Page 4 of Always Meant To Be

Grunting, he commands, "Just give it some thought, Romeo, and call me once you know."

With that said, he hangs up, and I drop my phone on the table, chuckling darkly. "Well, at least you know who you're marrying,fratello, because I fucking don't, and by the sounds of things, I've got to choose between a whore, and a woman no one has heard about. Mikhail has kept his youngest out of the limelight; there’s not even a picture of her."

He winces as the door to the café opens, and we both look.

I grimace at the cliche plastic woman strutting in like she owns the place, wearing a mini skirt and a top that's so fucking small, it barely holds in her fake tits.

Liliya Mikhailov, looking nothing like the pictures Mikhail’s wife sent us.

I hear my brother gag, seeing her as she goes over to the barista, who looks to be still in high school. She instantly bats her fake eyelashes and twirls her finger in her brown hair.

"Fuck me, please tell me this isn't the woman our father wants you to marry?" Antonio gasps in shock as the woman in question bends over the counter, showing off her fake tits, the server's eyes dropping to them. Antonia continues, "Surely, she knows you are meeting her here, right? Her father told her, which is why she's late, to make a statement, right?"

His words trail off, confusion and shock radiating from him, while I just stare at the bitch angrily. I nod, "She's aware, but she either doesn't think we're here yet, despite her being two hours late, or wants to show me she can have anyone she wants. The whore obviously thinks this is some kind of game."

Antonio curls his lips her way and snaps, "She is not worthy of being a Russo."

I nod again in agreement because, no, she fucking isn't.

My future bride is to stand by my side, wear my family jewels, and be respectable. This bitch is a fucking attention-seeking whore, who will try and sleep with all my men.

The bell on the door chimes again, getting our attention, and I instantly suck in a breath, my body stilling.

A woman, no, a girl who must be no older than seventeen or eighteen and accompanied by a Mikhailov guard, reluctantly walks in.

Everything disappears, and all I see is her.

Fuck me, she is beautiful. White blonde hair in a messy knot on the top of her head, a t-shirt and jeans, and not a lick of makeup can be seen.

Fuck me, she's gorgeous, and she hasn't even tried.

"Sestra!" the bitch snaps, and the angel looks her way, rolling her eyes, and my heart rate picks up.Sestra, as in sister….

This is Mikhail's youngest daughter. Fuck.

I watch, entranced, as she speaks softly to the guard who graces her with a smile. I can't hear her; she’s clearly a woman who likes to be in the shadows with how soft she's speaking, but I hear the guard’s replied, "That would be perfect,shmel."

Antonio leans forward and whispers, "What doesshmelmean? My Russian’s a little rusty."

I don't take my eyes off the beautiful creature, but murmur, "It means bumblebee. Word on the street is that Mikhail's youngest has had the same guard since she was three."

"He sees her as a daughter…." My brother surmises, and I nod and watch as she looks at the other guard. I see her lips move, before she speaks to the barista, and I realize she's buying the guards coffee. My brother's words confirm he's noticed as well as he states, "Fuck, she's a sweet one, isn't she, for a Bratva princess?"

I don't answer him, instead I watch her order the drinks all while the bitch glares, but the beauty ignores her and walks our way. I hold my breath, waiting to make eye contact, but she doesn't, only glancing our way enough for me to see her gorgeous eyes.

Fucking violet. Jesus.

Completely dumbfounded, I watch as she sits at the table next to us, looks at the bitch, shakes her head, and grabs some books out of her bag.

"Fuck, she's a smart one to boot. Fucking AP English," my awed brother whispers next to me.

When the bitch giggles, the beauty looks up again, winces, then looks back down and starts to write, not once looking around the café.

"Fratello?" Antonio questions, noticing I haven't said a word; my eyes are on the girl.

Clearing my throat, I rasp, "We need to leave."

He doesn't question me; he stands, and I follow, my eyes staying on the beauty who doesn't once look up as I button my jacket.