Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

My father started speaking in Italian, low words of insults and slurs. I felt my eyes widen as he called Nikolai horrible things, as he talked about how the Russian and the Bratva were nothing but dogs.

“Father,” I finally snapped and took a step forward. “You will not speak to my husband that way.” Nikolai’s arm snapped out instantly, a bar in front of me that kept me from going any closer.

I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides and hoped all my anger and disgust for the man who was nothing but a sperm donor, didn’t show through.

“You cannot talk to my husband like that.” The words were pulled from me again. I felt something monumental change in me, one that had me growing stronger. Being that queen Nikolai said I was.

And I would not let this man, who hurt me while I grew up, who was now hurting my sister, do the same to the man I was falling for.

Have fallen for.

My father laughed darkly, his chuckles making my hackles rise. “Is this what the Russians allow?” He addressed Nikolai but he was staring at me. “You let your women fight your battles?”

Now it was Nikolai’s turn to laugh. “A man is only as strong as the woman at his side. For there wasn’t just Satan, but Lilith, as well.”

My father narrowed his eyes before looking at Nikolai.

“And if you have a weak woman beside you, well…” Nikolai shrugged, the unspoken insult speaking loudly.

My mother was weak, subjective to my father’s whims and demands.

My father opened his mouth just as the doorbell rang and for a second no one moved. I didn’t think anyone even breathed. I could hear the soft sound of shoes in the foyer, the door opening, followed by soft, unintelligible voices slowly filtering into the sitting room.

Yet still no one spoke, my father still glaring daggers at Nikolai, my husband’s arm still held in front of me, and my hand still wrapped tightly around Claudia’s.

“Why don’t you just tell me why you’re really here, Russian.”

Although my father had arranged this marriage, it was very clear he didn’t agree with it. Marco Bianchi may be high ranking in the Cosa Nostra, but he didn’t call the final shots, and I was sure me being pawned off to Nikolai had come from someone much higher.

So it didn’t matter if my father saw this as a bad union. He’d never go against orders.

“Why am I here?” Once again Nikolai’s voice was even. “I thought we were here to have dinner with family?” The way Nikolai spit out that last word told me he didn’t consider Marco such.

And the truth was, neither did I. After moving out of my childhood home I realize that this has never been my family.

My mother started speaking to my father quickly in Italian, but my father refused to look away from Nikolai, and when he lifted a hand in her direction, she became silent instantly.

And then all of our attention was turned to the entryway as two people stopped right inside. One of the servants stood beside Francesca, the latter looking at everyone with wide eyes, her oversized jacket dwarfing her, and her hair looking windblown.

The silence stretched out heavy and thick, and as I stared at Francesca, I felt my brows lowered. There was something off about her, something about her demeanor that screamed panicked. Although she appeared fine, relatively speaking, her eyes had a glossy tint to them and were red rimmed.

She looked around the room with a startled expression on her face, her hands moving up and down her jacket.

“Oh. I didn’t realize there were… family plans going on.”

“It’s okay,” Claudia said and let go of my hand to walk around myself and Nikolai to stand beside Francesca.

I was still so confused over the friendship between my sister and Francesca that none of this made sense.

“Now is not the time, Francesca.” My father spat out the words and cast a withering stare in her direction, which had her cowering and taking a step back.

“I just wanted to talk,” she whispered, as she stared at Marco.

My father huffed out and stormed toward her, taking her by the arm and pulling her out and into the foyer. Everyone left in the room stared at each other with clear confusion on their faces.

I walked toward the entryway and peered out to see my father and Francesca standing in the foyer, my father a foot from the small girl, his hand swinging between them and his hushed voice slightly raised in clear anger.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I whispered more to myself, but before I could turn back around to stand beside Nikolai and wait to get this over with, father was striding away from Francesca, who was now crying heavily by the front door and staring at him as if he’d just torn her heart out.