by Katee Robert
She’d given him her heart, and it was all a lie.
A poisonous fury spiked through her. Duped. By Jackson fucking Smith. For months. Months and months where she’d given him a level of intimacy she didn’t dole out to just anyone. Where she told him small, mundane secrets. Where she slept with him. When she fell for him. They hadn’t exchanged those three little words, but they hovered on her tongue more and more lately. It was all a lie. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “I’ll kill him.”
“That won’t fix anything. Not at this juncture.” Papa took the tablet from her mother and set it face down on the desk. “There are consequences for your actions, intentional or not.”
Mama looked a little sick to her stomach. “No matter that it was unintentional, you sleeping with a Verducci puts us in a precarious position with the Capparelli family.”
Rose wanted to protest, but she knew the score. She leaned forward and pressed her fingers to her temples. The pressure did nothing to stop the headache pounding there. Consequences. There were consequences for her actions. As her father was so fond of saying, there was no excuse for ignorance, not with their resources. “I did a background check on him.”
“We know.”
Of course they did. Vasily would have passed on the report she asked for. She was heir, yes, but her parents still ran the business. Even if they had been making more noise about retiring in the past six months. Mama wanted to travel without having to worry about their enemies taking their absence as an invitation to start shit. They couldn’t leave Rose in charge alone, though. No matter that the Russian Romanovs seemed to have finally backed off their determination to see her as lesser because of her gender, the fact remained that their enemies weren’t as progressive. She needed a spouse. She knew it.
She just thought she had more time.
Unfortunately, it seemed the clock had just run out.
Rose lifted her head. “Do the Capparellis know?”
“Da.”
Fuck. “They’re using this to press their suit.” Romeo Capparelli had taken over the family business from his father a year ago, and he’d made clear his intentions to cement an alliance between their two families with a marriage pact. It was how things were done, after all.
“They already have.” Papa doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink. “Romeo wants Lorelei as his wife.”
“No. Absolutely not.” He was handsome and charming and had a smile that never lit up his dark eyes. She couldn’t sentence her little sister to a marriage to him. Lorelei was cunning and ruthless in her own way, but Romeo was a monster. He’d crush her just because he could. “I’ll marry a different Capparelli. One of his siblings—Fabian or Drucilla—or one of the cousins.” The other Capparelli siblings were just as merciless as Romeo, but at least they weren’t in charge of anything. She could find a way to control them.
Except Mama was shaking her head. “That won’t be enough. It’s Romeo who will be the groom.”
Rose straightened. “I know I fucked up, but it’s not like Romeo Capparelli realized there was a Verducci in his territory, either. This isn’t solely on me.”
“You’re fucking his enemy.” Trust Papa to cut to the chase. “He’s taking it personally.”
Damn it. She really had fucked this up. She tried to slow down, tried to think, but in Romeo’s situation, she’d do something similar. There was no denying the insult. If he’d been entertaining one of their enemies the way she’d been entertaining Jackson—no, Dante—then she would have demanded blood. He had them over a barrel, and he knew it. Fuck.
If she wasn’t willing to let her sister pay the price of her foolishness, then there was only one course of action. She knew it’d come to this eventually. Marriage and babies and that whole thing was part of the lifestyle. With IVF as an option, she hadn’t really worried overmuch about the gender of the person she’d eventually say “I do” to, but Romeo Capparelli?
She was exhausted just thinking about spending the rest of her life jockeying for power. “I’ll marry him.”
“He wants—”
She dropped her hands and cut off her father. “I don’t give a fuck what Romeo Capparelli wants. One Romanov daughter is as good as another. This is my mess. I’ll be the one to pay the consequences. Not Lorelei.” Not any of her sisters.
“If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t. She wasn’t even close to sure. By marrying Romeo, it sentenced her to a life of fighting to ensure her people and territory weren’t devoured by his. There was a reason heirs rarely married each other—something non-female members of the underworld normally didn’t have to worry about. It was why other families treated their daughters as pawns to be moved about to secure alliances.
Romeo wanted a Romanov daughter? She’d give him one.
Mama pushed off the chair and gave Papa’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll have an ironclad prenup drawn up. You’ll be protected.”
“I can protect myself.” She worked to take the bite out of her tone. Her parents hadn’t put her in this situation. Her own short-sightedness, her own selfishness had. If she’d given in to their gentle pressure a few years ago, she could have married some nice, docile little spouse whom she’d never have to worry about sinking a knife into her ribs. “I made my bed. I’ll deal with laying in it.”
“Rose—”
She pushed to her feet. “But Romeo will do me one courtesy before we officially enter negotiations.”
Papa lifted a single brow. “That courtesy?”
“I’ll deal with Dante Verducci myself.” Tonight. Right fucking now.
He’d made a fool of her, and she wasn’t going to let him live long enough to regret it.
Chapter 2
Rose’s sisters descended and she got ready. She chose her clothing carefully, just like she always did when meeting…Jackson. As far as he knew, she was just a woman who worked an office job she didn’t love, had a big family, and liked roses.
Rose would never be able to look at her namesake again after this.
She slammed her hair dryer down harder than she intended. He knew. That bastard knew who she was this whole time, and he played her for a fool. She had too much anger, her mother’s anger that flared hot and scalding, but she didn’t bother to control it. Not this time. Not when it would serve her so well.
Lorelei lifted her brows, meeting Rose’s gaze in the mirror. “What did that hair dryer ever do to you?”
Anya tossed her lean body onto Rose’s bed, sprawling the way she always seemed to. “She’s pissed because Mama and Papa are making her break up with the bartender.” The way she said bartender was loaded with loathing. Anya had strong opinions about Rose “slumming it with the normies.”
Lorelei’s brows winged higher. “That was fast.”
“It’s been months. That’s not fast at all.” Sasha reached around Rose to grab a tube of mascara. “This is mine, by the way.”
Lorelei snorted. “Actually, it’s mine. You borrowed it from me last week, remember?”
“I returned that one.” Sasha waved the tube. “I bought this yesterday.”
“Liar.”
“Selfish hag.”
“Bitch.”
“Take it.” Rose studied her sisters in the mirror, letting their chaotic squabbling ground her. They threw insults with a fondness that belied the words themselves. This was her life. This was normal. She never should have tried to go against it, even in temporary rebellion. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. It would be okay. Rose would fix things and she would be the only one to pay for the consequences of her actions.
She pulled on a cheap floral dress she’d bought from a box store. The woman in the mirror hardly looked like her. It was only now, when the whole charade had fallen down around her head that she had to admit the fucked-up lengths she’d gone to in keeping it afloat. She didn’t look like Rose Romanov. She looked like just another brunette who walked the streets of New York every day of her life, barely gettin
g by, and yet the only thing she really had to stress about was the shitty dating pool.
That woman didn’t have her entire family relying on her to make the smart call, to sacrifice in order to provide for them for the next generation.
That woman was silly and foolish and a little vapid.
That woman was in love with a man who didn’t exist.
What a fucking waste.
“Rose?” From the tone of Sasha’s voice, this wasn’t the first time she’d said her sister’s name.
Rose tried for a smile. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else. What did you say?”
“Are you okay?” Sasha sat next to Lorelei. They were three years apart, but they could almost have been twins when they were next to each other. Both were pretty and curvy and totally at ease in their skins. The only real difference was that the sweetness of their expression was genuine on Sasha’s face and a carefully curated mask on Lorelei’s. Their youngest sister preferred people to underestimate her.
Sasha kept going. “I know you liked him, but don’t you think our parents are right? Can you really imagine him here with us? As part of the family?”
No, Rose never could, but that was part of the attraction to Jackson in the first place. He was different than the other people she spent time with. He liked her for her, not because of her proximity to power. Part of her had always known their time was limited, even as their relationship progressed from date nights to her leaving a few things at his place. If Jackson knew what was required of her, what lengths she would descend to, he’d run screaming into the night.
Except that man wasn’t Jackson at all.
She had a feeling Dante Verducci knew exactly what was required of a mafia family heir.
The anger she’d barely kept simmering beneath the surface threatened to explode. Not yet. She couldn’t let it leak out yet. If her sisters knew something was going on, they would insist on going with her. They’d fight, and then Anya would shadow her steps anyway. Even now, Anya watched her with narrowed eyes. She braided her long blond hair back from her face, leaving her sharp features on display. If Anya knew what was going on, she’d insist on tagging along, and Rose had to handle this herself.
Her only option was to lie to them. “I’m just a little sad. That’s all. He was a nice guy.” He was a fucking liar.
Anya rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. She was wearing her customary slacks, button-down, and suspenders. All tailored within an inch of their lives, of course. Her sister might favor menswear, but she made it her own just like she did everything else in her life. Her style really was impeccable. Anya frowned. “You’re acting weird. I’m coming with.”
“No.” She managed to keep the word calm and even. “I’ve handled worse than breaking some poor guy’s heart. I’ve got this.”
Sasha nibbled at her fingernails. “We’ll go out afterward. Get your mind off things.”
She wanted to say no, but honestly what would it hurt? Her life had become so complicated in the past two hours. Letting off a little steam might be exactly what she needed once this was all done. “Sure. I just need to come back here and get ready.”
It took another hour to herd her sisters out of her room and head down to the garage. Vasily was waiting for her. They looked like so many of her parents’ people—like they could punch their way through a wall and the wall would give before they would. They were the Romanovs’ best tech person, and they favored shotguns in combat, which was why Rose didn’t take them along often if she needed to keep things quiet. They also loved sushi and playing checkers, and she and Vasily had shared more than a few meals over games when they were teenagers and involved in the business enough to know what was going on but not old enough to actually participate.
She gave them a long look. “You tattled.”
“All my reports go through Alexei. He passed it on.” They shrugged. “You’re being reckless.”
“That’s my decision to make.”
Vasily shook their head slowly. “You know better.” They refrained from lecturing her, which was just as well.
She did know. She didn’t even have an excuse for this. Rose wasn’t one who railed against her fate. Her parents were indulgent, but they’d also raised her to know exactly what was expected of her, and she thrived beneath those expectations. She looked forward to the day when she ruled the family. She’d even made her peace with her marriage being political instead of a love match.
There was no room in any of that for some civilian guy who would be a liability across the board if their relationship ever got serious. Even if Jackson were a real person, eventually she’d have to choose between telling him the truth or lying to him for the rest of their relationship. He wasn’t equipped to exist within the lifestyle. Either he’d hamstring her, or he’d get himself shot by an enemy because he didn’t take the threat seriously.
Except Jackson wasn’t a real guy.
“I take it you’re my babysitter tonight.”
Instead of answering, Vasily strode to the SUV and pulled open the back door. When it was just the two of them, she didn’t like riding in the back because it brought attention to her status. She bit back a sigh and climbed into the vehicle. It didn’t matter now if they chauffeured her around. After tonight, there would be no one to ask questions about it.
Vasily knew her well enough to not attempt conversation as they drove to Jackson’s shitty apartment. They simply parked a few blocks over and looked at her. “You have your piece.”
“Of course.” She pulled her cross-body purse over her head and patted it. It wasn’t huge, but it was more than enough room for her little handgun. She usually had more creative ways of carrying, but if she showed up dressed as Rose Romanov, he would immediately know something was wrong. The only way she’d pull this off was to catch him unawares. That meant not giving away that she knew the truth. “I won’t be long.”
“Call when you’re finished. There’s a team nearby who will handle cleanup.”
Being the princess had its perks, though she doubted most people would consider not having to personally deal with body removal a perk. Those people had never tried to fit a two-hundred-pound man into the truck of a sedan before. “Will do.”
“Rose.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re not about to tell me to be careful.”
“He’s dangerous. Be careful.” They said it without a hint of irony.
“I’m dangerous, too.” She climbed out of the SUV before they could badger her some more. Vasily knew what she was capable of, but everyone got a little skittish when the heir put herself in danger. A small irritation in the grand scheme of things, but an irritation, nonetheless.
It was so hot, she could almost see the waves of it coming off the pavement. Within two blocks, her skin sported a fine sheen of sweat, and she wished she’d taken the time to braid her hair back from her face. The long, dark locks were a vanity of hers, but they sure as fuck were inconvenient at times.
She took the stairs up to Jackson’s—Dante’s—apartment. The main door’s lock was broken and had been since she met him. She’d joked about the security risk, but either he’d never reported it, or the super didn’t care enough to fix it. It didn’t matter now, not when it worked to her advantage.
Rose took a deep breath, paused to make sure her purse was open and the gun within easy reach, and knocked on the door. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t texted or called before showing up. It was too late to alter course now. If Jackson—damn it, Dante—wasn’t home, she’d just break in and wait for him to return.
A shuffling on the other side of the door had her holding her breath. It opened a moment later to reveal the man himself. His blond hair was mussed like he’d been sleeping. For a moment, longing swept over her, so strong it felt like the tide pulling at her legs, demanding she go to him like she always did when she walked through his door. She’d just seen him last night, but she missed him.
A lie.
It was all a fucking lie.
His dark eyes went wide at the sight of her. “Rose. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” She managed a sweet smile even though it felt like her heart was shredding. Fury and pain and heartache twisted and whirled inside her, the mix so toxic, she felt sick to her stomach. None of it showed in her voice. “Sorry I didn’t call. I was in the neighborhood and, well…I got a little impulsive.”
“Well, I’m not going to turn down some time with my girl.” He stepped back and opened the door wide.
My girl.
You fucking bastard.
She barely managed to keep her smile in place as she moved into the apartment. It looked the same as the last time she’d spent the night. Ratty secondhand furniture that she’d found ridiculously charming. A massive television and gaming setup. The kitchen was falling apart but clean. The entire place was clean. She’d liked that a lot about him, that he took good care of his things, even if they weren’t necessarily valuable to anyone else. She’d liked that he taken care of her, too.
Her chest gave another sickening lurch, but she shut it down. Or she tried. Everywhere she looked, there was evidence of their time together. The container of coffee she kept here because he only drank the cheap stuff. The secondhand romance novel she’d picked up on one of their afternoon dates and had been slowing reading through when she spent time with him. The throw blanket he’d surprised her with one day because she always complained of being cold when she stayed over.
How could she have missed the truth?
Rose shook her head. She’d have years to obsess over how things had gone so wrong. Right now, she had to focus. She had to see this through.
Jackson shut the door and pulled her into his arms, so quickly, she barely managed not to tense. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Missed you.”
