I’m the opposite.
Emilio is about to find that out.
Before we leavethe reception dinner, Aleksy tells Emilio he’d like to speak with me privately and say his goodbyes.
Yes, he told Emilio, as if my new husband must grant permission to who I can speak to now.
Instead of taking me to a room, Aleksy leads me outside. We walk through the rain, straight to his black Bentley.
It’s new. A promotion gift for himself.
For a sliver of a moment, I have hope in my brother as we slide into the Bentley.
Maybe he’ll take me home.
Ha. Who am I kidding?
Aleksy locks the doors before peering into the back seat, checking if the coast is clear. “Liliya, I need to tell you something very important.”
I turn in the leather seat to stare at him. “What?”
“The familyneeds something from you.”
“Nope.” I shake my head so hard that I’m surprised my neck doesn’t snap. “I’m all favored out.”
“Not a favor,” he corrects, the words gritted through his clenched teeth. “A demand.”
“I’m alldemandedout as well. Try again next yearif I’m still alive.”
Leaning in closer, he levels his elbow on the console to get into my face. “It’s a demand fromDedushka.”
I force down a breath, meeting his gaze, but not saying a word.
Ourdedushka, Rurick Morozova, is only mentioned in serious conversations. He’s not like your typical grandparent.
He started the Morozova Bratva family decades ago. While he rules in Russia and rarely comes to the States, he still controls most aspects of the family affairs here. He told Aleksy he had a year to prove he could run the family successfully or he’d replace him.
“He said it’s your duty to do as the family says. Ashesays,” Aleksy adds.
I turn my head, creating distance between us, and stare out the window. My throat turns dry. “What’smy duty? Is marrying a murderer not enough for you men?”
“You’re going to kill Emilio,” he states with no bullshit in his tone.
I turn my head, staring at him in shock. “You want me tomurder the murderer?”
His lip slightly lifts as he slowly nods.
I wait for him to laugh.
To tell me he’s messing with me.
But he doesn’t.
He looks just as serious as when he told me I was the new bride.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I hiss. “That’s a death sentence.”
“Not if you’re careful.”
