After closing the box, I placed it in a cupboard and then made my way to check on the table. Everything was set perfectly. Candles had been lit. Wine sat cooling, ready for the right moment to pour.

The house had been cleaned. Slavik had insisted on a cleaner to come in. There was so much he wouldn’t have me do. To be honest, I didn’t even know why I was here half the time. It wasn’t like he had any use for me. It was very embarrassing.

I checked into the kitchen and the chef who had been hired gave me a wink and promised it would be the best food imaginable. It looked like he was cooking seafood. I hated seafood, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him for a fifth time.

The scents alone were making me feel queasy. I wondered if I was pregnant and wasn’t entirely sure if I was happy or sad about that.

Bringing a baby into this world seemed cruel. A boy would be forced to train and kill. A girl would grow up to be a bride. Either happy or abused by her husband. This was our life. Did I want to risk bringing either child into the world? Possibly hating one while also dreading the life of another? It made absolutely no sense to me to do either.

I left the chef to his own devices and instead went toward the corridor where Sergei stood, waiting for instructions.

He always lingered. I hoped one day he’d come to see me as a friend and not as a job or obligation.

The smile he offered me was welcome.

I spent all my time with him. What I didn’t like was how often he was around me. A constant shadow.

“You’re going to do great,” he said.

“Thanks.”

The truth was I knew this night was going to be a disaster.

“Relax.” Sergei reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder. It was the first time he’d touched me since I’d been married to his boss. On instinct, I jerked back. No one else was supposed to touch me or even be allowed near me. Those were the rules. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t have time to completely process the thought as the doorbell rang. I should have waited for Slavik, but my nerves were getting the better of me. Against my better judgment, I opened the door to welcome my father, Franco. My mother, Gianna. My sister, Isabella, and one of my brothers, Cole.

Offering a smile, I stepped back to allow them entry. My hands grew clammy and my heart raced.

“You shouldn’t be answering the door,” my father said. “Can’t the Bratva pay for help? Are they that hard up for cash?”

Before I got a chance to answer, Slavik was there. “We allow our women to have their own minds and know they can answer the door without the need for assistance.” He came to stand beside me.