2. Alexei

ALEXEI

M y phone has been buzzing through the entire meeting.

It’s beginning to be annoying.

On the computer screen in front of me, my cousin Boris Novikov drones on. He’s trying to propose something to do with a trade deal between the Irish and our collective network, but I’m barely paying attention.

One, Boris is an idiot. I have very little faith that he will actually make this happen, especially because he only recently came into his seat. His father, a distant uncle of mine, was killed in an explosion in Amsterdam, and Boris is simply not ready for this level of responsibility.

Two, my cousin Anastasia already has some inroads with the Irish. Stassi is another Novikov, although also a cousin to Boris. With the amount of Novikov’s in our family tree, it’s often impossible to tell how they’re related. However, there’s no doubt that the Orlov and Novikov families are connected.

And anyone who doesn’t know will find out the hard way not to mess with either of us.

Which, I suppose, is why my phone is buzzing.

The Kozlov girl should have landed.

Your future wife.

The thought makes my lip curl.

I do not wish to marry a Kozlov. Even in my world, they’re viewed as shady. Immoral. Difficult to make deals with, because they have been known to go back on their word. There was the whole thing in Belarus many months ago, and I’m still not happy with the fact that the Irish managed to kidnap my cousin. I hired a couple of Kozlov’s as security, and they were supposed to be guarding her, but they failed. I killed them immediately, and buried them deep in the North Sea after their failure.

However, Igor Kozlov made a very compelling case to marry his daughter and form an alliance between our families.

He is a different Kozlov, only distantly related to the ones that I sent to sleep amongst the darkness of the sea. He has lived in America for quite some time. Made a very powerful enemy, one that I also count among my enemies.

He owes me, for the failures of his kin.

In addition, with the consolidation of the Rossi and De Luca families, and the fact that Benicio Souza is looking for a powerful heir to take over his empire…

Globalization is a bitch.

And I find myself in a position where I too must consolidate all resources that I can.

Plus, if I can remain married for one year, and produce a child to continue my bloodline, then I will have something that I deeply want.

An estate. One that has been in my family for a great deal of time. One currently sitting in trust, because for the first time in centuries, there is no Orlov guaranteed to inherit after me.

For the first time in centuries, it is at risk of being absorbed by the state.

Orlov House will not become property of the state.

I grit my teeth.

It did not survive multiple uprisings, simply to be absorbed into the government because I am unable to produce a family line.

Unfortunately, having a wife solves many problems for me.

But that still does not mean I wish to answer the buzzing from my phone.

“Is the Little Prince too good to provide input on this?” I hear Boris snap at me from the video call.

I focus my attention on the screen. I’ll fucking kill him.

“Call me that again, cousin, and you’ll have more holes than your financial model,” I snarl.

A couple of other members of our family snicker, and Boris turns as red as the sunset. I lean back as another family member picks apart Boris’ idiotic plan, pleased that I’m not the only one who sees through his moronic plans.

Eventually, the buzzing of the phone becomes too insistent. I sigh and click the call off, then pick up the phone.

Anatoly, my driver, is on the call.

“Boss,” he mutters in Russian.

The girl must be around. “Yes?”

“The girl has no idea about any of this.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

“She was just talking to her mother. I got the impression that not only was this not her choice, but she didn’t even know Kozlov was her father until recently. Polina told me that she didn’t even pack more than a coat, and she didn’t bring a scrap of clothing other than what’s on her body or what is in her backpack.”

I sigh. I get the impression that Anatoly feels bad for her. “And?”

He pauses. “And, she has no idea what she’s walking into.”

“That is not my fault, Anatoly. I was not the one who decided to marry my child off for protection, and to atone for the sins of my kinsmen.”

“The Kozlov you killed and the Kozlov sitting in this car are very different people.”

I don’t care. I simply don’t. I require a wife for nothing more than the estate that’s been in my family since the dawn of time, and no matter what he says, I’m not going to care about how she feels.

“How close are you to Orlov House?”

“Minutes,” Anatoly rumbles.

“Good. See that she’s settled.”

“When will you be arriving?” he asks.

I sigh. I can tell that he’s asking when I’ll greet my bride-to-be, but I can’t guarantee anything. “When my business in Novgorod is complete, Anatoly.”

“She doesn’t know anyone, boss. Doesn’t even speak Russian.”

“And that’s the way it will stay,” I bark.

Anatoly’s silence makes a thread of guilt worm in my stomach.

“Get her settled. Keep her warm.”

“Boss. It’s almost Christmas.”

A fact that has slipped my mind. The holiday is three weeks away, I note as I glance at the calendar.

“And?”

“She will be without family…”

“I don’t give a fuck, Anatoly,” I snap. “Let her decorate the house. Take her to get presents. Have her talk to her mother. She’s here for a reason and I will hold her to that reason, but beyond that the girl is not my fucking problem.”

“Boss,” he murmurs, the words cold.

I sigh. “Get her settled. And Anatoly?”

“Yes?”

“Buy her some fucking clothes.”

I meant what I said to Anatoly.

I don’t care about having a wife. I never have.

My own mother died when I was barely a teenager. She was a wonderful person and I have a great deal of fond memories of her. She loved the holiday season, and often spent months decorating Orlov House, throwing elaborate parties for all my father’s associates.

But those memories are mere fantasies.

Sometimes I think that they couldn’t possibly have existed. Because my father?

He is nothing if not stern.

Not at all interested in celebrating holidays.

And would absolutely not marry someone who created the joy that my mother had around this time of year.

He taught me that there are things that matter more than a wife. Legacy. The ability to retain power.

Commanding respect through violence.

While they may not have been conventional, these were the things that made me far more suited for my current role than the ability to throw a merry party.

So I do not plan on returning to Orlov house.

Not, at least, until after the holiday.

Instead, I linger in my office in Novgorod. A day passes, the meetings that I am required to do go as planned, and I end my day by looking out over the lights of the city from my penthouse apartment. Ice clinks gently in my glass as I look out the window, the historical palaces illuminated at night. I can see snow drifting gently down, blurring the bright lights and softening their illumination, tempering the palace’s shadows and angles into something kinder and smoother than the sharp contrast of light and darkness that I’ve grown used to.

It changes the environment entirely. No longer are the walls of the palace brutally bone-white, but they seem… pleasant.

The view is old, but it never fails to charm me. It’s more than just the view, I muse as I sip my drink. Novgorod is an old town, one that has a pedigree going back as far as my own bloodline. Nobility, Russian and otherwise, have called it home for a great deal of time.

My own family, of course, counts themselves among them.

A family of direct descendants that have passed Orlov House and the surrounding estate down for hundreds of years. Father to son. Genetic link to genetic link.

I would be a fool to be the one who violates the legacy of this place.

More than that, I will not be the one who loses their ancestral home, all because he simply cannot be bothered to find a wife. Having one fall in my lap?

A perfect solution.

However, having a wife does not mean that I have to interact with said wife, outside of the duty required of me to provide an heir.

My phone buzzes and I look down.

Elena. The housekeeper.

The only woman who has known me since my own childhood. Who raised me after my mother’s death.

Who often takes liberties she should not when it comes to our relationship… and yet I allow her to do it anyway.

Guilt wiggles into my stomach, but I open the phone.

Elena: Young man. The girl is lonely and sad.

Me: Comfort her.

Elena: She longs for her husband to come and meet her.

Me: I’m busy.

Elena: Did I raise you to be such a hard-hearted man? Oh, what have I done?. My poor heart. You do not know the depth of my sorrow, seeing you turn out to be such an icy, cold, callous…

I place the phone face down while her words continue to flow onto the page. Finally I sigh, denying her the pleasure of reading the long paragraph of words that are still scrolling through her text.

Me: Fine. I will come home.

Elena: Oh, my sweet boy. I knew you were not as hard-hearted as you believe. I will make your favorite for dinner, and I will tell the girl the joyous news.

My nostrils flare as I put the phone down.

I don’t want to go back to Orlov House before the holidays. The memories are too thick. I will choke on them. However, the other option is to stay here, in the penthouse in Novgorod.

The snow falling outside creates a sense of isolation. The darkness and silence in the house makes it feel even more so.

Loneliness, pinched and pointed, stabs into my heart.

Sighing, I grab my computer. If I am to return to Orlov House, I will do so for a short time. I have too much going on at the moment to bother entertaining a simpering American woman, who is more likely to freeze in the Russian weather than she is to give me what I want.

Perhaps agreeing to take her as a wife was a poor choice indeed.

However, I am not interested in hunting for a wife. Having one fall into my lap was too convenient, and I will not turn her and everything she represents aside just because of my own discomfort.

I will not be the one who ends the legacy, and I will not lose Orlov House.

A few days. Just to settle her in. Just to ease Elena’s guilt. Then, you can return.

Spending Christmas alone is not new to me.

In fact, I relish it.

The idea of facing a holiday in Orlov House?

That, I cannot do.