1
ELIZA
If it weren’t for the fact I’m so excited Lila is home for Spring Break, I’d probably be angrier at being summoned to my papá’s office at such short notice. Not that it would matter if I voiced my anger to Papá. His word is the law and there’s no arguing with him.
I hasten my footsteps through the house toward Papá’s study, which sits at the back of the house with the best views over the beautiful grounds. My burritos are now wrapped up in a bag over my arm, probably soggy as hell, as I had to abandon my lunch with Lila at our favorite Mexican restaurant downtown when I got an urgent call to meet him in his study forty minutes ago.
He expected me to be somewhere in the house, waiting to come to him at a moment’s notice. When I told him I was downtown, he wasn’t thrilled. I’m twenty-four years old, for fuck’s sake, and yet I still have no freedom, but my two younger brothers can do whatever the they want, when they want.
The study door is shut when I arrive and I draw in a deep breath, trying to calm the irritation bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. It’s never a good idea to face Papá when angry.
I push open the door. “Buenos días, papá,” I say, as I enter.
My footsteps falter as I notice a man standing by the window, staring out of it. His back is toward me, but he makes no move to turn around at my arrival.
“Buenos días, mi amor.” He nods to the empty seat opposite him. “Take a seat.”
I swallow hard, glancing over at the man who still hasn’t turned. “Are you well?” I ask. It’s crazy that meeting Papá can make me nervous, but he has this stare that can stop most people’s hearts. We’ve never had a close relationship. He’s too busy with work most of the time to bother with me or my siblings.
“Very well.” He smiles. “I have some exciting news for you. However, I’m afraid it means you won’t finish your silly medical school.”
Silly.
The blood drains from my face as I stare at Papá, wondering if I heard him right. I worked my ass off to get into medical school at The University of Chicago, since he wouldn’t allow me to study in any other city. My head spins as it feels like he ripped the rug right out from beneath me. “Are you serious?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’ve worked so hard to—”
“Silencio,” he growls, eyes blazing with rage.
I don’t get how he can be the one that’s angry right now.
He clears his throat. “You are to marry, mi amor.”
His use of the endearment, my love, feels unnatural, as he’s never shown me an ounce of affection. “Marry?” I scoff, hardly able to believe that this asshole is telling me I will not complete my studies because I have to get married. “How does that affect my studies?”
His eyes narrow. “You know that the kind of man you will marry doesn’t need a doctor as a wife.” His jaw clenches. “You knew this day would come at some point.” He shrugs. “The wedding will be in two months.”
Unease sweeps over me as I glance at the man standing by the window again, whose back is rigid. Is he the man I’m supposed to marry? I’m almost scared to ask the next question on the tip of my tongue.
“Who am I marrying?”
He clears his throat. “Adrik Volkov.”
Volkov.
A Russian. It’s hard to believe that my papá has chosen a bratva member to marry his eldest daughter. I’d always suspected this day would come, but assumed I’d be hitched to some big shot from Mexico.
The man standing at the window turns around and it feels like my heart stops beating in my chest at the sight of him. His unique hazel eyes find mine instantly, sending a shudder right down the center of my spine. If a look could chill someone’s blood, then the way he’s looking at me would be it. Those eyes are so cold and devoid of all emotion as an unkind smirk twists onto his lips.
Adrik’s eyes move down the length of my body, even while I’m sitting in a chair, taking me in objectively before returning to my face.
He’s handsome, unbelievably so, but there’s something unnerving about him. He has dark hair cut short and well-styled and his facial hair is impeccably kept. The navy blue suit he’s wearing hugs his muscles like a second skin and it’s hard not to notice the tattoos on his neck just visible between the open collar of his dress shirt.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” he says, his voice heavily accented and deep. It has a rich and sinful tenor to it that makes me clench my thighs together.
I swallow hard as there’s something not quite right about his eyes. They’re an odd shade of hazel with flecks of blue, but it’s not the hue that isn’t right. It’s the cold and calculated expression within them that makes them almost otherworldly and not quite human.
“Eliza,” Papá says, clearing his throat. “Don’t forget your manners.”
I swallow the bile that has risen up my throat. “Sorry, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, despite wanting to tell Papá to fuck off and stick his engagement up his ass. I know that speaking out of turn in front of a guest would be unwise.