Page 4 of Fame
Make no mistake, the Bratva princess is no sheltered naïve child. In the months she’s been here, I’ve seen clever guile in the way she convinces Frankie to let her watch newborn Teeny so Frankie can rest. She manages it in a way that sneaks under Frankie’s post-partum depression, which is a trick Arlo has yet to master. Any hint of wanting to help Frankie with the baby seems to ignite her feelings of inadequacy and fears of being a bad mom.
Frankie doesn’t even realize she’s being managed when LeeLee sets her mind to helping with the baby. That takes skill, and Amaliya does it flawlessly. And the girl’s mastered cunning misdirection so well, most of the time, no one realizes she’s gotten exactly what she wants while making it seem like our idea to begin with.
Example? She hates tomatoes, which I happen to love. Yet somehow, BLTs have been missing from the mealtime lineup for months and damned if I even care. Somehow, she managed to get my favorite sandwich banned from the house without myagreement, and now, I can’t recall the last time I had one, even when grabbing lunch at the shop.
“Is this about the apprenticeship? LeeLee, be serious. You know even if I let you play around with a tattoo machine, your dad will never let you be a tattoo artist. Shit, he’d probably shit rainbow kittens if you tried working any job.”
“I’m not a little girl, Shaw. I’m a grown woman. I can work if I want to.”
She pouts like a Little Girl. Fuck me. I need to strike that thought from my brain. Pronto.
Amaliya Balakin can never be my Little Girl, no matter how perfectly the brat has wrapped herself around my heart. The pakhan may tolerate me as an ally, but he’d never accept me in the role of son-in-law.
“And if I let you? If I bring you to the shop and teach you how to ink? Then what? All of this shit that has him stashing you here is coming to a head, and then he’ll bring you home. Do you think he’ll let you keep practicing? Or will you turn yourself into some piss-poor scratcher like every other self-taught hack?”
“When I’m married, my husband might let me.” Her chin juts out stubbornly when she mentions this faceless husband.
My fists clench tight enough my knuckles crack and pop loudly in the tense silence between us. It’s one thing to know her life’s destiny is to be bratva chattel, strategically married off for power. It’s another fucking thing for her to throw it in my face as a taunting reminder some other man will get to spoil and tame her.
“Will he? Do you know who your father has in mind then?” I ask.
As hard as it is to allow her any secrets, I’ve forced myself to give her time to speak to her father without my hovering interference. If he’s selected a candidate for her hand, it’s news to me. Infuriating news. It’ll mean he comes to get her soon. Especially, if the man he’s chosen has the power to keep her safe while Anatoly finishes reorganizing of his inner circle and ousting the traitors, who put Amaliya at risk and will die slow, agonizing deaths as her father uncovers who they are.
“Like he’d tell me?” she scoffs.
“We have that in common, at least. Your father enjoys keeping his cards close to the vest. Maybe, it’s the old Russian in him, the way he hoards secrets for the power they bring.”
I want Amaliya to trust I’m on her side as much as I can be. It’s hard not to sympathize with her desire to spread her wings. At the same time, I’ve got an entire club and, now more than ever, a family to protect.
“Sure thing, Daddio. We have so much in common. Except the pakhan isn’t planning to barter your reproductive parts. Ugh. I bet he’s thinking of Gregor or Bogdan. I once heard him tell Mama that Bogdan sired strong sons. The man’s as old as my father and smokes two packs a day!”
The way she paces and mumbles, I’m not sure she’s paying me any attention at all. I slide my phone from my pocket and thumb a quick text to Jax.
Can you send Blakely up with a dinner tray for Amaliya?
I’m not your bitch, Shaw. Why don’t you ask her yourself?
Asshole. You still won’t let any of us have her number.
Oh. Yeah. Fine. She says that’s cool. It’ll be in the hall.
Seriously,I have no clue how a woman as soft as Blakely winds up the gleeful chew toy for a feral junkyard dog like Jaxon. Even as a kid, he had a certain level of untamable wildness in him. Prison unleashed that wildness. Still, the way he obsessively adores Blakely is damn near his only tie to humanity, so I appreciate he’ll send her up with food.
Now, I’ve just gotta figure out how to convince Amaliya to stop her tantrum and eat her dinner like a good girl. Shit. There I go again. Not like a good girl. I can’t go down that road, even in my head. I need to convince her to eat her dinner like a reasonable adult.
Dammit. I am so screwed.
CHAPTER 6
LEELEE
“You shouldn’t make the others bring me food like I’m some princess in a tower, Shaw.” It’s mortifying the way he treats me like a spoiled brat. Everyone must think I’m such an immature baby.
“You shouldn’t tell me what to do, little girl. You are a princess. Maybe not of a country, but facts are facts. You are the pakhan’s sole heir. That makes you royalty. And royalty eats their damn dinner.” Frustration, whether with me or whatever it was I eavesdropped on, makes him terse.
“If I eat will you leave me alone?”
Please. Don’t leave me alone.
