Mafia Princess by Kennedy Slope

Chapter Seven

It had been two weeks since the night of the frat party, and Dominic and I had barely spoken. He was never home, and when he was, I did what I could to give him a wide berth. I hated how lonely I felt. School was starting in a week, and though I was nervous about college, she couldn’t wait for an excuse to get out of the house. I hadn’t left since the night of the party.

Dominic had wanted to prove a point that night, and he had.

“You might want to look less miserable,” my husband said. We were spending the day together, but not because we wanted to, but because my parents had requested we come over for Sunday lunch.

“You don’t have to worry,” I said. “My parents could care less how I feel about this situation.”

I hadn’t reached out to my parents since the wedding. I didn’t see the point. Plus, I wasn’t a moron, despite what Dominic thought. I knew that I was being watched. I’m sure that his men weren’t just monitoring me physically, but also, my phone and my emails. It would explain how he knew where I had been the night of the party.

“I don’t need a war because your parents think that you are unhappy,” Dominic said.

We were driving to my parent’s house in one of his black Audi’s. He had a driver this time, which I found odd. Unlike my father, who was constantly surrounded by his men, I hadn’t seen Dominic’s men since our marriage.

I snorted. It was an unladylike sound, which would have likely earned me a slap in the face from my mother, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“I’m just a pawn in this game. You don’t have to worry about my happiness. Lord knows no one else does.”

I crossed my arms over the light beige dress I was wearing. It was another piece curated by my mother, and while the fabric was expensive and soft, I also realized that I looked like a forty year old woman versus an eighteen year old college student.

I knew that I was acting like a petulant child, but I couldn’t help it. It had only been two weeks since my wedding, and I felt lonelier than ever. I should have been happy that Dominic hadn’t bothered me. After all, I’d heard horror stories about women whose husbands beat them often as a way to keep them in line.

Dominic hadn’t touched me since he left me wet and panting in his passenger seat.

“Finally,” I muttered, as my parent’s home came into view. I wasn’t in the mood to sit at lunch with my family and watch them all pretend to like one another.

I felt Dominic shift next to me. Though we had been spending a great deal of time away from one another, when they were together, I used this time to examine Dominic. I noticed that he rarely showed emotion.

But something about this lunch was making him uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon Miss Petrov,” one of my father’s men said, as he opened the door to the car.

“It’s Blanchi,” Dominic’s deep voice called out.

The man’s face hardened, but he said nothing as I walked up the cobblestone walkway towards the front door.

“This is idyllic,” Dominic said. It was clear to me that he was trying to make conversation, but I wasn’t interested. If he wanted to have control over me, I wasn’t going to cooperate.

“Don’t be too fooled,” I said. “This place is locked down like Fort Knox.”

Dominic laughed slightly, and I hated the way that the sound made my stomach do some flips.

As we walked in, I was surprised by how little things had changed. The foyer still looked the same. Family photos lined the walls, and from first glance, you would think that this home belonged to a normal family.

“Milaya!” my father’s booming voice called out as he walked into the hallway. I couldn’t stop the smile that overtook my face as my father embraced me and kissed both of my cheeks.

“Hi, papa,” I said.

He pulled back from me slightly and began examining me. “You look thin,” he said.

I smiled, but it felt tight and disingenuous. I wanted to forget that I was in the situation I was in because of my father. He had always been my hero, but I couldn’t. I would never forget that he sold me and my future to our family’s enemy. Just like I wasn’t sure I could ever feel comfortable in my new role.

“I’m fine,” I said.

I could see that my father was about to say something more, but I wasn’t interested in this type of small talk. “Where’s mama?” I asked.

“She’s waiting for you in the salon,” he said.

I raised a brow.

“I need to speak with your new husband about some business,” my father said. His face hardened as he looked at Dominic, and I saw very clearly the Pakhan that lived just behind the facade of a caring father.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Dominic gave me a hard look. He had been quiet while my father and I had greeted one another, but I could feel his intense energy radiating next to me. It made me feel incredibly nervous.

“Go,” my father ordered. His voice was kind, but I knew an order when I heard one. “We’ll be there soon.”

I nodded, and just like always, I did what I was told and walked towards the salon where my mother was waiting.

“Sasha,” my mother greeted as I walked into the salon. She had tea waiting for us, and I immediately felt my hackles rising. My mother never made tea. She was the type of woman who drank a glass of vodka with her lunch. The tea was for me, which made me nervous.

“Mama,” I said in way of greeting. She handed me a hot cup, and I took it without question sitting primly next to her.

“How have you been?”

I raised a brow. I couldn’t remember the last time that my mother had asked about me.

“Well,” I said.

“How do you find married life?”

I took a sip of the hot tea to avoid answering. I was sure that there was more to this discussion than my mother was letting on, and I didn’t want to be the first one to show my hand. I might have spent my life sheltered, but I knew both of my parents incredibly well.

My father might be Pakhan, but my mother was a formidable force all on her own.

“I hope that you are making an effort to get to know your new husband,” she told me.

“Well enough.” I wasn’t going to tell my mother that Dominic and I had barely spent a single moment together, or how he had left me desperate for belief the one time we had been together.

My mother raised a brow, and I watched as her lips thinned. “He hasn’t touched you since that first night, has he?”

My mouth immediately went dry. Not only was my mother just as formidable as any man in the Bratva, she was also very skilled at ferreting out a lie. I closed my eyes as I considered what to say next. I didn’t understand why my mother’s words cut through me so much. After all, I didn’t want Dominic to touch me. We weren’t a true husband and wife, and every time I felt myself longing for the feel of his rough hands on me, I couldn’t forget how my parents had sold me off.

“I don’t really want to discuss my marriage with you,” I said, squirming slightly in my seat. “Some things are private.”

My mother shook her head and sat her teacup on the table before relieving me of my own. “Nothing about your marriage is private,” she told me.

I opened my mouth to argue. I wasn’t about to discuss my sex life or lack of with my mother. Even if we did have the traditional mother daughter relationship, talking to her about sex was odd.

“Look here Sasha,” my mother said. Her eyes were blazing fiercely, and I felt my back immediately go ramrod straight. “You were married to the Italians for a purpose.”

“I know. To stop all the fighting.” It had been the only reason I hadn’t done everything I could to run away. I wasn’t selfish enough to believe that my life was more than those my marriage would save.

My mother shook her head. “No,” she said. She reached out and brushed a piece of hair away from my face. The gesture was almost tender, or rather, it was the most tender I could remember her being. “You are a naive girl if you think your marriage would stop the killing. Men can’t help themselves.”

There was a note of disapproval in her voice, almost as if the thought of killing was beneath her. I knew it wasn’t. I might be naive, but I suspected my mother was highly complicit in my father’s business.

“Then, what was the point in marrying me to the Blanchi family?” I asked. I was trying to keep my voice even, but inside I felt as though I were sweating bullets.

“The purpose was for you to make the killing easier,” she said.

I felt my mouth drop open at her words. “What?”

“We need information on the new don. He’s not like his father, or yours for that matter. Dominic Blanchi is well guarded. He’s vicious, and it seems as though he doesn’t have a single weakness.”

My mother’s words were rushed, and I didn’t know if it was because she was worried about Dominic walking in and overhearing us, or if the thought of all of this excited her.

It sickened me. I had agreed to sacrifice myself, my future, and my happiness, for people's lives. Not to help kill someone more efficiently.

“I think I’m going to be ill,” I said, before launching myself off of the couch. I hadn’t had a panic attack since I heard the news of my brother's death, but now, I could feel one coming on.

“Don’t be so weak,” my mother spat. “The Blanchi’s are your family’s enemy.”

I whirled around and faced my mother. “I’m a Blanchi now, remember!”

“Keep your voice down!”

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my jangled nerves. Not to please my mother, but because I knew she was right. I needed to keep quiet because the person my mother was casually discussing murdering was in the next room.

“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” I whispered in anger.

“You are a Petrov. It’s about time that you got your hands dirty.”

I shook my head. My mother had always complained that I was too spoiled. She wanted me to have more of a hand in the business. I had always counted myself lucky that the Bratva was sexist as hell, and there was no way my father would let me anywhere near his business. It seems that that was another way in which I had been naive.

“I can’t do what you want,” I said. “Dominic doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t even like being around me.”

My mother got up from her seat. She sauntered towards me, her heels clicking on the expensive hardwood floor.

“Make him like you,” she told me. “Make him burn for you.”

I nearly laughed aloud at her words. She had just been espousing how naive I am, and now, she wanted me to seduce the Don of the Italian mafia. A man who I was sure could have any woman that he wanted.

“You aren’t without your charms,” my mother said, once more brushing a curl from my face. “Men like Blanchi like innocence. They want to ruin it. Own it”

I pricked my now right I worried she was. Her words reminded me of how Dominic had treated me in the car after the frat party.

“He might fuck me,” I said crassly, “but he’ll never trust me.”

“You must make him.”

There was a desperation in my mother that I wasn’t used to seeing.

“Why?” I asked.

Her eyes grew darker, and a look that I hadn’t seen in years passed over her face. “Because he killed your brother.”

I swallowed thickly. My brother had died several years ago. He’d been gunned down in a fire fight over territory.

Even at a young age, his death had felt so meaningless. I couldn’t understand what piece of property was so important that it was worth more than living.

His death had broken my mother.

“You don’t know that Dominic was responsible,” I said. My mouth was so dry that it felt as though the words were stuck.

“I know,” my mother said ominously. “A mother always knows.”

I wanted to tell my mother that I wasn’t going to betray Dominic because of some intuition of hers, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. There was something in her eyes that gave me pause.

She truly believed that Dominic had killed Nikolai. And he might have.

That still didn’t mean that he needed to die. No amount of death was going to bring my brother back to life.

“You are our only hope of getting justice Sasha,” my mother said, and I felt the knife of guilt that she had lobbed at me twist a little deeper. I had loved my brother, but I couldn't ignore that his choice, and the choices of my family had caused his death, not the Blanchi’s.

“Sasha…”

My mother reached out and took my face in her hands. “You aren’t a Blanchi,” she said. “You are a Petrov, and you owe it to your family to right the wrongs that have been done to your people.”

It took everything inside of me not to cringe at her words. My mother sounded manic, like some sort of religious zealot, and I wanted nothing more than to get away from her.

But I had been trained to mind my manners, and my feet remained rooted to the floor.

“Tell me you understand what I am saying to you Sasha,” my mother said. I felt her finger nails digging into my skin, and I knew that she was leaving marks into my face.

“I understand,” I said, spitting the words out.

“Good,” she said, releasing me.

It wasn’t good. I had just agreed to help my mother kill my husband, which was also something that I was not planning to actually do.