Page 1 of Lorenzo's Claim

Prologue

Another day,another wedding.

Thankfully, this wasn’t mine, though. I drew the line at that kind of crap, much to my father’s disappointment.

Today was the unfortunate day that we’d have to attend Lorenzo Ricci’s wedding, the newest Don of the Sicilian Mafia. He was a real coldhearted prick, apparently. I just couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman that had to marry him. Probably the apple of her daddy’s eye, but for the right price, she was nothing but a pawn in their game.

I saw it one too many times. No matter how many times my father tried to persuade me into a marriage arrangement, it was never an option. Fair enough, he did have the final say, but he knew I wasn’t quite there yet. I was only twenty-one. That was no age to play wifey to some psychopath.

My father wasn’t just anybody. He was Victor Fedorov,Pakhanof theBratva.

Hated by many.

But respected by many more.

He had groomed and readied my older brother, Miles, to take his position as Pakhan, despite me being better than him at pretty much everything. That wasn’t how it worked. My fatherknew Miles had to be the one to take over, but fuck, did he make him work for it.

He made him earn it.

But then again, so did I.

While my father was focusing on Miles, my grandfather focused on me and made it known to my father just how lethal I would become. He tried to make him see that Miles was the wrong choice, and I was the right one. But his mind never swayed. No matter how invisible he made me feel, I still loved him, just as he expected me to. But that didn’t mean I didn’t resent his decisions.

“Anastacia, are you ready?” My mother’s voice came from the other side of my bedroom door. “We really do need to leave.” It was clear she was irritated by the tone of her voice and the tapping of her foot I could hear against the marble.

Of course I was ready, she’d made sure of that this morning. Whoever thought having a morning wedding was a good idea, really needed talking to.

“Yes, give me two minutes.” I sighed, dusting the smallest amount of gloss over my lips.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. I’d chosen a black floor-length gown for the occasion. The expertly tailored dress hugged my body, tracing every contour from my neckline to the floor. The daring thigh-high split made me smile to myself, knowing that my mama would disapprove. Our relationship was anything but sunshine and roses, all she truly ever wished for was a daughter she could shop with but that wasn’t me. I would rather have had my weapon of choice over Daddy’s credit card any day of the week.

I scoffed at the idea of coming face-to-face with the countless sons of my father’s many alliances. Although, he would have had more if it wasn’t for Lorenzo Ricci’s father. They were best friends once upon a time, but all that ended when Francobled out in Lorenzo’s arms after he crossed the Fedorov family, leading me to wonder why on earth we had to attend this shit show of a wedding.

“Anastacia!” Mama snapped as I yanked the door open with a forced smile. “Oh, that dress is, umm, well it’s—” She was speechless and not in the way she had hoped to be.

“How about I stay home and stick burning hot needles in my eyes? I’m sure that’d be better than what I’m about to endure.” I scoffed, breezing past her, ignoring her sighs of annoyance.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll be a lovely wedding. You’ll have a great time. Besides, you could meet?—”

“Stop pushing it. Me falling head over heels with some jumped-up twat of an heir, isn’t on the cards for me.” I descended the stairs with her hot on my heels, her creamy blonde bob bouncing as she walked. Her cherry red lips were undoubtedly pursed as though she’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Not all of them are jumped-up, Anastacia. Some are actually rather lovely.”

I ignored her comments as my father came into view, looking sharp in his tux. He turned to face me, a pearly white smile appearing on his face. He stood beside my brother, Miles, who barely offered me a smile.

“Ty vyglyadish' prekrasno.”My father’s lips turned up at the corners as if threatening to smile.

“Thank you.”

“Russian, please,” he demanded, his smile not faltering.

“Spasibo.” I smiled, nodding my head towards him.

“Mozhet byt’, eto plat’ye nemnogo otkrovenno, net?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly also hating my choice of dress for today.

“No, it’s not too revealing. Besides, I don’t see why it matters anyway.” I rolled my eyes, which earned me a disapproving look from my mother.

“Anastacia, just for today, can you pretend to be somewhat happy? I promise it won’t be that bad.” He sounded so sure, but it was a shame that I wasn’t equally as certain.

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