Chapter 6

I open my eyes with a wince and meet Riccardo’s scornful gaze. He’s right in front of me, and his hand is still squeezing my shoulder, holding me against the wall. His grip is so tight it hurts, but I barely notice it behind the stomachache that grows even stronger in his presence. My whole body tenses up, and I feel a rush of heated adrenaline under my skin as I stare right into his eyes. God, how much I hate them.

I purse my lips, not saying anything, and only Rachel raises her voice as she tries to get out of Paolo and Drake’s grip. “Let me go! Leave her alone!”

She’s loud, the fight is obvious, and there are people on the other side of the hallway—but nobody cares. They never do, not when Riccardo and his band are involved.

I swallow and glance at Rachel, but Riccardo immediately grips my jaw and forces me to look back at him. “Looking pretty today, huh?”

He swipes his thumb across my lips, smearing the lipstick all over my chin, and I feel the heat of embarrassment and anger rise to my cheeks. I did steal it from Irina, my sister, but why the hell does it matter? I clench my hands and try to push Riccardo away from me, but it only makes him chuckle.

“Is your family so desperate that you have to sell yourself like that?” Riccardo lowers his voice so that the others don't hear him clearly, but I feel his mocking chuckle on my skin as he leans in. I turn away, avoiding his gaze, but it doesn’t stop him.

He only needs one arm across my shoulders to pin me to the wall while the other slips to my thigh, pinching me through the skirt. Colin laughs lewdly somewhere behind Riccardo while Paolo pulls out his phone to take a photo. It’s painful, dirty, and humiliating, and I feel tears rise to my eyes as Riccardo’s hand continues to grope me.

“Too bad nobody’s gonna look at a Russian whore like you.”

“Fuck off,” I manage to spit out, and I turn to glare at him, pushing down every choking feeling in my chest. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my family it’s that, wherever I am, I’m a part of Bratva. I can’t be weak, not with someone like him.

It only entertains him, though. Riccardo grins widely, looking at me with dark eyes, and my heart lurches in my chest. “Oh, did I offend you? I’m sorry. Of course, you’re gonna be a good whore for the dogs of your family.”

His hand slips further down, raising the edge of my skirt, and it becomes too much to bear. I gather strength and kick under his knee, simultaneously pushing him away. Riccardo sways back in surprise, but a moment later the look in his eyes burns with anger. He lets go of my shoulder to squeeze my throat and push me back into the wall.

“Do you think your claws can do any good?” His voice is almost a hiss, and I shut my eyes, trying to breathe, but his grip is too strong. I can hear Rachel scream louder, and her voice is just enough to cover his whisper. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your life on your knees for me after we burn your house into ashes.”

“How are you gonna get to my house if you can’t even protect your own whores?”

The fire of resentment burns me more than Riccardo’s grip on my throat, and I open my eyes and chuckle into his face. Dad and Uncle Yuriy recently raided one of Messina's brothels, wiping it to the ground, and I know that Riccardo knows what I’m talking about. For a second, his face distorts into a grimace of rage, but he quickly takes control of it and straightens up with a mask of calm on his face.

“Don’t worry, there will always be a place for you.”

It takes him a mere second to grasp the collar of my shirt and tear it down, sending the buttons flying to the ground. Rachel cries out and finally pushes Paolo to the side when a hoard of people start coming in. The guys startle, looking around, and only Riccardo keeps his cool. Our gazes hold each other, burning with hatred, before he finally turns away.

Rachel rushes to me, holding me while I try to catch my breath and hold the sides of my shirt together. “That fucker—we should seriosuly think about reporting them. They--he can’t do something like this! It’s—God,

Elena, are you okay?”

I nod automatically, leaning on the wall, while my eyes follow Riccardo to the stairs. He doesn’t look back. He never does, but for some reason, I always keep looking. My heart is pounding, my cheeks are red and stained with tears, and my mind is a complete mess—but there’s something that keeps coming back to me. He noticed my lipstick.

God.

Riccardo Messina called me pretty.

***

“...to honor and comfort her, to keep her in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

The sound of Riccardo’s voice pulls me out of my memories, and I blink. My gaze automatically darts to his face, but he doesn’t really look at me. The look in his eyes is too indifferent to see his real thoughts behind it. Or maybe he actually doesn’t care about the marriage. Why would he? It’s all just a formality.

“Elena Pushkova.”

My heart stutters, and I turn to the priest, struggling to keep my focus. God, this is it. This is actually happening. A cold tremble runs through my body, followed by a wave of panic. I can’t marry him, I just can’t.

“Do you take this man to be your husband? Do you swear to love him, to honor him and comfort him, to keep him in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?"

I don’t. I don’t! But my mind is louder than my heart, and my fear is louder than my protests. I glance at the guests before us, and my gaze immediately finds Max in the first row. He looks at me with a wide grin and eyes full of awe, and next to him, Mom sits with her perfect posture and her arms crossed on her chest. She raises an eyebrow expectantly as the guests and music go quiet.

My heart aches, but I have no choice. I look at Max’s chocolate eyes, high cheekbones, and dark wavy hair. Is there anything I wouldn’t do for him?

“I do,” I finally say, and turn to Riccardo. My gaze darts to his face, and I see it so clearly at that moment. Dark chocolate eyes, high cheekbones, and black hair curling on the tips.

Max does look like his father.