Page 2 of Between Us

“She is leverage in case he thinks to cross me. Now, this is where I need you to step up and close the deal. You have to marry the girl.”

“Marry the girl?” Roman asked incredulously, anger and indignation wiping away that initial curiosity. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Vitaly's gaze darkened at his son's sharp tone. “Because yourPakhanhas asked you to do it. She is the strongest leverage I can get out of this deal, and I will not let you ruin it. We need to come out on top, and this is the way to do it.”

Roman took a moment to absorb this new and unexpected development, and also get a grip on his volatile temper. It wouldn't do him any good to throw a tantrum. He’d learned early on that when dealing with his father’s demands, his best chances of refuting them were dictated by diplomacy and logical arguments. When he spoke again, his voice was more level. “Why can't Alek marry her? He is closer in age to her than I am.”

“Your brother is not good enough for a mafiaprincipessa.You are my firstborn and heir. Nero Rossetti will have it no other way.”

Thoughts racing, Roman ran a rough hand over his unshaved jaw. “She's what... eighteen?”

“She turned nineteen two weeks ago.”

“Jesus Christ. She's too young.”

Vitaly gave him a dismissive look. “Too young for what? All she has to do is spread her legs for you and give you children. She is old enough for that, and it is all that matters.”

Of course his father saw no problem with the girl's age. Hehadmarried a woman twenty-seven years hisjunior, after all. At twenty-nine, Yana was just one year older than Roman. In the aftermath of his mother’s untimely death, six years ago, his father had been so devastated, it seemed unlikely he would ever remarry. Roman would have laughed at the irony of that twist of fate, had it not bothered him so much.

Focusing on the issue at hand, he tried to find another counterargument for the marriage, despite already knowing that Vitaly would not care for it, whatever it was. He had made up his mind and he expected his son to comply.

“The men won't like it. You know that. The Outfit has been our primary enemy for decades.”

“Times change, and we have to keep up with them.Mymen will accept whatever decision I make for the Bratva.”

It wasn't like Roman had another woman lined up for the role of his wife, but the thought of marrying someone so young didn’t sit well with him. He had neither the time nor the inclination to deal with unnecessary drama, and teenage girlslivedoff of it. He had a younger sister, so he should know. The fact that said girl was Italian, no less, made his skin itch with irritation. Italians were an obnoxious bunch, and he had no desire to fraternize with any of them—owner of a pussy or not.

Yet again, he didn’t have any grand ideals about love and marriage, so an arranged union didn’t give him as much pause as it should have. Marriage had never been a priority to him, but he wasn't against it, either. He just thought, when the time came, it was going to be to a woman of hischoosing.

Not that anyone expected him to be faithful to hisfuture wife, whomever she may be. In fact, by Bratva standards, all married men had at least one woman on the side, sometimes more, depending on their status and wealth. His father himself, as in love as he had been with his mother, had cheated on her regularly. It was the norm in their world, and no one had batted an eye about it—not even his late mother.

Women in the Bratva were not seen as equals. Their main job was to cater to their husband's desires and ensure the continuity of his bloodline. They were not to be seen or heard, especially if other Bratva men were around. While Roman didn’t agree with that vision of what family life should look like, he had never given it much thought.

The Bratva always came first—it was the motto repeated to him, over and over again, since he’d been old enough to understand how his father’s organization worked and its importance in the world. Decades of history—from its inception in soviet Russia, all the way to its modern-day version that controlled a small part of America—were now resting on Roman’s shoulders. Failure was not an option. It had never been. “Survive at any cost” was more important than one man’s aspirations to any semblance of a personal life.

I have no family, I have no home, I have no name. I am the brotherhood and the brotherhood is me.

The oath he’d sworn at eighteen was still vivid in his mind, as if he’d said the words only yesterday. The Bratva was his family, his lover, his legacy and his entire future.

So, if his father asked him to sacrifice something he had never really cared about for the sake of their brotherhood, Roman couldn't say he had very much tolose in the first place.

Sensing an opportune moment to strike while the iron was hot, Vitaly decided to sweeten the deal a little bit. “If you do this, you can take that time off you've been pestering me about.”

Roman fought the childish urge to roll his eyes. If Vitaly thought some time off was incentive enough for a forced marriage, he was clearly delusional. Nonetheless, there was no getting out of it, and hedidwant that time to himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten to do something for his pleasure alone, and he craved it. Son or not, Vitaly had never given him any preferential treatment. He was a workaholic who ran a tight ship, even within his own family.

“Three weeks,” Roman said.

“Two weeks, not a day longer,” Vitaly made his first and final offer. “Afteryou get married.”

“Fine,” Roman conceded, knowing it was senseless to try and negotiate.

“Good. I will set up an official meeting for this Sunday. You have two days to buy a ring for the girl.”

Roman let out an amused breath through his nose. “I'm busy. Have Yana do it.”

Vitaly gave him a warning look. He was done with his show of defiance. “You will do it, and I will hear no more of it.”

Pushing to his feet, Roman was more than ready to leave. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

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