him right away angered him, and if the Petrov’s weren’t here right now I’d have a red mark on my cheek in the shape and size of my father’s palm.
I faced forward once more and made my way over to him quickly, finding it hard to breathe the longer I was in the room with these three men. He gripped my upper arm harder than necessary and I couldn’t stop the wince. I noticed the subtle tightening of Nikolai’s shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes as his gaze landed on where my father held onto me.
My father turned me so I was facing the two Petrov’s and let go of me. Dmitry leaned against the edge of the mantle, a smirk on his face as he brought his glass to his mouth and took a long drink. But then my focus was locked on Nikolai once more, as if I had no control.
I was lost in his blue eyes, and in his imposing, intimidating demeanor. God, he was big, tall and muscular, broad shoulders and a hard body that couldn’t be hidden behind his leather jacket, dark shirt, and black jeans.
I felt dizzy, woozy even, as if I were staring directly into the sun but unable to look away. Of course I felt fear. But it was more akin to being afraid of the unknown and not so much that he’d destroy me. Although I wasn’t confident the latter wouldn’t happen.
“Amara, I’d like to officially introduce you to your fiancé, Nikolai Petrov.” My father’s voice was even, slightly saccharine. And Marco Bianchi could have never been called sweet or amicable.
I had no doubts these two Russians knew the type of man Marco was, the things he’d done, the lengths he’d gone to get what he wanted. I knew they were well aware of this because they were all one in the same.
My father was brutal and savage in all aspects of his life. That’s how he’d gotten into the position of Capo of the West Coast Cosa Nostra.
I glanced at my father once more, watching as he tipped back the rest of his bourbon. I had a feeling that wasn’t his first and certainly wouldn’t be his last. From the little I knew about the Cosa Nostra and Bratva, I was aware of the tension that had always been between them, the decades long war and strife, vengeance and revenge always seeming to go back and forth.
All the blood that had been spilled by both sides.
And as I saw the glossy look in my father’s eyes, the slightly tint of pink to his cheeks, I wondered if this was what my father looked like when he was happy as he sold-off his daughter in a power-play.
It was just one of the many questions I’d never get an answer to.
I nodded even though no one asked anything of me. I wanted to ask when the wedding date was, and how soon we were talking, but I knew better than to open my mouth and voice that.
The sound of liquid being poured into a glass told me my father was getting a refill he didn’t need.
And during all of this Nikolai and I held eye contact. Just a look from him made me feel unbalanced and nervous… bared so that I couldn’t hide anything from his knowing gaze.
“Don’t you want to know when our wedding is?” Nikolai’s voice was a deep rumble. Although he had an American accent, I did pick up on a slight Russian one, almost inaudible aside from when he pronounced certain words.
“She’ll go along with whatever date is set,” my father answered and I looked at him, seeing him staring down into his bourbon, a scowl on his face.
“I didn’t ask you,” Nikolai said in a deep, dark tone.
I snapped my head in his direction, feeling my eyes widen. People didn’t speak to Marco that way, least of all in his own home.
The room became deathly quiet with the only sound being that of the crackling fire. I let my gaze slip to Dmitry and saw him smirk just as he brought his glass back to his mouth and finished off his liquor.
“I was talking to my future wife. My fiancé, Marco.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as Nikolai used my father’s first name, something that would be deemed as disrespectful in his eyes. But my father said nothing, and although I could feel the coldness blasting out of him, his anger tangible, his silence meant one thing.
He was afraid of Nikolai, of what this man, his organization could do. The power they wielded.
“Well, go on girl. Answer him.” My father’s voice was clipped and I could feel his gaze on me although I didn’t look at him.
I twisted my fingers together in front of me, knowing I should probably take a submissive stance and lower my head in respect, break eye contact with Nikolai, yet it was as if he were silently willing me to meet him head on, to not back down. And that had a surge of sureness and my own power moving through me.
Show him I was stronger than people gave me credit for. And so I straightened my spine and tipped my chin, holding Nikolai’s gaze and seeing his expression clearly showing approval coupled with a little tilt at the corner of his mouth as he smirked.
“Don’t you want to know when we’re getting married, Amara?” He asked again and I suppressed a shiver at the sound of my name falling from his lips, his Russian accent seeming thicker now as he rolled those syllables around.
I felt slightly ashamed and uncomfortable for feeling a flash of desire at that, especially standing in a room with two strangers and my father. And I quickly realized just being in Nikolai’s presence made everything else fade away so I didn't really care about anything else or what anyone thought.
It was liberating.
I licked my lips and found myself glancing at my father as if instinctively being pulled to garner his approval.
“Don’t look at him, krasavitsa.” Although Nikolai’s voice was stern and demanding like my father could be, it also held a different note in it.
I couldn’t place it, but I knew it made me feel a certain kind of way that had my thighs clenching together and my face heating even more. And I did find myself obeying, staring once more at Nikolai, feeling everything else fade away.
“Answer the question for me.” He took a step forward and although he was only a few feet away, I could smell the spicy, dark scent of whatever cologne he wore.
I inhaled deeply, not realizing I’d done the act, took in his scent, until I was barely able to stop the soft sound of… what? Neediness? Desperation? Arousal?
“When?” That one word was breathless from me, barely audible, but he gave me another one of those far too sexy corner mouth smiles.
“When, what, krasavitsa?” He took another step forward and I felt how tight my muscles were, as if I were anticipating… something.
I licked my lips and noticed his gaze dropped down to watch the act before he slowly, lewdly dragged his focus back up to my eyes. “When is the wedding?” For a prolonged second after I asked the question Nikolai didn’t speak, just continued to watch me. And then he smirked.
“A month from today,” Nikolai finally said matter-of-factly.