Bride by Initiation: Secret Society Mafia Marriage Pact (The Underworld Book 1)
Bride by Initiation: Chapter 10

Two Months Later

The room buzzes with excitement. Every Ivanov, Marino, O’Malley, and O’Connor fill the room, including the members who live in Ireland.

I fight the crowd, engaging in small talk, until I step in the line of people waiting to offer congratulations to Kinsley and Kylie Ivanov. They’re Sergey and Kora’s identical twenty-one-year-old twin daughters. It’s their college graduation party, and they both decided to follow in their mother’s footsteps. They selected a prestigious school in New York and will attend law school in the fall.

‘Congratulations. I’m going to miss you when you leave for New York,’ I tell them as Obrecht and Selena Ivanov step aside, allowing me to embrace the girls.

‘Thank you. I’m excited to get out of here,’ Kinsley states, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder and glancing across the room at Killian’s oldest son, Kian.

Kylie elbows her.

‘What?’ Kinsley bursts out.

‘Don’t be so obvious,’ Kylie reprimands.

I lean closer to Kinsley, teasing, ‘I thought you gave your ring back to Kian.’

She smirks. ‘I did. He cried, remember?’

I laugh, recalling how they made rings from pipe cleaners when they were five. At ten, they fought over something silly, and Kinsley dramatically returned her ring during a Christmas party.

Since then, they’ve seemed to have a love-hate relationship, always fighting and flirting.

I suggest, ‘You two should try being nice to each other all the time, not just every now and then.’

Kylie scoffs. ‘She’s been way too nice to him lately.’

Kinsley’s face heats. She mutters, ‘Shut up.’

I lean closer. ‘What did I miss?’

Kinsley rolls her eyes, stating, ‘Nothing,’ and giving Kylie a look of warning.

Kylie just grins.

Kinsley changes the subject, suggesting in a mischievous tone, ‘Maybe we should play switcheroo and see how long it takes him to figure it out. That always annoys him.’

I arch my eyebrows. ‘You two are still tricking people?’

‘Sometimes,’ Kinsley admits.

Kylie shrugs. ‘There’s nothing else to do around here. It’s boring.’

I jerk my head backward. ‘We’re in Chicago. How is it boring?’

Kinsley says, ‘New York will be so much more fun. There’s so much more to do there.’

‘I don’t know. I grew up there, and I prefer Chicago,’ I tell them.

‘Kylie. Kinsley. Over here,’ Gianni Marino’s oldest son, Romeo, yells. He stands next to Kian, and they look like they’re up to no good.

The girls glance at each other, then at me.

‘Well, don’t stand around because of me. Go,’ I order.

‘Thanks again for coming. We’ll talk later,’ Kinsley says, hugging me.

Kylie follows, and I watch them disappear into the crush of bodies.

There’s a huge crowd at The Aspen, Maksim Ivanov’s newest restaurant, which he named after his wife. He spared no expense, and worked with Dmitri’s wife, Anna. She designed the space into one of the most luxurious restaurants in Chicago, and every time I’m here, I’m awed by the intricate details and things I didn’t notice before.

I glance around to decide who I should talk to, then turn right into Aspen. I gasp, ‘Sorry!’

She beams. ‘Me too. I’m so glad you made it.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ I reply, and we hug.

She asks, ‘Are your mom and dad here yet?’

My gut drops. I’ve barely spoken to my parents in the last few months. My plan for the evening is to avoid them at all costs.

‘Not yet. I was just admiring the restaurant. It always stuns me.’

With bright eyes, she says, ‘Thanks. Maksim always goes overboard with his gifts, you know.’ She smiles, and it’s full of love and appreciation for her husband.

‘Zara.’ My father’s voice comes from behind me, and my pulse quickens.

Aspen glances between us and chirps, ‘Chanel. Luca. Good to see you.’

They hug, and I try to figure out how to escape without being too obvious, but I have no options.

I might as well deal with this situation now.

The tension I’ve felt anytime I speak to my parents heightens. The day after I left their condo, Mom called. She claimed my father told her everything she needed to know and that they have no secrets. Yet she wouldn’t tell me what he said.

I’d asked if Dad had another family and if I have a sister somewhere out there.

She’d said I’m his only child.

Then I’d demanded to know who the woman and baby are.

She’d told me it’s not my concern and that she wouldn’t be discussing this further.

I got angry, and she demanded that I tell her if I knew who’d given me those photos. Like my father, she fretted over my safety.

I once again denied knowing anything, and our conversation stalled after that.

I’m still in the dark. Anytime they contact me, I insist they tell me the truth.

It’s always the same.

They refuse to tell me anything, and I stay angry.

For the first time ever, I don’t know if I believe my mother. Did my father really tell her everything? Or did he lie to her? If the woman and baby in that photo aren’t his other family, then who are they and why can’t he tell me? And why did he look like he was friends with the Abruzzos, people I’ve been told to stay away from my entire life?

The secrecy is killing our relationship. And the longer they’ve let me stew about it, the more I’m convinced that I don’t know my father at all. Who knows if my mother does either? Is she just a naive woman whom he’s deceived all these years?

That realization hurts worse than I ever anticipated.

Dad tugs me into an embrace, but I don’t return any of his affection. He murmurs in my ear, ‘Zara, it’s time to let it go.’

I don’t reply. We’ve been through this, and I’m tired of fighting, but I’m not giving him a pass. For fifteen years, I wanted to know who and where my father was and why he wasn’t in my life. When he finally entered it, I loved him unconditionally. I forgave him and trusted he stayed away for my safety. I gave the benefit of the doubt to my parents and their story. But after seeing those photos, I realized there’s no way I can return to the way things were without explanations.

Dad’s face falls when he realizes I’m not budging. He orders, ‘Hug your mother. She’s been upset that you’re treating her this way.’

‘She’s not a victim. Neither are you,’ I point out.

‘You’re shutting us out,’ he accuses.

‘Luca, not now,’ my mom states as she steps up before me.

I go through the motions.

She hugs me, and I give her a small hug back.

In some ways, I’m angrier at her than my father.

‘How have you been, sweetie?’ she asks.

‘Fine, working a lot.’

‘Are you dating anyone?’

‘I’m sorry, I see someone I need to talk with,’ I lie, exiting the conversation and cursing myself for coming.

I thought about staying away but didn’t want to disrespect Kinsley, Kylie, or any of the Ivanovs.

Kora stepped up and helped me with my law career. She mentored me and gave me a job at her law firm. I’m a better attorney because of her guidance.

Also, I babysat the girls and their younger brother, Dion, when Kora and Sergey would go out of town for their adult getaways. It wouldn’t be right to have skipped their big day. And I’m proud of them. Yet, right now, I’m regretting my decision to come.

I get closer to the bar, and a server steps in front of me with a tray of champagne. I grab two glasses, downing one and then setting it back on the tray.

The server, who’s probably the girls’ age, chuckles. He wiggles his eyebrows and asks, ‘Bad day?’ He glances at my cleavage with a cocky expression.

‘No,’ I reply, then weave through the crowd, engaging in surface-level conversations.

‘There you are,’ Fiona chirps, appearing at my side with a martini glass semi-full of a blue drink.

‘Thank God I found you. My parents are here,’ I say.

‘Are you still fighting?’ she questions.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you were saying it’s about…’ She smiles bigger, arching her eyebrows.

I take a long sip of champagne, scolding myself. Fiona doesn’t know anything about The Underworld. I’ve not told her anything except that I’m at odds with my parents. We got drunk one night, and I admitted I was avoiding them, but I went tight-lipped when she asked for details.

Her expression takes on a concerned note. She steps closer and lowers her voice. ‘Are the issues between you really that bad?‘

I mutter, ‘You have no idea,’ and finish the flute of alcohol.

‘Maybe we should sneak out in a bit,’ she suggests.

‘Please,’ I say.

She grins. ‘There’s that new club in town. We should go check it out.’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, just as Sean walks in.

Our gazes collide, and he scowls, burning me with his disdain from across the room.

My stomach flips. He won’t talk to me. He’s sworn me off, and any attempt I’ve made to get back into his good graces has failed. Whenever I try, he reminds me we’re no longer friends unless I tell him what I know. I refuse and then he tells me to stop talking to him.

He claims I’m a hypocrite since I want answers about my father.

He’s right. I am a hypocrite, and hate myself for it. Yet I won’t disobey John’s orders. I can’t jeopardize whatever is in front of me. The promise that The Underworld holds all the answers I want, is the answer to my lifelong questions.

‘Sean’s here. Let’s see if he wants to come with us,’ Fiona says.

It’s a welcome excuse to talk to him. We make our way through the crowd, getting into several small conversations. When we finally get to him, he’s with Brax and L.J.

Fiona questions, ‘You guys want to go to the new club tonight?’

Sean glances over at me, then replies, ‘No.’

‘Why not? We haven’t been there yet,’ Brax questions.

Sean asserts, ‘It’ll be boring.’

‘Says who? That place is hopping,’ L.J. interjects.

Sean turns his head and locks eyes with him. ‘Who asked you?‘

‘Why are you being such a dick?’ L.J. asks.

‘No reason,’ Sean says and then walks away.

‘Excuse me,’ Brax says, then follows him.

My insides shake. I don’t know how to get us back to how we were. I’d do anything except tell him what he wants to know because I can’t.

‘What the fuck’s up his ass?’ L.J. questions.

‘Language,’ Fiona scolds.

L.J. grunts. ‘Whatever. But seriously, what’s his deal?’

She shrugs. ‘Why should I know? I’m not his keeper.’

L.J. states, ‘He’s your brother.’

‘Like I said, I don’t claim responsibility for him,’ Fiona declares.

‘I have to go to the restroom,’ I lie, and force my way out of the conversation.

The room is suddenly too hot. The air in my lungs has become stale. There are too many people here who I’m currently at odds with. Normally, every person in this room is my family or good friend. Tonight, I don’t feel the love. My insides buzz with anxiety and anger.

I push through the crowd, down the hall, and into the bathroom. I put the lid down and sit on the toilet, hiding. I rest my elbows on my knees, my hands over my face, and close my eyes, reprimanding myself for coming. I should have known better. I should have said I was sick, and sent the twins’ gifts to them. I could have taken them out to dinner on a different night.

My phone blares a French song my mom’s dad used to play all the time. Growing up, I was close to my grandparents. In some ways, they helped my mom raise me. When my grandfather died, I added the song as my text alert.

I open my purse and pull out my phone.

My chest tightens and my pulse increases. I leave the stall, wash my hands, and stare at my reflection. I take several deep breaths.

Maybe I shouldn’t go.

I have to.

My phone buzzes again.

It’s now or never.

I exit the bathroom, move toward the exit sign, double-check that nobody’s following me, and push open the door. I step out into the alley.

There’s a man on a motorcycle. He’s dressed in all leather and has a helmet on. He holds another helmet out to me. ‘Put it on.’

‘I’m in a dress,’ I state, glancing down at my black minidress and stilettos.

He grunts. ‘Make a choice. Do you want answers or not?’

I stare at him.

‘Times a-ticking, sunshine. Three, two…’

I grab the helmet, put it on, and lift my leg over the bike’s seat. My dress bunches to my waist, but there’s no time to worry about it.

He takes off as soon as I wrap my arms around him.

I lean into his shoulder and close my eyes. I hate motorcycles. Dad warned me to stay off of them, claiming they were dangerous. Pina and Tristano Marino got into an accident on one, and she lost her memory for a while. It happened before Dad entered my life, but he didn’t have to warn me too much to convince me to stay off bikes.

Thankfully, we only go several blocks. He pulls into a parking garage, and I’m relieved. But then, I realize we’re next to a blacked-out SUV. The door opens.

Another man orders, ‘Get in.’

My uneasiness reignites. Yet I don’t question anything. I slide inside and shut the door.

The window between the driver and the back seat is closed. The driver accelerates, and I turn toward the man.

He has dark hair, and sunglasses cover his eyes. He reeks of danger, and everything about him makes me shudder. A scar runs from under his sunglasses to his ear, and it looks fresh.

He scowls at me.

I blurt out, ‘Who are you?’

‘Matt Johnson.’

‘Another common name, which means it’s not your real one,’ I mutter.

His lips press into a thin line.

I glance out the window as we pull out of the parking garage. The SUV increases speed, and we race down the side streets faster than we should.

‘Where are we going?’ I question, my heart beating against my chest.

‘You’ll replace out,’ Matt states.

‘Please tell me,’ I beg.

He sits back, folds his hands on his lap, and says nothing else.

I decide not to ask any more questions. What’s the point? It’s clear he’s not going to answer any of them.

We drive and drive until we get to a private airport. There’s a jet on the runway.

The car stops. A moment passes and then the driver opens the door. He points to the staircase on the plane.

I don’t ask questions. I stay silent and get out, then carefully make my way up the staircase, my pulse skyrocketing.

A bit of relief hits me when I get past the door and turn the corner. Sylvia sits on a plush leather chair. In a sweet tone, she says, ‘Zara, it’s nice to see you again.’

‘You too,’ I reply.

She pats the plush leather next to her. ‘Sit, darling.’

I don’t argue. I sit down and wait for her to speak.

It doesn’t take long before the jet’s door closes, and we’re in the air. Anxiety electrifies my veins, intensifying every minute she remains silent. I finally blurt out, ‘Where are we going?’

Sylvia puts her hand on my thigh, replying, ‘I can’t tell you, but don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’

‘Why can’t you tell me?’

Amusement fills her expression. ‘You seem so naive, Zara, but I know you’re not.’

‘No?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. And it’s time for you to make a forever choice.’

Fear hits me. The word forever scares me for a lot of reasons. I admit, ‘I don’t understand.’

She smirks.

I add, ‘I hate it when you talk in riddles.‘

‘Everything will soon make sense.’ She hands me the binder that was in my house.

I gape at it, then ask, ‘How did you get this?’

She raises an arrogant brow.

‘Never mind, that was a stupid question.’

She softly laughs. ‘Ah, now you’re seeing how this works.’ She points to the binder. ‘Which one do you prefer? I’ve been wondering since we last met. I know you’ve been studying them.’

My face heats. I hate the fact that she seems to know what I’m doing. I searched my entire apartment for cameras or microphones and found nothing. But she and John seem to know everything about me. I don’t like it. I don’t understand it. It makes no sense to me, no matter how hard I try to figure it out.

When I don’t answer her, she adds, ‘Don’t worry, Zara. It doesn’t matter who you select, so stop stressing over it. Whoever you end up with will be the right one.’

The hairs on my arms rise. ‘Why is that?’

She flips through the book slowly, so every man appears, and then shuts it, pinning her challenging stare on me. ‘They have to choose you first before you choose them. So whoever you commit to, will be the correct one.’

Commit to.

My stomach flips faster. ‘Choose me for what?’ I demand, but I’m scared of the answer. It’s another mystery that has kept me up at night. I can think of too many bad things about what these men choosing me might mean.

She doesn’t respond.

‘Please, I want to know. Answer my question.‘

She leans closer, her lips twitching.

Tension builds between us, and my heart races.

Her cocky expression intensifies.

‘Tell me,’ I demand.

In a confident tone, she answers, ‘You’re going to marry one of them.’

I start laughing. It’s full of nerves. Then I declare, ‘No, I’m not.’

Her features go stern, her voice equally so as she insists, ‘You will. The choice will be yours, but you will go through with it.’

‘And why is that?’ I question, pissed off and not wanting to do anything of the sort.

She claims, ‘You want the truth.’

I dig my heels in, restating, ‘I’m not marrying one of them.’

Sylvia smirks. ‘You will. The truth is in front of you, so when it comes time, I’m one hundred percent sure you will say ‘I do.’ And vows in The Underworld aren’t like out here, so know that going in.’

My mouth turns dry. I snap, ‘What do you mean?’

Her smile turns cold. Her eyes burn with something that scares me even more.

A wave of nausea hits me, and I swallow hard.

She replies, ‘There is no separation. There is no divorce. It’s your blood, their blood, and a lifelong commitment that can never be undone.’