King of Hearts

I picked up my wine glass from the counter and turned away from the bar. The wine matched perfectly with my red dress, which clung tightly to my body.

I let my gaze wander around the room. The men wore expensive suits and the women were dressed in elegant dresses.

I didn't notice that my brother Ivan had come over to me and ordered a white Russian drink. "Nastya, stop staring at our guests."

He looked at me admonishingly.

"You probably mean Father's guests." Now I returned his gaze, to which he just shook his head. My older brother Ivan, heir and successor to the Petrov dynasty. As children, we were like cat and mouse. We fought for every toy and outdid each other in every competition that was put before us, but above all, we fought for our father's approval. However, we stopped thinking about correcting each other as soon as we got older. We began to complement each other, even though Ivan still played the big brother, he was the only one I trusted blindly and for whom I would walk through fire.

"Do you know what Father wants to announce tonight?" My brother took his drink and with a curt "No, it will be business," he made his way through the crowd. I continued to stand with my back against the bar, avoiding the usual superficial conversations with the people I only see at these events.

It was a miracle that my presence was insisted upon today, as I was usually kept out of family business, no matter how much I wanted to get involved.

My job was to show up at events and smile nicely for the camera. I wondered

how my father would react if he knew that I was behind his strategies for the last missions, or that I saved Ivan a lot of money because he had overlooked the fine print in a contract and I intervened at the last second so that his golden boy wouldn't look stupid.

Ivan was a big man, strong, authoritative, a protector, but certainly not a quickhead who paid attention to details. I took on this role, even though in our world only men could become the head of the family and business.

Many people believe that the world is divided up the way they were told in geography class, with city walls, land borders, and continents, but this hasn't been the case for a long time.

The world's most powerful families have been redrawing the map for some time now. And by powerful families, I don't mean Bill Gates or the Kardashians. I mean men with real power, built up through centuries of criminal family dealings.

How do I know this? Quite simply, I belong to one of those families.

My father entered the room and stood next to my uncle Boris, who clinked a fork on his glass. The whole room froze and it became quiet. My father looked around. When he reached me, his gaze lingered for a second, then he spoke. "As you all know, we have been at war with the Sicilian family, the Martinellis, for a year now over our borders in Bosnia and Serbia."

Nods spread among the listeners, followed by sounds of agreement.

I wouldn't call it a war, as there have only been two heated phases so far, which we were able to defuse through diplomatic negotiations.

However, these areas are still disputed and no one wants to give in on this. I didn't know exactly what the problem was because Ivan didn't want to tell me, but I could tell from the bodies of my father and his closest advisors that it was getting worse.

It wasn't difficult to pay attention to such details when you're only allowed to observe.

"The Martinellis are demanding a new border arrangement in these areas. They want to expand their sphere of influence to the east and are offering us a share of the profits in return," my father continued.

I noticed how he tensed up even more. I didn't have to hear it to know that he had refused. I was starting to get nervous.

The last time our families disagreed on the border, Yugoslavia had to be dissolved as a state. I had only just been born at the time, but by now I knew the story inside and out.

"We didn't accept the deal, of course." Was I right? "However, we agreed that our families could no longer be in constant conflict with each other. The recent disputes have cost us, as well as the Martinellis, a lot and have weakened us. We cannot allow a third power to strengthen itself during our conflict and become a threat to us. We have concluded that it is time to focus on business put aside our differences and become a community."

The room exhales audibly.

Oh no, please not mediators again. The last time both families sent mediators, my father waterboarded the Italian mediators with olive oil and jammed spaghetti under their fingernails to get information. I know, a very special sense of humor.

He didn't send them back to Italy in one piece either, and we got ours back as matryoshkas. Well, it seems we at least share the same kind of cultural humor.

Never trust an enemy, even in peace talks.

My uncle banged his glass again, trying to force silence in the room.

"Please calm down and let me finish. After much deliberation, we decided that both families could live with it. Our businesses will continue as before..."

That was so typical. First, he opens a can of worms and then he closes it, just leaving it open, and I'm sure that was only half of what was going on. Over the years, I started to read between the lines, which was essential for a family like mine.

Nothing was said directly and in clear terms, even between family members.

I used to think that life as a criminal mafia family required something like that, but in truth, my family was just messed up.

Suddenly everyone turned to me and looked at me in shock. I was so busy cursing my family that I didn't hear the end of his speech. I looked to my brother for help, who just looked at me emotionlessly. I couldn't read anything in his eyes; Ivan had put on his poker face.

So I looked at my uncle, who lowered his gaze to the ground.

Damn, I had a bad feeling and I suspected that I was about to find out the reason for my appearance here.

Then I looked at my father, who recognized my ignorant look and therefore repeated the end loudly.

"With a wedding of Dante Martinelli and my daughter Anastasia Romanov."

I dropped my wine glass.

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