Prologue

Elena – Age Seventeen

I roll my eyes, watching my big sister flirt with the coffee shop employee, who happens to be my school's wide receiver and two years younger than her. She knows flirting is forbidden, but she doesn’t care.

Liliya giggles, twirling her finger in the brown hair, and I inwardly groan, knowing she will disappear to the bathroom with him. I honestly don't understand how we're related, although if you look at us, you wouldn't think we were.

She's at least three inches taller than me, and where her hair is dark brown, cut to just above her shoulders, mine is white blonde and hangs to just above my butt, and then there's the eyes. Hers are brown like our mother’s, and mine, they're violet like our father’s.

Some people think my mama isn't my mother, especially because I look so much like my father, though his hair is light brown. Unfortunately for me, I know for a fact she is.

Growing up with a sister who looked like she could be a supermodel while I looked like the typical girl next door but with curves, her picking on me continuously, expressing how I was a leftover from one of my father's affairs, I got curious. I did one of those home DNA tests last year.

The test confirmed I was my mother's and father's kid; obviously, I tested both, silently hoping I was adopted.

I may have been petty and threw the results in my sister's face, and then questioned her paternity. I may have also had a split lip afterward, not that my parents cared. Mama never noticed, always ignoring me until it suited her because I wasn't born a boy, while my father believed the lie that I tripped and banged my mouth on the corner of the dining table.

He always believed her, and I always got punished when she wanted me to suffer, but whereas my father would send me to my room, my mother would choose violence.

She loves the belt; it's her preferred method of punishment.

" Sestra !" Liliya snaps, making me jump.

I look her way and raise a brow at her calling me sister in Russian, especially when I know she hates speaking it after she failed her Russian exam in college. Attending college is mandatory, no thanks to our father.

How a Russian-heritage idiot like my sister can fail her own language, I'll never know.

She narrows her eyes at me before smirking at the employee whose hazel eyes slide down her body, causing her to push her large chest out further.

I wonder if my father knew he paid for her breast enhancement surgery last month?

Another way I'm completely different from my sister; she's a whore and loves being the center of attention, while my virginity is still intact, and I like to be in the shadows. While she's currently wearing a very tiny top that can be classed as a bra, and a denim mini skirt that barely covers her butt, hoping men will ogle her, I'm in a pair of jeans and a Jane Austen t-shirt, hoping to get no one's attention—heck, my hair is up in a messy bun, and I don't even have any makeup on, while my sister’s face is caked in it.

Two completely different people, and yet we're blood.

"What would you like, Sestra ?" she grinds out.

I roll my eyes and walk over to the barista instead of the person serving her because his eyes haven't even moved from her breasts.

“Can I have a small mocha latte and a blueberry muffin, please?” I ask as I pull out some cash, refusing to allow my sister to use this against me, and place it on the counter before looking toward my guard, Andrei.

He's looking around the coffee shop, his gray eyes assessing everything.

I clear my throat and confirm, "A black coffee, Andrei?"

He looks at me, his eyes softening, "That would be perfect, shmel ."

I give him a warm smile at his nickname for me. He's been my guard since I was three years old and became obsessed with bumblebees and butterflies. I dressed as a bumblebee for about four years while also wearing my butterfly wings.

I've been his little bumblebee since, even after I grew out of it.

Though I do still love butterflies, I have one tattooed just above my butt, at the base of my spine. No one knows about it, which is how I need it to stay. Every time Mama uses the belt, the tattoo is always covered by my high-waisted jeans.

If she sees it, I know she’ll carve it off my body.

When I got it two years ago, Andrei believed I was in the library and stayed in the car out front. At the tattoo studio, they asked for ID, but all I had to do was mention my father's name, and they let me have it done.

I did give them a tip, though.

I'm just glad Andrei hates libraries, giving me the chance to sneak out the back and then sneak back in later.

Growing up, I wished I could be a bumblebee or a butterfly just so I could fly away, and the urge to run gets stronger every day. My life is not the one I want. My father is the most feared Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, and when he sees fit, he'll marry me off.

If I were a boy, I would have succeeded my father as Pakhan, but instead, I disappointed both my parents by being born a girl.

Bright side, being the second-born child means I'm not highly sought after for an alliance; my sister is, and right now, everyone is focused on her and who she'll marry within the next year. That's how it needs to stay so I have enough time to leave.

I have one year of high school left, after which I can go out of state for college, away from my family.

I look toward my sister's guard, Boris, who seems bored out of his mind, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re stuck on bitch watch for years, and yes, I think my sister has been a bitch all her life.

Our cook, Celia, who's been in our family longer than Mama, mentioned how my sister didn't want a sibling; she preferred being the center of attention even at the tender age of three. Apparently, the nice scar I have on my thigh was from her stabbing me when I was a baby.

She could have killed me.

She's now nineteen, just as awful as she was growing up. Poor Boris has been stuck with her since one of my father's men “disappeared.” My sister managed to get out of his sight for ten minutes after begging him to play hide and seek when she was ten, and that cost the man his life because she ran outside to the woods behind our house, knowing it was forbidden.

"Boris, would you like a coffee?" I ask in his direction, knowing my sister won't even bother.

His brown eyes come my way, and he gives me a slight smile and a nod, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I smile back, turn to the barista, and confirm, "And two black coffees, please."

The woman smiles and takes my money before giving me my change, which I happily place in the hospital donation box for sick kids.

Feeling eyes on me, I look at my sister. She stares daggers but I just smirk, then give her next victim a smile, noticing him looking between my sister and me. I head to a table near the back while silently hoping Talen doesn't go to school Monday with an axe to grind against her, using me as a target.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she had some form of STD.

I ignore everyone in the café and take a seat, grabbing the book I’m reading for English Lit out of my bag. Andrei sits at a table three down from me, giving me my space. We both know I didn't want to come out, but my mother refused to allow me to leave my sister on her own, even though she's two years older than me.

When I declined, expressing I had a lot of work to do, she smacked me while Liliya recorded it on her phone.

It's safe to say I did as I was told. There are only so many times I can explain my bruises to people at school, a school my father didn't want me to go to, until I mentioned how I'm not the important one. He softened and agreed. I didn't question his look, and I'm never going to, because I get to enjoy being normal.

I mean, I don't have any friends, but that doesn't matter to me because I get to be normal for six hours in a place where my sister doesn't hurt me, and my mother doesn't look at me like she wishes I had different genitals.

I hear my sister's high-pitched giggle, which goes through me, and I look up to see her bending over the counter, gently tracing the guy's arm while Boris shakes his head from a table nearby.

Knowing we'll be here for a while, I sigh and open my book, determined to get my homework done.

I can't fail. My father made it a condition of my attending school, even a private one. I was to take all AP classes, and not fail.

So far, I've kept to it. If I pass all my exams, my father will allow me to attend college and get my bachelor's degree in teaching.

My dream is to work with and help kids.

One can hope, anyway.

Looking at my sister one last time, I grab my pen and get to work, not once looking up from my books, even when the barista brings my drink and muffin, only mumbling a “thank you” to her.

I will not fail, and I will get to go to college; I have to.

Romeo – Age Twenty-Four

I grin at my brother Antonio as he tries to get the barista's number for the eighth time since we came here.

Shaking her head, the cute girl gives him a shy smile before running off to the counter. I chuckle as my brother's green/blue eyes follow her.

"Give it up, Antonio. We both know you must marry the Greek princess, and that barista is not a one-and-done; she has innocent written all over her," I comment, checking my phone for the fifth time, gritting my teeth with frustration.

He groans, slumping back in his chair, which gets my attention. I look at him and see him run his hand frustratedly through his black hair.

He's a year younger than me and the image of our mother and father combined, having father's eyes and mother's hair. Leonardo, our younger brother, who is twenty-one, is the spitting image of our mother, with brown hair and blue eyes, with a hint of green.

I, on the other hand, have our father's deep black hair, and our mother's piercing blue eyes.

" Fratello …" he groans, calling me brother in Italian, hoping to soften my decision to cancel his arrangement set for two years’ time. I chuckle.

Picking up my coffee, I state, "It's out of my hands, Antonio. You know this," before taking a sip.

I wince. Fuck that's nasty.

Grimacing, I put the cup down, and he snaps, "Why can't you take over now? Why is Papa adamant you find a wife first?"

I shrug. "I don't know, fratello , but even when I do take over, you both signed the contract, and the only way out of it is death. You're bound."

He grumbles, picking up his stale cake, and I check my watch again. Sighing, I pull up my father's number, and press call.

I'm not fucking waiting all day in this dingy café. I don't even want the woman to begin with, and the fact she is running late on purpose, making me wait, is a joke. She's not that important, and neither is this alliance.

He answers on the fifth ring and, without saying hello, states, "They'll be there within the next ten minutes, figlio . Mikhail has apologized repeatedly."

Chuckling, I say lowly, "Calling me son with warmth is not going to keep my ass in this seat, Papa. She's two hours late. Anyone else I would have slit their throat."

My father laughs, not one bit pissed at my back talk, and he chides, "You wanting to become Don next week is what's keeping your ass in that seat. We need a marriage contract signed and your wedding date in place before you can take over. You know the men want a family man to run things after me, and they want it to be you. She was temperamental this morning, and something came up, and I believe her sister is also attending."

I sigh. "Papa?—"

He cuts me off, "I understand you don't feel ready for marriage, Romeo. Neither did I, but I've held off for you, il mio ragazzo . You're twenty-four, and it's time to settle down. Now, this alliance will be perfect for when you take over."

I hum, leaning back in my chair. Several of our men are in the surrounding area as a precaution, protecting their heir and spare, as Antonio calls himself—while continuously thanking me for being born first, not wanting my role within the family.

We've been at war with the Bratva, the Russian Mafia, for over a decade. Now my father and Mikhail want to put it to bed, which means an alliance, and being the first-born son, the next in line for the throne, so to speak, I'm on the fucking chopping block.

Lucky me….

My father has run our operations with a tight fist, while ensuring the men stay family-orientated, which means our men won't follow me if I'm fucking my way through New York.

"All I'm asking is for you to give it a chance. If you don't get along, then I'll cancel the contract, encourage the business route, and find someone else—but Romeo, they've sent the sister for a reason…." I furrow my brows, sitting forward a little.

"What reason may that be, father?" I question, because surely Mikhail would not put his youngest daughter up for consideration, a daughter no one has seen. Antonio sits forward so he can hear.

My father sighs. "One of the men we have following her to collect intel saw the woman you are supposed to be meeting coming out of the clinic."

Antonio's eyes widen, and he asks, "Please tell me you mean a clinic for mental health, Papa."

I roll my eyes at my brother. We all know that is not the kind of clinic our father means.

"Let me guess, her innocence is not intact like her mother assured, and she's just had an abortion?" I inquire.

Papa hums and confirms, "According to our intel, this is the second abortion she has had in the space of two and a half years. I've investigated it personally, and it seems she likes to sleep around. Age and marital status do not matter."

I roll my eyes. "Great, my future bride's a whore and only wants the title of Don’s wife."

Papa chuckles. "Indeed. Now, I know you wouldn't be happy with this news, so your Mamma encouraged Mikhail to ensure the sister goes as well. He's unaware we know what his eldest daughter is up to."

I sigh, run a hand through my hair, and huff, "You want me to vet both women to see which one I'd want more?"

Papa doesn't need to confirm; he taught me well.

Grunting, he commands, "Just give it some thought, Romeo, and call me once you know."

With that said, he hangs up, and I drop my phone on the table, chuckling darkly. "Well, at least you know who you're marrying, fratello , because I fucking don't, and by the sounds of things, I've got to choose between a whore, and a woman no one has heard about. Mikhail has kept his youngest out of the limelight; there’s not even a picture of her."

He winces as the door to the café opens, and we both look.

I grimace at the cliche plastic woman strutting in like she owns the place, wearing a mini skirt and a top that's so fucking small, it barely holds in her fake tits.

Liliya Mikhailov, looking nothing like the pictures Mikhail’s wife sent us.

I hear my brother gag, seeing her as she goes over to the barista, who looks to be still in high school. She instantly bats her fake eyelashes and twirls her finger in her brown hair.

"Fuck me, please tell me this isn't the woman our father wants you to marry?" Antonio gasps in shock as the woman in question bends over the counter, showing off her fake tits, the server's eyes dropping to them. Antonia continues, "Surely, she knows you are meeting her here, right? Her father told her, which is why she's late, to make a statement, right?"

His words trail off, confusion and shock radiating from him, while I just stare at the bitch angrily. I nod, "She's aware, but she either doesn't think we're here yet, despite her being two hours late, or wants to show me she can have anyone she wants. The whore obviously thinks this is some kind of game."

Antonio curls his lips her way and snaps, "She is not worthy of being a Russo."

I nod again in agreement because, no, she fucking isn't.

My future bride is to stand by my side, wear my family jewels, and be respectable. This bitch is a fucking attention-seeking whore, who will try and sleep with all my men.

The bell on the door chimes again, getting our attention, and I instantly suck in a breath, my body stilling.

A woman, no, a girl who must be no older than seventeen or eighteen and accompanied by a Mikhailov guard, reluctantly walks in.

Everything disappears, and all I see is her.

Fuck me, she is beautiful. White blonde hair in a messy knot on the top of her head, a t-shirt and jeans, and not a lick of makeup can be seen.

Fuck me, she's gorgeous, and she hasn't even tried.

" Sestra !" the bitch snaps, and the angel looks her way, rolling her eyes, and my heart rate picks up. Sestra , as in sister….

This is Mikhail's youngest daughter. Fuck.

I watch, entranced, as she speaks softly to the guard who graces her with a smile. I can't hear her; she’s clearly a woman who likes to be in the shadows with how soft she's speaking, but I hear the guard’s replied, "That would be perfect, shmel ."

Antonio leans forward and whispers, "What does shmel mean? My Russian’s a little rusty."

I don't take my eyes off the beautiful creature, but murmur, "It means bumblebee. Word on the street is that Mikhail's youngest has had the same guard since she was three."

"He sees her as a daughter…." My brother surmises, and I nod and watch as she looks at the other guard. I see her lips move, before she speaks to the barista, and I realize she's buying the guards coffee. My brother's words confirm he's noticed as well as he states, "Fuck, she's a sweet one, isn't she, for a Bratva princess?"

I don't answer him, instead I watch her order the drinks all while the bitch glares, but the beauty ignores her and walks our way. I hold my breath, waiting to make eye contact, but she doesn't, only glancing our way enough for me to see her gorgeous eyes.

Fucking violet. Jesus.

Completely dumbfounded, I watch as she sits at the table next to us, looks at the bitch, shakes her head, and grabs some books out of her bag.

"Fuck, she's a smart one to boot. Fucking AP English," my awed brother whispers next to me.

When the bitch giggles, the beauty looks up again, winces, then looks back down and starts to write, not once looking around the café.

" Fratello ?" Antonio questions, noticing I haven't said a word; my eyes are on the girl.

Clearing my throat, I rasp, "We need to leave."

He doesn't question me; he stands, and I follow, my eyes staying on the beauty who doesn't once look up as I button my jacket.

With a smirk, I leave the table, knowing our men have taken several photos of the sisters, and a few men will stay behind to monitor them. As I get near the counter, I make eye contact with the woman I'm supposed to marry. Her brown eyes light up, and she pulls her top further down, showing part of her nipple, clearly not recognizing me.

Looks like she never did her research.

Antonio gags again, and I hold in my snort and walk past her, ignoring her. I hear her huff, and I silently chuckle, and leave the café, determined to make that beauty my bride.

We spent four hours reviewing all the photos and conversing with my father, before heading to our restaurant downtown to meet Mikhail. It only took one look at her to know I wanted her, to know she'd be mine. Now I need to convince her father, and if he disagrees, then I'll just have to marry her behind his back, and I’m not opposed to kidnapping.

“Calm, il mio ragazzo ,” my father rasps from beside me as I bounce my knee. I stop as Mikhail walks through the door of Russo's Italian Ristorante with three guards behind him.

His three-piece suit stands out here, being mainly a restaurant for families with young children, and his blonde hair is styled perfectly.

He smiles slightly at seeing us, and then I notice his eyes, violet just like the beauty’s.

Papa and I stand to greet him, and he grins, shaking Papa's hand first.

"Edoarado, it's good to see you again." He turns to me, shaking my hand next. "Romeo, you're not a small boy anymore, huh?"

I chuckle a little at his statement. "No, sir, I'm not."

Papa gestures for us to all sit, and we do.

Mikhail gets right to it. He folds his hands on the table and rasps, "I take it your meeting didn't go well? Liliya believes you stood her up after waiting twenty minutes."

Papa gives him a sad smile, and I reply, "It did not. She didn't even look around the room to see if I had arrived, despite her being two hours late." He grimaces, and I state, "She tried to bed the server in front of me, and she was dressed like a common stripper.”

Mikhail sighs, shaking his head with disappointment.

My father speaks up, "We've also been made aware that she has had two abortions, one only last week at the clinic downtown." Mikhail's face reddens, and my father adds, "I'm guessing you didn't know."

He grunts. "No, I did not. Her mother told me Liliya needed attention for womanly problems, and I never questioned it."

I sigh, and say quietly, "I'm sorry, Mikhail, but I cannot marry your eldest daughter."

He looks at me sharply, hearing my insinuation. He shakes his head, instantly snapping, "No."

I tilt my head, not at all shocked, as my father tries to calm him, "It'll be good for the alliance, Mikhail."

He shakes his head again and states, "We can go into business instead. I am not selling Elena."

Elena….

Fuck, even her name sounds like an angel.

I cut in this time. "Why not? If you were willing for your eldest, why not Elena?"

He looks at me sharply. "My eldest was raised around our world, Elena was not. She stayed in the shadows, not wanting anything to do with this life. She goes to a private school, for fuck's sake, instead of homeschooling. She has plans for a future."

My brows hit my hairline, and I question, "She's led a normal life? How is that possible?"

He grimaces. "My wife wanted a boy to give me an heir after Liliya, but as soon as Elena was born, she became cold, and Elena hid away, something I tried to stop, until I saw how happy it made her." He looks at my father, then back at me, and admits, "She has dreams, Romeo. She wants to become a teacher. She works her ass off doing all AP classes. She isn't aware that I know, but she's been applying to colleges to do her Bachelors. I can't kill her dreams, not when she's had to deal with her mother and sister; it's why I didn't get mad when she snuck into a tattoo parlor, and got a butterfly on her back. A symbol of wanting to fly and spread her wings. She didn't know it, but her guard was always with her. He called me, and I allowed it to go ahead because it was the only wild thing she's ever done. She was fifteen."

I look at my father with shock, and he raises a pointed brow at me, leaving the ball in my court. I can either say “fuck it” and go into business with them, or I can fight for his daughter, a daughter I haven't even spoken to yet, but seem to need.

The feelings I had at seeing her scared the living fuck outta me, and yet, I can’t seem to care. I chew my bottom lip. She's a woman that doesn't belong in our life, yet I want her anyway. I'm fucking selfish and, honestly, I don't care right now.

I give Papa a nod to confirm I still want her, then I look at Mikhail. "I'll allow her to continue her schooling, hell, I'll even donate to a local school so she can work." Mikhail's eyes widen, and I continue, "I will ensure she has everything she wants, and I'll treat her like a queen. She'll be able to spread her wings while being kept safe."

Mikhail furrows his brows, looking me over, before he groans with realization, and grumbles, "Fuck me, you felt an instant connection with my seventeen-year-old, didn't you?"

I grimace, hating she's underage, even if it is a year, and nod once. "She didn't see me, but I saw her." I chuckle a little. “She looked like she didn't want to be at the café. After she bought coffees for your guards, and then sat with her head in a book, nothing else mattered to her, including the two mafia men sitting near her."

He sits back, shaking his head. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have allowed your mamma to convince me to encourage Elena to accompany Liliya. That woman always has another agenda, like in high school, when she asked me to send a note to your father."

I chuckle. I know Mamma and Mikhail grew up near each other, and that Papa's marriage was not arranged. He fell for Mamma, and Mikhail helped them with their happily ever after. When a war broke out over a decade ago, it was hard for Mamma to lose her friend.

I guess we can blame Papa's old capo, who killed one of Mikhail's workers at his strip club for fun.

"I would have met her one way or the other," I tell him. He sighs, knowing I’m right, then looks at the table for a moment, and we wait him out. I haven't hidden anything from him. He can see I'll make her mine in any way possible. Now, he just has to choose which way I'm going to have to do it.

We want to stop the war, not continue it.

Grunting, he sits forward and states, "Alright, this is how it’s going to go. Liliya likes to fuck up a lot, and I'm at my wit's end with the child, especially after today. Now, I'm not completely clueless about what she gets up to. I didn't know about the abortions, but I am aware she's been to the clinic, not twice, but three times." I wince, along with my father. Mikhail nods. "I am also aware that she screwed the Mexican cartel jefe two months ago, when he was drunk, so I can bet the baby was his."

Son of a….

"Ah fuck," my father mutters.

"His wife, Renata, is pissed, and rightly so. She wants Liliya's head, which she knows won't happen, being that she’s my daughter. She settled with a one-million-dollar settlement, as long as Liliya stays clear." Mikhail sits back and states, "You pay the settlement and take over guarding Liliya until you marry Elena, just to give me a fucking break, while I try and find someone willing to marry her. Do that, and I'll allow the marriage, if not, then we'll do the business arrangement. Keep in mind, however, the war will continue if you approach Elena."

I smirk, knowing he means every word, and my father says, "You have a deal, Mikhail. We don't want war, we want an alliance."

Mikhail nods once. "Alright, I'll get a contract written up, but Romeo, you better treat her right. She deserves the world. The wedding will take place when she's nineteen, giving her a chance to get to know you, and give her the first year at college."

I nod back, not liking waiting a year and a half, but agreeing anyway.

I lean forward, stating, "You may want to add the condition that she is to be with child within a year; I want her tied to me always."

Mikhail chuckles. "Sure, but within five years, and I'll also add she can't divorce you until she's given birth, so if you fuck up, you'll have nine months to make things right." I raise a brow at him, but he shakes his head and admits, "I won't leave my daughter in a loveless marriage, she's innocent, Romeo."

He enhances the word innocent, and I read him loud and clear.

I nod and hold my hand out, which he shakes, and I grin.

Ready or not, beauty, you are mine.