Page 63 of Hate to Love You
Or perhaps my father just saw an opportunity…or a liability.
He knew that if he forced Ana into an arranged marriage, even one that he carefully selected and curated, it wouldn’t be what she wanted. And on the other side, he also knew that at eighteen she was already a proficient hacker and if she really wanted to, she could disable all of our enterprises overnight, leaving us fucked without recourse. So, my father broke tradition, and allowed her to choose her own path, as long as that path was loyal to our family.
Polina, on the other hand, got no such concessions. However, that was entirely her own fault.
Polina was your typical superficial, spoiled, and entitled mafia princess, who had an affinity for sleeping with our men. Any men really. My father had a hell of a time controlling her, and after her antics with the Pace’s in Chicago, where she nearly ruined our biggest business proposal, my father had enough. When he heard about her shameless attempts to seduce the heir to the Pace Family, while also sleeping with my low-level security grunt, he arranged her marriage before our plane had even landed in New York, and she was married to Igor Ivanov within the week.
Their marriage was never one for love, but it was strategic. The Ivanov’s had bought my sister by providing my father with money and men. And because Igor was older, my father thought that he would do a better job of handling Polina’s chaos and attitude. And for the first year, it seemed like he did, and the two of them seemed to adequately tolerate each other’s company.
But like many of our family’s arranged marriages, it didn’t last. Apparently, the novelty of my pretty sister wore off, but her attitude didn’t. And that’s when Igor started to wander. The two of these narcissistic psychopaths have been locked in this toxic cycle ever since, and after Polina nearly stabbed her husband to death at one of our weekly family dinners, I finally had to intervene.
I wasn’t about to tell Igor, one of my best enforcers, that he couldn’t have mistresses, so instead I told her that she would be allowed to choose his mistresses. Strangely enough, this seemed to pacify her, as this meant that she could delegate the less desirable sex acts to someone else, a prospect she sadistically enjoyed.
There are few things Polina enjoys anymore.
Which is further confirmed when Pasha and I pull up in front of the old Antonov mansion, and find her holding one of my maids at gunpoint while Lev and Nikolai desperately try to diffuse the situation.
Jesus fucking Christ! This bitch has no chill!
“Polina!” I snap, slamming on the brakes and jumping out of the car, storming toward her. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“This whore used to sleep with my husband!” She yells at me, while pressing her pistol into the neck of the terrified young girl, who is on her knees with her hands in the air, weeping.
“Yeah, and so did half the damn city,” I throw back at her, grabbing her arm, and yanking the gun from her hand. “You’ll have your work cut out for you if you intend on assaulting everyone who has seen your dead husband’s dick.”
Polina glares after the maid, who bolts into the house, before she turns her icy stare to me.
“My husband is dead, Roman! Which you don’t seem to understand!” She snarls angrily. “I want answers. I want someone to pay for what they’ve done to me and my family!”
“Family? What family?” Pasha snorts, shaking his head. “Unless you’re referring to those ugly little poodles or your fancy rose bushes?”
I see her reaction before it happens, and thankfully I’m close enough to knock her on her ass just as she lunges at Pasha.
“Pol! Stop it!” I shout at her. “No one in this house killed your fucking husband.”
“You don’t know that! It could be one of them! It wasn’t an accident, Roman! It had to be someone who knew his movements and his schedule!”
“Which as you well know, doesn’t apply to any of the house staff. They are never privy to that information,” I snap back. “So why don’t you stop acting irrationally and use your fucking head? Because if you can’t act like a civilized adult, you can sit right there on your ass, like a child in time out. I don’t give a shit. But I’m not having a lunatic in my fucking house!”
Disgusted at the dirt all over her hands, Polina wipes white gravel from her palm on the edge of her dress, before looking up at me. She says nothing, her hair a mess, her chest heaving, and her mascara streaking down her cheeks.
Even though she’s crazy, and even though she’s a bitch, she’s still my sister. My recently widowed sister.
After she takes a few deep breaths, I extend my hand to her, offering to help her up. But Polina doesn’t take it, slapping it away, and standing to her feet, brushing herself off.
“I look forward to hearing your plan, brother,” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at me before turning up her nose and storming toward the door.
“Polina,” I bellow forcefully, making her turn around.
“What?” She hisses.
“Give me the gun,” I say calmly, extending my hand. “You know the rules. No firearms at family dinner.”
My sister glares at me, pursing her lips and setting her jaw. But even though she looks as though she wants to tell me to go fuck myself, I know that ultimately, she wouldn’t dare. And apparently Polina knows it too, as she stomps back over to me and slaps the gun into my hand. She then turns on her heel and heads back inside.
“Not your house, huh?” Pasha winks at me, an amused grin skating across his face.
I say nothing, simply shaking my head.