The Recluse Heir by Monique Moreau
Prologue
Virginity is power, dragă mea. One of our great powers as women. Do not be careless with it.
My mother’s words rang in my head while I sat through the droning lecture in my senior history class, causing heat to crawl up my nape. The sounds of clacking on keyboards and riffling through books sifted through the classroom. I tore a few sheets of paper from my notebook and used them to fan myself.
“Ms. Popescu?”
My head snapped up; my gaze fixed on my history teacher, who’d approached my desk without me noticing. His frowning visage pinned me to the back of my seat.
Clearing my throat, I stammered, “Y-yes, Mr. Holland.”
“And exactly how did the Reagan administration’s massive military spending program, the largest in US history, impact the Soviet economy, pray tell, Ms. Popescu?”
Shoot. This is what happened when my mind wandered. What was once a rare occurrence happened much too often lately. Of course, it would come as no surprise to anyone who knew what my life was really like.
Although I’d worked my butt off to graduate at the top of my class in this exclusive boarding school, none of it mattered because I wasn’t going on to college like every other kid in my school.
No, instead, I was getting married to a man I barely knew.
Nicu.The youngest, and most vicious, son of the Lupu clan. Ugh.
My mother already sent me a pic of my engagement ring, along with posting it on her social media. Yes, so help me God, my mother was on Insta.
The ring was truly atrocious. Huge. Sparkly. Tacky. My family had a rep for not being classy. His family was known for their refinement, so there could only be one reason for picking the ring he did. To taunt me. To show the world that the Lupu clan was powerful and rich and to flaunt the fact that they now owned me. Me and my virginity. We were nothing more than expensive possessions, like that horrid ring.
“I’m waiting, Ms. Popescu,” Mr. Holland said, dragging out the ou sound of my last name as if it were an ugly thing. The classroom was so quiet that I could hear the branches of the tree outside scratching against the windowpane as it swayed in the wind.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Holland. I got distracted and didn’t…”
My eyes darted to my side. My best friend, Jewel, shot her hand up. Yet again, trying to save me, but Mr. Holland wasn’t having any of it.
“Ms. Popescu, Reagan’s massive spending program was one of the pivotal factors that led to the final downfall of the Soviet Union. That is the answer, and it behooves you to pay closer attention in this class if you wish to continue your sparkling educational career. More importantly, to become an educated citizen of the world, because that is the real goal behind an education at Roman Academy.”
“Yes, Mr. Holland. I’ll try to do better,” I muttered, heat creeping up my neck and flushing my face.
“I should hope you do more than try, Ms. Popescu,” he replied tersely.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, slouching down in my seat, eyes glued to my desk.
He was right, of course. Mr. Holland wasn’t being rude on purpose. He believed in the worthiness of history and the importance of a stellar education. Normally, I agreed with him. Being called out in front of the class was so humiliating precisely because I was one of his favorites. I was a model student. A teacher’s pet. It came from my heart, not from the pressure to please my parents, like so many students here. My parents couldn’t care less. My father hadn’t even completed high school. He was running the streets of Bucharest by the time he was in his teens, hustling to feed his mother and siblings, selling drugs or anything he could get his hands on. These were the suppertime stories I grew up listening to, not about fraternity hazing rituals at an Ivy League college.
I did well academically because being the best was the only kind of positive feedback I got, and negative attention wasn’t an option for a mafie girl like me. While some of my classmates rebelled, I came from a world where you didn’t bring unwanted notice to you or your family. Yet, despite my love for school, the impending doom of my wedding had blunted my drive to learn.
Bending my head down and pretending to focus on whatever was on the screen of my laptop, I let out a weary sigh. The only silver lining of going back to New York City after I graduated was that Jewel had gotten accepted to Barnard College, the women’s college, so she’d be in the city as well.
It would be painful to watch her go off to classes while I rotted away in a lonely apartment with my new husband, but, at least, we’d be in the same city. Besides living vicariously through her, I harbored a secret hope that once I settled into the marriage with Nicu, I could convince him to let me take a couple of classes with Jewel.
My eyes darted briefly to Jewel. She caught my look, her expression softening with pity. The Popescu pride should have burned at the sympathy on her face, but it didn’t even penetrate the cloud of sadness enveloping me. She knew how determined I had once been to be the perfect student and how now I was…lost. What was the point of it all now that I wouldn’t join the rest of my graduating class off to college next year? Of course, I always knew I was destined to marry a mafie made man, but I hadn’t expected to be thrust into an engagement quite this soon.
Despite the guilt of being away from my family, I should be grateful for this opportunity, this slice of heaven that I was afforded. No other mafie girl got a chance like this. They stayed at home, to ensure they were virgins when they got engaged after graduation. It took witnessing my father, the head of my clan no less, killing a man in front of me at the ripe old age of twelve for that to happen.
A shudder racked through me as the memory flittered into my mind. I’d been on my way to the kitchen in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water when I’d heard strange sounds and bumps beneath me. Half asleep and confused, I’d crept down the steps to the basement.
Glancing around a corner, I had arrived just in time for the main attraction. Frozen in place, I’d watched as he choked the life out of a man, his face in a twisted grimace of pleasure and pain.
Hearing my sharp inhalation, his head had whipped toward me. With a curse, he’d snapped at me sharply to go back upstairs. My heart stuttered at the murder in his eyes.
Taking advantage of my father’s distraction, the man tore out of his grip and lunged toward me. I shrieked as I dodged his clawing fingers. In a flash, my father tackled him to the ground. Knee on his victim’s chest, my father choked him. Gasping and gurgling, his eyes bulged open, and his face turned an unnatural shade of red.
Tearing my gaze away, I spun around and bolted up the stairs. Diving under the covers, I huddled in my bed in a fetal position. Much later, he came to my room and apologized. “None of that was meant for your eyes, and I promise it won’t happen again,” he said in the same heavy accent that was usually a source of comfort to me.
I’d been too freaked out to say much of anything, but I couldn’t help the full-body shudder that racked my body. My tongue lay thick in my mouth, unable to move. No biggie, Dad. I now know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’re a cold-blooded killer. Of course, I had known what my father and brother did for a living but had been spared the violent reality up to that point. I had worshipped my dad. Scratch that; I had worshipped them both. Still did.
That night, I hadn’t slept. The following night, I’d fallen into an exhausted stupor, but with it came the nightmares.
Nightmares where I shrieked so loudly that I’d wake up the entire house. My mother was upset, my father worried. It had caused a rift with my mother; she blamed me for allowing this to happen. Only months of endless nightmares and my father’s persuasion convinced her to forgive me. Soon after, my father decided that a change of scenery was the best solution, and I had been sent to boarding school.
It was only supposed to be for a year, but then I met Jewel, a New Yorker like me, and one year turned into two. Now six years later, I was in the last semester of my senior year.
The bell rang.
“That’s all for today,” Mr. Holland said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The class broke into movement as students slapped their notebooks or laptops shut and gathered their stuff. In the midst of all the noise, I slowly turned to Jewel.
“It’s okay, Cat. It’s okay,” she said in a soothing tone, patting my forearm in reassurance.
I was the good girl. The good student. Sure, I had a mouth on me, but I strove to be number one in everything I did. Who knew where it came from, this overachieving gene? Cristo certainly hadn’t inherited it. Whereas his entire life revolved around our mafie family, I didn’t want to limit myself to being a wife and mother. I may have known better than to yearn for a career, but I dreamed of continuing my education. At the very least, I wanted to make it through college.
“Come on,” she coaxed, as she helped me collect my things. “You’ll be late for your next class.”
My shoulders drooped. “What does it matter, Jewel? Seriously, with my current GPA, I could flunk out of every one of my classes and still graduate. It’s not like it matters what my GPA is anyway. I’m not moving on up,” I replied as I dragged myself to my feet.
“Hush now, stop that. It matters a whole lot because you’re one of the smartest people here, and you busted your butt to become valedictorian. Don’t let what’s going to happen in the future get to you,” she said guardedly, not wanting to mention my engagement out loud. “Don’t let anyone undermine the work you’ve put in these past four years, Cat. You can still graduate valedictorian. You know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
With a pained groan, I meekly followed her out into the hallway. She was right. I may not be able to get the image of that engagement ring out of my head, but I had long ago set a goal for myself to be the best. To graduate and give that stupid speech that only valedictorians give. No one besides Jewel and my guidance counselor knew I wasn’t going on to college. My best friend told everyone that we were going to attend Barnard College together.
The valedictorian graduation speech was my last hurrah before I went under lockdown as a trophy wife-slash-arm candy-slash-breeding heifer. I had no choice in my future. There was no way I’d disappoint my mother, bring shame down on the family name, and turn my back on my community. Not only would it be a tragedy to give up after working so hard but focusing on academics had saved me once before. I had to believe that it would do the trick again.
God, please let me be right.
