Except Mama was shaking her head. “That won’t be enough. It’s Romeo who will be the groom.”
Rose straightened. “I know I fucked up, but it’s not like Romeo Capparelli realized there was a Verducci in his territory, either. This isn’t solely on me.”
“You’re fucking his enemy.” Trust Papa to cut to the chase. “He’s taking it personally.”
Damn it. She really had fucked this up. She tried to slow down, tried to think, but in Romeo’s situation, she’d do something similar. There was no denying the insult. If he’d been entertaining one of their enemies the way she’d been entertaining Jackson—no, Dante—then she would have demanded blood. He had them over a barrel, and he knew it. Fuck.
If she wasn’t willing to let her sister pay the price of her foolishness, then there was only one course of action. She knew it’d come to this eventually. Marriage and babies and that whole thing was part of the lifestyle. With IVF as an option, she hadn’t really worried overmuch about the gender of the person she’d eventually say “I do” to, but Romeo Capparelli?
She was exhausted just thinking about spending the rest of her life jockeying for power. “I’ll marry him.”
“He wants—”
She dropped her hands and cut off her father. “I don’t give a fuck what Romeo Capparelli wants. One Romanov daughter is as good as another. This is my mess. I’ll be the one to pay the consequences. Not Lorelei.” Not any of her sisters.
“If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t. She wasn’t even close to sure. By marrying Romeo, it sentenced her to a life of fighting to ensure her people and territory weren’t devoured by his. There was a reason heirs rarely married each other—something non-female members of the underworld normally didn’t have to worry about. It was why other families treated their daughters as pawns to be moved about to secure alliances.
Romeo wanted a Romanov daughter? She’d give him one.
Mama pushed off the chair and gave Papa’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll have an ironclad prenup drawn up. You’ll be protected.”
“I can protect myself.” She worked to take the bite out of her tone. Her parents hadn’t put her in this situation. Her own short-sightedness, her own selfishness had. If she’d given in to their gentle pressure a few years ago, she could have married some nice, docile little spouse whom she’d never have to worry about sinking a knife into her ribs. “I made my bed. I’ll deal with laying in it.”
“Rose—”
She pushed to her feet. “But Romeo will do me one courtesy before we officially enter negotiations.”
Papa lifted a single brow. “That courtesy?”
“I’ll deal with Dante Verducci myself.” Tonight. Right fucking now.
He’d made a fool of her, and she wasn’t going to let him live long enough to regret it.
Chapter 2
Rose’s sisters descended and she got ready. She chose her clothing carefully, just like she always did when meeting…Jackson. As far as he knew, she was just a woman who worked an office job she didn’t love, had a big family, and liked roses.
Rose would never be able to look at her namesake again after this.
She slammed her hair dryer down harder than she intended. He knew. That bastard knew who she was this whole time, and he played her for a fool. She had too much anger, her mother’s anger that flared hot and scalding, but she didn’t bother to control it. Not this time. Not when it would serve her so well.
Lorelei lifted her brows, meeting Rose’s gaze in the mirror. “What did that hair dryer ever do to you?”
Anya tossed her lean body onto Rose’s bed, sprawling the way she always seemed to. “She’s pissed because Mama and Papa are making her break up with the bartender.” The way she said bartender was loaded with loathing. Anya had strong opinions about Rose “slumming it with the normies.”
Lorelei’s brows winged higher. “That was fast.”
“It’s been months. That’s not fast at all.” Sasha reached around Rose to grab a tube of mascara. “This is mine, by the way.”
Lorelei snorted. “Actually, it’s mine. You borrowed it from me last week, remember?”
“I returned that one.” Sasha waved the tube. “I bought this yesterday.”
“Liar.”
“Selfish hag.”
“Bitch.”
“Take it.” Rose studied her sisters in the mirror, letting their chaotic squabbling ground her. They threw insults with a fondness that belied the words themselves. This was her life. This was normal. She never should have tried to go against it, even in temporary rebellion. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. It would be okay. Rose would fix things and she would be the only one to pay for the consequences of her actions.
She pulled on a cheap floral dress she’d bought from a box store. The woman in the mirror hardly looked like her. It was only now, when the whole charade had fallen down around her head that she had to admit the fucked-up lengths she’d gone to in keeping it afloat. She didn’t look like Rose Romanov. She looked like just another brunette who walked the streets of New York every day of her life, barely getting by, and yet the only thing she really had to stress about was the shitty dating pool.