Page 10 of Between Us

Beluga1,as the name aptly suggested, was the first of the two nightclubs the Bratva owned in the city of Chicago. Roman entered the building with his cup of to-go coffee in hand, and his eyes scanned the deserted space that came to life every weekend night. Taking a right through a narrow corridor, he passed the cleaning lady who was busy dusting off the modern paintings hanging on the wall. As he approached the office at the back of the corridor, muffled voices carried over through the closed door. Grabbing the handle, he opened the door and stepped inside.

“There you are,” Vitaly said, a hint of impatience coloring his voice. His eyes followed his son as he took a seat in an empty chair beside another Brigadier. “Now that we are all here, the meeting can start.”

Roman leaned back in his chair and listened to his father start the meeting with the usual update regarding the sale of their product. This wasn't their regular get-together that took place every other Wednesday, and he had to wonder what other reasonsVitaly had to ask all of them to be there. He received his answer twenty minutes later when his father got into the topic of his wedding.

“I hear there is unrest among some of us caused by Roman's upcoming wedding to the Italian girl,” Vitaly said in Russian, pointedly meeting the eyes of a few men in the room. “As you all know, this union is part of a strategy to keep the Italians in check and make sure they won't forge other alliances that could affect us and our businesses. I am well aware this is not my most popular decision to date. That being said, I am yourPakhan, and it is my duty to ensure the success of this organization. I expect every man under my command to accept my judgment, whether they agree with it or not.” He paused for effect before asking with finality, “Do I make myself clear?”

A few murmured responses broke through the silence following his father's little monologue. That was, until Boris decided to speak up and voice his discontent. “No offense, boss, but it's not right. Roman's children—your grandchildren—will have their blood tainted by that filthy Italian DNA. It's a slap to the face for all of us.”

Roman risked a glance at his father and noticed the vein bulging in his neck. The man was livid. “Are you questioning my ability to make decisions for this organization, Boris?”

Boris should have kept his mouth shut. Instead, he went on with making his point. “I'm not saying that. But maybe there are other options that don't require for one of us to mix blood with one ofthem.”

“Boss is right,” another man spoke, turning to Boris. “Did you not see how much of a pain in the ass theybecame when they were working with the Armenians? No one wants a repeat of that. Let Roman marry the Italian bitch. It's the only way to ensure we have her father by the balls.”

Roman's eye twitched at Alessandra being called a bitch in front of him. Regardless of her heritage, she was going to become his wife and she was due a certain amount of respect. He reined in his temper, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

“Who says Rossetti even cares about her?” Boris challenged. “He gave her up too easily.”

“That's because he is a fucking coward. He is afraid of what we could do to his Outfit if we rekindled our ties with the Armenians.”

“Here’s another idea for you, Nikolai. What if he plans to use her to get information about the Bratva? It's a possibility and a valid one, no?”

Roman took the insinuation personally, and this time, he voiced his anger. “Are you calling me an idiot, Boris? You think I would discuss business with my wife, or let her hear something that she shouldn't?”

“Enough!” Vitaly's meaty palm met the surface of the desk with a deafening thud, effectively silencing the room. “The decision is made, and I will hear no more of it. As of today, if another complaint regarding this marriage even breezes past my ears, I will cut off the tongue of the person uttering it.”

For the first time since the meeting had started, complete silence fell over the crowded office. No one even dared to breathe, all of them knowing Vitaly was not a man to make idle threats.

“Out. All of you. This meeting is over.”

Irritated by the outcome of the unplanned encounterwith his Vory brothers, Roman shot out of his chair and left the room. The rest followed him out of the building, each man dispersing to their respective cars in the parking lot.

He aimed a glare at Nikolai who’d had the audacity to insult Alessandra. He was laughing with another Brigadier, his ugly face even more unpleasant when he showed that hyena-like smile of his. Anger simmered beneath Roman’s skin, itching to come out and make the man pay for even thinking the words, let alone uttering them in a room full of Bratva men.

But as it was, Roman knew that if he lost his temper, Vitaly would have a fit about it, and he wasn’t the most pleasant person to deal with when he went on a rant. So, instead of going with his instinct, he climbed inside the car and slammed the door closed behind him, deciding to get out of there before he changed his mind.

5

Alessandra's eyes snapped up from the textbook she was poring over when she heard the heavy knock on her bedroom door. A second later, the door opened and her father stepped inside without waiting for permission; although, in truth, he never did. She hadn't spoken more than a few words to him in almost three weeks. He’d never apologized for bartering her off like she was worth less than the gum on the sole of his shoe, and she knew he wasn't going to.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked unnecessarily, glancing at the mess on her bed.

She closed the textbook and sat up, dragging her ponytail over her shoulder. “No,” she said flatly, because it didn't matter that he had, in fact, interrupted her studying. He wanted to speak to her, and like the good daughter that she was, Alessandra had to oblige.

Nero sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her with a pensive expression. “Your wedding is in one week.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“Is your dress ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He reached over to pat her hand, surprising her with the gesture. “There is something I need to discuss with you. I know you wanted to marry Luca, but since that is not an option for you anymore, I need you to promise me something.” He paused to make eye contact, deep brown eyes conveying hidden truths and ulterior motives. “You have to be a good wife for the Russian. Do you understand? Ineedyou to make him love you.”

Alessandra stared at her father and felt a wave of disgust wash over her. Wasn't it enough that he had gotten rid of her so easily? Now he had the audacity to ask for her help in manipulating her future husband. Growing up, she had learned that her father sometimes lacked the qualities of a good parent, but this was too much, even for him.

“Alessandra,” he went on, undeterred by the look of repulsion on her face. “It's crucial you get under his skin. Trust me when I say it will benefit both of us.”

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