Page 11 of My Solemn Vow
Igor stands, as does the younger man sitting on the sofa, which, by my logic, tells me it’s his son. Their strong jaws, dirty blond hair, and semitruck-like builds give away the genetics they share.
Even if he does have to fight to be Pakhan, I have no doubt this man could fend off anyone coming for his position.
Igor speaks, a smile pulling at his lips. “You must be the lovely Toni I have heard so much about.”
Oh, oh no, he did not.I cast a sidelong glance at Gregorio, but he’s keeping a tight lid on things.
I don’t bother to smile. “I am.”
Igor reaches out for a handshake, and I reciprocate the gesture, but he wraps his fingers around my hand and doesn’t let go.I am going to slit Gregorio’s and Berto’s throats in their sleep.
“Come, I’d like you to meet my son.” My hand still clasped in his, Igor practically pulls me toward him. His accent isn’t as thick as I’m guessing it was when he first immigrated. “Toni this is my son, Nikolai.”
Nikolai isn’t unattractive with his blond hair, striking blue eyes, and prominent jawline, which I’m sure women dream about. If I wasn’t currently revenge-plotting to take over the family business, I’d maybe even flirt. Except when my hand is placed in his, Nikolai kisses it.
I cough to cover my gasp.
“Little flower, are you okay?” Nikolai reaches out to steady my other arm but takes my wine glass instead.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I pull myself out of his reach and try to take the wine glass back.
The oaf holds it up to his eye level. Which is quite tall, given I’m wearing two-inch heels and he still towers above me. “Is it customary for women to drink wine before dinner?”
I abandon him and the glass and head to the bar cart, lettingGregorio and Francesca smooth over with our guests that yes, it’s quite common for Italians to have one... or four... glasses of wine with dinner.
Wine won’t dull this experience enough anyway. I grab a rocks glass and pour myself an old-fashioned using the ingredients already laid out.
Berto hisses as he approaches me, “Do not make a fool of this family. You knew this would happen.”
“Mmm, did I?” I pitch that as a question despite knowing this was a risk of coming home. This must be record timing though.
Gregorio will always try to marry me off for a business deal. I’m honored he got me the head of the Bratva’s son rather than some lowly enforcer or captain this time. Like any of Gregorio’s previous attempts, Nikolai and I won’t be paired.
I return to the sitting area, purposefully avoiding the side of the room where Nikolai has my wine glass. I draw a long, slow sip of my drink.
“So, Toni, your aunt tells me you’re a teacher?” the beautiful blonde woman in the center of the sofa asks me.
I have no idea who she is. But if this is an engagement dinner, she must be Mrs. Popova.
“I am.” I smile, stiffening slightly and crossing my legs demurely. Then I lay it on thick. “I graduated from Columbia, summa cum laude and valedictorian, the highest honor they offer in education. Then I went on to teach for two years at private elementary schools in DC. I felt it would benefit me to pursue my master’s, so I returned to Columbia University in New York and graduated summa cum laude, again.”
“Oh.” She raises her eyebrows. “Impressive.”
“A bit overeducated for a woman in your line of work, isn’t she, Gregorio?” Igor laughs like he’s told a funny joke.
Leticia slides her hand next to mine on the sofa and gives it a squeeze.
Don’t worry, cousin. I won’t hurt their feelings... much.
“Well, you know her father, Antonio, may he rest in peace, always wanted a child who could fill his place someday. God gifted him with a bright girl like Toni. It seemed only fair to honor his memory by letting her go to school,” Gregorio answers before sipping his drink.
“Yes, and she’s made the family quite proud. If anything, Toni is a perfect example of how we are continually striving for greatness,” Eduardo answers as he walks behind me.
It’s a threat to behave.
Not happening, Eduardo.I draw another long sip of my drink and ignore him.
Aunt Francesca saves us from the horrors of small talk with the announcement of dinner being ready. I make sure to move from the living room in the middle of the pack, staying close to Eduardo’s middle child, Sarena, who came from the kitchen with Francesca. My seat, customarily at Berto’s left-hand side, has a place card on it.
