Koroleva

3 Weding Plans

My men were waiting for me, leaning on the bar of the venue.

I could tell from their looks that they had been keeping an eye on the place, making sure nothing happened to me while I was having fun.

Next to the storage room, there was an attractive guy who didn't fit in with the rest of the bearded crowd who continued to hoist beers and fill their burgeoning bellies, the result of years of indulging in barley.

The dark-haired man looked at me with a scowl. He must have been the guy who knocked on the door to signal the Italian who had just satisfied me.

He was tall, slim, with neat black hair. His clothes didn't match the setting, placing him as out of place as I was. Perhaps he was one of my future husband's clients looking for some chemicals to get through the night. Romeo looked like a drug dealer, which is probably why he seemed anxious for us to finish.

I didn't care; I walked past him and headed straight for the door. I didn't take my eyes off my men; it was better that no one suspects they were with me. They would handle blending in and follow me at a prudent distance to avoid any association.

Once outside, I saw that the limo was parked across the street, about fifty meters to my right.

I spotted the driver standing by the side. He didn't hesitate to open the door for me when I reached it. There was no sign of my sisters inside.

I settled into the white leather seats. The first thing I did was take off my shoes and massage my feet. If guys had to wear those heels, the fashion for stilettos would end.

I waited for my right-hand man to get in to ask him about Irisha and Sarka.

My second man of trust sat next to the driver. I had Andrey in front of me. The car started as soon as he closed the door.

The glass isolated us from the front part, allowing us to talk freely about whatever I wanted, and the first thing was to ask about my sisters.

I opened the minibar and poured a couple of drinks to quench our thirst, wrinkling my nose at the stench that emanated. It smelled like a mix of sweat, sex, my perfume -Clive Christian No.1- and the almost nauseating atmosphere of the biker bar.

I handed the glass to Andrey, ignoring my own lack of personal hygiene. The poor guy didn't flinch; he had smelled worse things while in the army.

"Did you have a good time, ma'am?" I laughed at his formal tone.

I had told him that he could address me informally when we were alone, a privilege I allowed only him, but it didn't matter. His military training prevented him from addressing me in any other way, and, in part, it was useful to keep distances, so no one was confused about to whom they owed loyalty and respect. It hadn't been easy to carve out my place, and I was still "on probation."

"Very much." I clinked my glass against his and emptied it in one gulp. Andrey did the same. "My sisters?"

"They're at the hotel, left half an hour after you left the party."

He had very short hair, sharp features, and a keen gaze. Overall, he wasn't bad. Irisha gave him longing looks at every chance, though Andrey seemed immune to my sister's charms.

"Good. Is there anything I need to know?" I asked, rotating my neck. My whole body ached from tension. Romeo had pushed me to the limit, and my back was a bit knotted. I smiled inwardly at the name; the nickname didn't really suit him, well, maybe for his lovemaking skills, but honestly, he looked more like a Rocko, Jack, or Salvatore; because that was undeniable, he was Italian.

"Everything is under control. Delgado mentioned that Kai Morgan asked about you."

"I'll call him later, today wasn't the day for business. I had other things on my mind."

Andrey nodded. If he had an opinion about what I had just done, he kept it to himself. He remained silent, waiting for me to add something. I didn't, instead fixing my gaze on the Malaga coast and thinking to myself, "Everything is under control my ass, but it will be, I'll see to it."

I felt like opening the window and throwing the glass out, smashing it, like the Grey Goose.

My family was not going through its best time. In fact, it seemed we had stepped into some major shit. They say what goes up must come down, and we were going downhill without brakes.

Fortunately, my mother and sisters were oblivious to our current situation, which was starting to get worrisome.

Yuri and his ideas had led us to business glory. My father was about to name him his successor when he died, disappearing in a shootout, and his body was found floating in the sea days later, bloated from the gases of decomposition. The corpse was badly damaged; the currents had dragged it to the bottom, smashing it against the rocks, so DNA tests were needed to confirm it was him. My father didn't let me see him because of how bad he was, said it was unnecessary, that he preferred I remember him by his usual face.

We cremated him and scattered his ashes in the garden where we used to play as children. We barely had time to mourn.

My father focused on me, wanting me to marry the son of a politician from St. Petersburg to gain Putin's approval so that he could continue leading our empire. There were no female *Vor v zakone*, so it was challenging for me to be the heir of the Korolevs. I flatly refused, telling them I would prove I was as capable as Yuri of running the business, that I could be as cold, cunning, and ruthless as needed. My father knew I wasn't lying, so he asked Putin to give me some margin to prove it.

We set aside the pain of my brother's loss and started working hard, until a year later, on the anniversary of Yuri's death, my father suffered a heart attack.

Putin attended the funeral, asked for a meeting, and insisted that the wedding was the wisest course of action. I begged for a few extra months. I managed it, thanks to the support provided by my uncle Luka, who had close dealings with the president.

In six months, I increased the profits of all our companies, and then the collapse happened.

An investigative journalist leaked news that a wave of suicides was gripping Spain. It wasn't new for people to commit suicide; in fact, the economic ruin left by Covid had caused that rate to skyrocket. The problem was that this increase was occurring among users of Mentium.

Shares of the pharmaceutical company plummeted, and Putin requested an emergency meeting to hasten my marriage to his chosen candidate. I refused outright, claiming I knew what or who was behind it. I needed to remain single to restore the position and credibility that someone was trying to take from my family.

I was certain I knew who was responsible for my brother's death and the possible lethal effects of Mentium. It was too much of a coincidence that we had had the product on the market for two years, and only now was it showing such severe suicidal tendencies.

The formula had been tampered with; I was convinced, and I had a suspicion that it all pointed back to the same source: the 'Ndrangheta.

I had the entire stock of Mentium withdrawn and destroyed, which meant our competitors were rubbing their hands in glee as their products and the shares of their pharmaceutical companies soared amidst the scandal.

The rage I felt broke my limits. I wanted to gather all my men, go to Malaga, and destroy that bastard and his entire clan with a single shot between the eyes. But I knew that wasn't enough, at least, not for me. I wanted a thorough destruction; I was going to do it from the inside, using the weapon my father had shown me: patience.

That's how my wedding plan with the eldest son of Massimo Capuleto began.

Thank you for reading these chapters and entering my dark romance mafia world.

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