Pretty Little Princess

To save my family, I’ve been sold to our enemy.

Pyotr Veles is heir to New York’s most treacherous Bratva. He’s also cold, calculating, cruel–and my husband-to-be.

But the terms of the truce that will save the ones I love are clear. My marriage to Pyotr will prevent a mafia war that could shatter both of our families.

My new fiance is skilled at playing the perfect prince. Enough so that he convinces me to give up my virginity.

But afterward he spares little of the pretense. I’m nothing more than a means to an end to him.

My part, I’m told, is simple. All I have to do is be his loyal bride.

But my role seems far less simple when I get pregnant before our wedding night.

And this game of playing Pyotr’s pretty little princess isn’t one I’m sure I can survive.

Silvia

Two Months Later

Breathing in the hot late-August air, I smile as I look across Rosehill campus. Over my summer vacation, I’ve missed the open greenspace that stretches between the art buildings. It’s nice to be back at school. 

Across the way, Emily and Travis make their way up the steps of the graystone arts building, Travis gesturing animatedly as he tells some story–probably one of his summer adventures. His deep purple hair streaked with cerulean blue is like a beacon across the distance between us. 

I take a step in their direction, ready to join my classmates for our first-period sculpting class. Then I stop short. Heart skipping a beat, I frown as I look more closely at the tall, dark-haired figure heading in my direction. 

But it can’t be. Pyotr Veles doesn’t go to Rosehill. He’s all the way up in New York, studying at some prestigious universities.

Still, as I watch the broad-shouldered man approach, it can’t be anyone else. His hair is perfectly tousled, his trim waist, strong chest, and muscular arms visible beneath his T-shirt. The strong jaw and stubbled chin confirm it. Pyotr’s here, on Rosehill campus.

Giddy excitement floods me. I don’t know why he’s here, but I haven’t seen him since the night we met. I’ve been daydreaming about him since. Picking up my pace, I head toward him.

“Pyotr!” I say brightly as soon as he’s close enough. The thrill of saying his name out loud makes my pulse quicken.

His curious gray eyes flick up from the piece of paper in his hand to meet mine. “Silvia?”

My name on his lips fills me with a ridiculous amount of pleasure. 

“Did you transfer to Rosehill?” I ask, closing the distance between us.

“Yes.” His brows furrow as he scowls down at his schedule.

“Did you need some help finding your way around campus? The buildings can all kind of blend together at first. I’d be happy to show you where to go.” 

His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me, and the look unnerves me. He seems to evaluate me with a new level of cold assessment. Gone is the open curiosity, replaced by something less friendly–almost hostile. 

“Do I look like I need your help?” he demands.

“Um, well…” I sense that the honest answer might not be the best one right now. 

Maybe he doesn’t like looking vulnerable in front of me. I could get that. Not only am I his betrothed–and therefore someone he’s expected to take care of–but I’m also a Marchetti. The need to show strength in front of his enemies has probably been ingrained in him since a young age. And just because we’ll be married someday doesn’t mean he should automatically trust me today.

Still, this new, cold side to him catches me off guard. It’s a stark contrast to the man I met a few short months ago.

“I just thought you might not have had the opportunity to attend orientation,” I provide, trying to take the edge off his discomfort. “Sometimes, I think students get lost in the mix if they don’t start at Rosehill as freshmen.” I smile nervously. 

That’s a convincing reason he might need someone to show him around, right? I’m not about to tell him that I offered because I thought it would be fun to spend time with him.

“Yeah, well, I can find my way around this pathetic campus just fine, thanks,” he snaps.

I close my lips, biting back my response to his sharp tone. Not to mention the clear disdain with which he just spoke about Rosehill. This college has been important to my family for generations. I know it might not be as prestigious as an Ivy League school he probably could have attended, it’s still a very good school. 

“So… what brings you to Chicago?” I ask more tentatively. Now I’m genuinely curious why he left New York. It doesn’t seem like that was his first choice.

“Does it matter?” he challenges. 

He looks at his schedule, giving me a fraction of his attention as he goes back to making sense of where he’s going.

“Um, well, I guess not. I just thought I’d make some friendly conversation. Seems like a long way from home, and I figured you might like having someone to talk to.” Ugh, I did a terrible job of masking my defensive tone. I sound almost whiney. 

Clearly, Pyotr thinks so too as disgust flickers across his face. Releasing a heavy sigh, he steps closer to me. As he looms over me, the enticing scent of his apple and birch cologne tickle my senses. 

“Look, I’ve already been sent to this hellhole against my wishes. I don’t need the added torture of trying to play nice with you today, okay?” he says with painstaking patience. “So, how about you kindly fuck off?”

I’d have been less surprised if he had slapped me in the face.

“Excuse me?” I ask, my shock coming out as exasperation. 

“I said get the fuck out of my face,” he snaps, contradicting his words as he leans dangerously close to mine.

“Okay, what is your problem?” I demand. “You were all charm and politeness the night I met you, and now you’re being a complete ass.” 

I bite my lip as my temper comes out hotter than I’d intended. I don’t normally mouth off to people–least of all someone I know is important to my family’s well-being. But I seriously can’t make sense of Pyotr’s one-eighty. 

“What’s my problem?” Pyotr scoffs. He mumbles something that sounds Russian but is so low I can’t be sure. “You are. I got sent to this shithole to ensure you and your family don’t get any funny ideas about dishonoring our agreement. Which means I’m stuck here for the next three years.”

“What…?” I can hardly wrap my mind around that one.

Did he just manage to question my honor and blame me for his decision all in the same breath? 

“Let me make this clear, since you don’t seem capable of keeping up. You’re mine, Silvia. You’re my fucking property. Nothing more. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want to marry you. I’ll follow through with it because that’s my duty. And in the meantime, I’m here to make sure no one else tries to take what belongs to me.”

His lips are so close to mine that my skin starts to tingle. My body’s lingering attraction doesn’t seem to catch up to my new sense of hurt and betrayal. But his words cut deep. For months, I’d felt like things might actually work out. That I could be okay with my father selling me off. But everything I’d thought to be true, everything I’d been dreaming about since our first dinner together. It had all been a lie.

He doesn’t want me.

He’s not my prince charming. 

And we sure as hell are not going to live happily ever after.

I’ve been trying to see the bright side of an arranged marriage. And for a moment in time, I actually believed Pyotr and I might be a decent match. I thought that, even if New York was hundreds of miles from everyone I love, I might be okay if I had Pyotr by my side.

And suddenly, it comes into perfect clarity. I’m marrying the monster I’d once imagined he could be. Only worse, his deceptively good looks gave me no warning as to the beast within. 

Pyotr stands to his full height, leering down at me. “What? Does that hurt your feelings, Little Princess?” he asks. “Stop being so naive. Life’s not some big fairy tale. I’m not some fucking knight in shining armor here to sweep you off your feet. I’m stuck with you. Because that’s what’s expected of me. I’m marrying you for my family. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You are such an ass!” I hiss, fighting the angry tears that spring to my eyes.

Pyotr chuckles darkly. “At least I’m not some meek little snot who expects the men in her family to make everything right and perfect while she mopes about life’s inequities. How about this? You promise to hold up your end of this deal and stay out of my way, and I’ll leave you be. We can just go about our separate lives for the next three years and enjoy our remaining freedom before we’re stuck together for the rest of our lives.” 

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had all day,” I snap, glaring up at him with renewed hatred. 

“Good.”

“Fine,” I agree, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. 

Pyotr rolls his obnoxiously beautiful eyes and brushes past me, moving swiftly away. 

Standing frozen for several seconds, I fight to get my emotions under control before I glance over my shoulder at him. 

He stalks across campus with a gait I hadn’t realized was so pompous until this very moment. God, he doesn’t know how lucky he is that Nico wasn’t around to witness that. Pyotr would have been dead the second he looked at me wrong.

I feel bad the moment I think it. I don’t like the violent side my father drilled into my oldest brother since before I was born. How Cass and Lucca managed to turn out different, I don’t understand. Then again, I supposed my father’s extreme training would either turn someone into a lethal weapon or make them abhor violence–which the twins do on principle. 

I suppose, in that regard alone, I’m lucky to be a girl. My father never forced me to learn how to kill a man. Of course, Nico doesn’t know I know about his violent side. He wants to shelter me from that side of the family. To let me see him as the adoring and protective brother who can do no wrong. But to me, even with the violence, he’ll always be that. 

I just don’t want to be another person in Nico’s life that asks him to sell his soul.

Sighing, I turn my attention toward the art building in front of me. Putting on my best face, I adopt a smile, though my feet feel like blocks of concrete. Climbing the steps, I enter through the heavy double doors and find my classroom.

“Okay, who was the hunk you were just talking to outside? And why haven’t you told us about him?” Travis demands as soon as I plop down at the sculpting table where he and Emily sit. His scolding voice is tinged with playful jealousy. 

“I have told you about him, Travis,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. 

“Do you recall any mentions of secret lovers or dashingly handsome Rosehill students our Silvia’s been dating, Em?” Travis asks, directing his gaze pointedly at Emily. 

Emily twirls her honey-blond bob around a finger. “Hmm. Not that I can think of.” Then she levels an accusatory look at me with her deep-brown eyes. 

“You two are ridiculous. He is not my lover, and we are not dating. That’s who I’m being sold off to in three years. You know, the one my father plans to ship me off to marry in New York.” 

Travis’s blue eyes twinkle. “And you have the balls to sound upset about it? Because what I just heard is that the gorgeous piece of meat who was eye fucking you outside is not only some version of a Russian mafia prince but also your fiance. Tie me up and spank me sideways, but that sounds like a dream come true to me.”

I laugh despite myself, grateful for Travis’s outlandish humor. I can’t bring myself to contradict him, to say how horrible Pyotr just was to me. Or that the man I’ve been blabbering about all summer is actually a total dick. 

I’m still reeling from the realization. Once I wrap my head around my new reality, I can decide what to do about it.