Vicious Games

Elena

I never thought the day of my wedding would be this miserable.

“Elena, give me a smile! It’s for the memories.” Mom holds up her phone and gestures at her own wide and unnatural smile as if telling me to repeat after her. It makes the tight feeling in my chest grow stronger, but I do try to smile a little harder.

It’s the only thing left for me—follow my family’s orders and try not to do anything stupid like turn away from the forced marriage and escape the life of abuse and power. Russian Bratva doesn’t let go of their prey so easily even if it is one of them.

“You look like you’re going to pass out.” Aunt Olga joins us with a look of worry on her face. Not that she actually cares about my feelings. Nobody here does.

“Have you noticed it, too?” Mom adds, shaking her head and looking at me with a reprimand. “Lenochka, you can’t show up at the altar like this.”

“Everyone will be watching you.”

“You have to look happy, sweetheart.”

For a moment, their words make me sick. Olga raises her hand to touch my cheek, and I instinctively sway back from her—before forcing myself to stay still. I have to remember my place, and the cold look of disapproval reminds me of it. As if to make sure I’m as obedient as they want me to be, Olga does place her palm on my cheek, and it feels like someone drops a pile of rocks on my shoulders.

“You’re gonna smile and be nice there, right?” Olga forces me to look into her eyes, and I see the reflection of my own there. The dark blue color of our eyes is the same, but the truth of our hearts is different. “Elena, don’t make us regret our decision.”

I raise my chin and hold her gaze openly, feeling a surge of heated protest in my chest. I don’t care about your decisions. I don’t care about your family business. I don’t care about you!

But I care about Max—so I bite my tongue, push my protests deeper inside, and nod. “Yes, Auntie.”

Olga’s face lights up with a smile. “Good! Now, make yourself pretty, darling. The first impression is very important, and your husband should see you in all your glory.”

This time, I try a bit harder to smile like I mean it, and both Mom and Olga let out noises of approval and share a quick look. I guess they’re happy with it. But it’s difficult to keep my mask on for a long time, so as soon as Olga turns away, I quietly breathe out and let my shoulders drop. God, will this ever end?

The corners of my lips turn down, and I look away from Olga—only to catch Mom’s gaze.

We look at each other for a moment, and I know she can see the exhaustion and misery in my eyes. I hate it here. Let me go. But like the rest of my family, Mom shows no mercy. Her gaze lingers only for a couple of seconds before she turns away to follow Olga to the tailor. What, do they want to fix the dress again?

I bite my lip to stop myself from rolling my eyes and turn on my heels to the window. They all want the wedding to be perfect as if it’s not a goddamn masquerade. My gaze drifts over the rows of flowers and lavish decorations right outside of the hotel. I can even see the snow-white arch of the altar from here, and it makes me scoff as my hands grip the white silk of my dress tighter.

Just a farce. All of it. God, how can I get out of— “Look, Mommy! It’s black and yellow! Can I take it?”

I turn around, gathering the folds of my dress in a hurry, just in time to see Max pause in the doorway and look around with an awkward smile.

He still isn’t used to the grim faces and expectant glares of my family. Technically, they’re his family, too—but I would give anything for my son to be excluded from them forever.

“Yes? Let me see.” I smile in encouragement and go closer to Max before any of my relatives let out their snarky comments. They don’t like him—partially because of his soft and caring nature. Can you imagine a boy collecting flowers among the biggest Mafia family of Chicago?

Max breaks out into a wide smile and runs over, holding out a daisy with yellow petals and a black middle. His dark eyes twinkle in excitement, and I instinctively pull him closer to hide him from the glances of the rest of the room.

“Here. Isn’t it pretty? It looks like a daisy!”

“I think it is.”

Max furrows his brow funnily and looks up. “Why does it look like this?”

He looks so cute and childish that I can’t help a smile as I ruffle his hair. “Some flowers have many varieties. But they remain the same even with different colors and shapes on them.”

Max’s eyes widen, and he looks at the daisy with renewed interest before perking up with an exciting idea. “Mom, I think it will be beautiful in your hair! Can you hold it? Please!”

He looks at me with an excited smile, and I’m almost ready to agree —when I see Mom look at me over Max’s head. She quirks an eyebrow in a silent and threatening question, and I feel my heart tighten. So now they aren’t happy with the flowers, huh? I purse my lips, but in the end, there’s nothing I can do.

“Maybe not today, baby.” I look at Max again and run my hand over his hair. “Next time, okay?”

Thankfully, Max is not one to hold grudges. He nods and turns around on his heels, ready to bolt out of the room, when a voice stops him.

“Maxim.”

He stops like the good boy that he is, and my heart tightens as I follow his gaze and look at Olga. She eyes him for a moment before gesturing at the flower. “Where did you get it?”

“Outside, ma’am.”

“Did you pick it from a flower bed?”

Max glances at me and clears his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you know it’s not allowed here?” Olga’s eyes narrow. I can see the disapproval in her eyes grow stronger, and my own heart picks up its pace. Max may not be aware of the power his great-aunt holds, but he fidgets uncomfortably, and I can see his cheeks turn pink with shame.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not enough. What kind of punishment do you—”

“It’s just a flower.” I stop Olga before she finishes the sentence and step forward, pulling her attention to myself. She’s like a shark in this room, and I’d rather have her teeth tear me apart than touch my son. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

She quirks an eyebrow, and I notice a cold glint in her eyes. “Is that how you raise him? That boy has no sense of self-control. You have to teach him proper manners.”

“But he is my boy, and yes, that is how I raise him.” I hold her gaze and straighten my shoulders, hiding the tremble in my tightened fists. “He is my son, and I decide what to teach him, not you.”

“Elena,” Mom says with a quiet warning, and I glance at her, my chest tight with nervousness.

I know, I know! I shouldn’t get involved with the woman at the head of our family, but I’ve already been obedient enough. If they want to play me like a doll, I don’t care—but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna let them have their twisted ways with my son.

The room goes still and silent, and even the tailor barely moves her hands over my veil. Olga watches me with her face void of any emotions, and I know that look so well. It means danger, and it means power. Shit. I think about everything they can do to Max for my misbehavior, and my heart drops—when I hear heavy steps from the hallway.

Sergei, my distant cousin, stops in the doorway, and it takes him one glance of the room to frown deeper and lay a hand on the gun under his belt. He has only recently arrived from Vladivostok, and when he opens his mouth, a mixture of Russian and English flows out. “Is everything good?” My breath gets caught in my throat when Olga eyes me for a second, and my heart flutters in panic—but in the end, she looks away and gives Sergei a small smile. “Yes, it is fine. Lenochka is showing her tiny claws.”

They both chuckle like it’s a joke, but at least the tension in the room dissipates. I glance at Max and notice that the daisy has gotten crumpled in his tight fists. He looks at it with a sad frown, and I move toward him when Sergei’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“The Messina is here. We start in fifteen minutes.” Fifteen minutes—and my life as it is will be over.