Page 4 of Arranged Control
Instead, I shake my head, lips set in a hard line. “I just need to talk to him.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” She hurries off, looking worried. I give her a few seconds before following after, even though I’msupposed to wait in the front hall. Right now, I’m too angry to play by the rules.
The Morozov building is a massive property on the Upper East Side. It’s three brownstones connected together on the corner of a quiet, shady street. Most of the houses around here are obscenely wealthy doctors, lawyers, and powerful CEOs. I doubt they realize my father lives among them, a wolf pretending to be a very rich lamb.
The floors are all expensive, original hardwood. My father’s collection of Russian artists hangs on the walls. They’re all ugly and dour. Not my taste at all. I pass a dozen different rooms, most of which never get used, but Papa makes sure the staff keeps them all pristine in case a visitor goes wandering.
The entire compound is designed around maximum shock and awe, and it was a real hellhole to grow up in, at least when I was around. Mostly I got shuttled between boarding schools in the northeast and in the UK. I did four years at Vassar to get a marketing degree before settling in the apartment I own now, over in an obscenely expensive building in Hudson Yards.
Katya catches me before I reach my father’s study. She looks a little harried as I walk toward her with purpose. “I’m sorry, Alinochka, but he says?—”
“Whatever it is, he’s going to talk.”
“But dear, his show?—”
My hands curl into fists.The asshole’s watching freaking baseball and doesn’t want to see me. “The Yankees will play again tomorrow.”
I storm through his study door, Katya hovering behind me. I find my father sitting in an expensive leather chair near the fireplace, a little color TV tucked in the corner of bookshelves, the ninth inning of a game in progress. He’s got his feet up on an ottoman and a drink in his hand, and he looks deeply annoyed to see me.
“I thought I said I was busy.” My father glares at me. “The Yankees are closing out a close game.”
Screw this. I’m tired of being tossed aside. Always an afterthought for this man. He gives me whatever I want, so long as I don’t ever bother him. Money is fine, it’s easy, he can have his people take care of it.
But an actual conversation? Face to face with his own daughter?
That’s asking too much.
“Who is Seamus Whelan and why does he think we’re getting married?”
My father’s expression hardens. I hear Katya take a sharp breath behind me. Slowly, he puts his feet down and leans forward on his knees. Papa stares at me, eyes sharp and hard. He’s gotten softer over the years. Physically, at least. He’s got a little gut now and his face has some flab on it. But beneath the signs of a rich man enjoying his hard work remain the dagger-sharp claws and ruthless personality that won him this empire to begin with.
“Katya, you’re excused.” He slowly gets to his feet and takes a long sip of his whiskey. When the door shuts behind me, he glances at the TV and grimaces before turning it off. “When did you hear about that?”
“Earlier. I spoke with Seamus.” I feel my toes begin to tingle. It’s like my blood’s so cold it’s making them go numb. “It’s true then?”
“You know I’ve been building something with the Whelans.” He stalks to his desk, looking annoyed. “There’s only ever one way to trust those people. What have I said your whole life? The most important thing in the world?”
“Family,” I whisper, sinking down into a chair. He takes out a bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer and refills his glass. He doesn’t offer me any.
“That’s right. Family. And if we want this alliance to be permanent, that means I have to marry a blood relative to one of theirs.” He stares at me, swirling his drink. He looks more pensive than I thought he would.
“Were you going to tell me?” I manage to croak. I realize dimly that I’m in shock. Even after that conversation with Seamus, I didn’t really believe this was happening.
But of course it is. This has always been my future. Ever since I was little, my dad made it clear. My worth to the family goes straight through my womb. One day I’ll be called upon to marry and produce heirs?—
And that’s the reason I’m pampered.
It’s the only reason anyone gives a damn whether I’m still breathing or not.
“Eventually,” he says dismissively. “I was dreading it. I didn’t want to deal with this.” He waves a hand at me, making a face.
I sit up like he slapped me in the face. I straighten my back and fix my face. Perfect and proper. The way a bratva daughter should be.
“There’s nothing todeal with,” I say as icily as I can. “But I would appreciate it if you gave me a heads-up about any plans that involve my future.”
“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you say.”
“Seamus thinks we’re marrying in two weeks.”
