Devious Vows: Arranged Marriage

Mafia Romance (Luciano Mafia Book 1)

Aj Wolf
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/devious-vows-arranged-marriage-mafia-romance-luci
ano-mafia-book-1-aj-wolf/
 Devious Vows
Copyright © 2023 AJ Wolf

Cover Design: Graphic Escapist

Formatting: AJ Wolf Graphics
Editing: Rumi Khan

All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief
quotations used in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, plots, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or have been used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked
status and trademark owners of all word marks, products, music/lyrics and brands mentioned in this work of fiction.

For more information: ajwolfauthor@gmail.com

 Content Warning
Cheating (NOT between main characters), some blood/torture, expeditionism (sex in public places)
You’ve always been mine.

—
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
CONTENT WARNING
EPIGRAPH
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
COMING SOON
MORE BY AJ WOLF
ABOUT AJ WOLF
 PrOlOgue

I remember it like it was yesterday.

The day I met Remy Oliver Luciano.

Truthfully, I had known him years prior—did my best to avoid him and his crude behavior—but
this particular day was when I really met him.
Snow dusted the yard, frozen footprints and a snowman sat outside the kitchen window from the
day before. Christmas lights still hung along the stair banister, twinkling around decorative pine cones

that smelled like cinnamon. The new year had just begun and I was stilling living off the high of the
holidays.
Because my father works closely with the Capo Famiglia as his consigliere, it wasn’t uncommon
for us to go to the Lucianos’ for their over-the-top parties and gatherings, so when my mother had laid
out one of my prettiest gowns and told me to get ready for dinner I thought nothing of it. When she
fussed over my hair to tame my curls I rolled my eyes and allowed her to. And when she told me to
add gloss to my lips I did so without argument.
I’d spent countless hours on the Luciano estate, I knew their property as well as my own. I played

with the youngest Luciano, Delaney, who was only a few years younger than me. I spent my summers
reading books and skipping rocks in the back pond with the oldest Luciano, Gavino. Capo Famiglia
was always kind to me despite his reputation, and his wife spent every Tuesday at brunch with my
mother.
The only Luciano I didn’t spend a lot of time with was Remy, the oldest legitimate child of Capo
Famiglia and the future Capo Famiglia. Where Gavino was kind and comfortable to be around, Remy
was moody and dark like a storm cloud. He had a weight on his shoulders that he carried since the
day he was born, a future made for him before he had yet to live. He was foreboding and in the few
interactions I had been forced to have with him, intimidating. He was cold to anyone he didn’t deem
important enough to let into his world; he was exactly what you’d expect the future Mafia boss to be.

And someone I had zero interest in being around.

The announcement came in the middle of dinner. It had taken me years to ever want to eat beef
Wellington again after that. I still remember the way my heart had stopped, how I’d dropped my

silverware, the way my cup had spilled my sparkling cider across the pristine white tablecloth. I can
still feel the tears that had clogged my throat when I’d politely excused myself from the room and how
loud my chunky heeled shoes had sounded as I ran toward the pond the second I was out of sight. But
what I remember most, what I can feel most vividly, was how he looked at me.

“We are happy to announce that Remy Luciano and Beverly Esposito are arranged to be married
after Beverly’s twenty-first birthday.”
Everyone had cheered. Everyone smiled and congratulated.
Everyone but me.
Everyone but Remy.
The look he had given me was enough to haunt my nightmares for weeks after. So dark, so angry,
so disappointed.
That’s what hurt the most back then. Knowing that I wasn’t what he wanted, that having to marry
me was disappointing.

Not even the comfort of the pond could give me solace that night. My hands and toes had nearly
frozen I sat out there so long, my tears clinging to my icy cheeks. If it hadn’t been for the soft glow of
the solar lights, I never would have seen the black swan near the edge of it, her long neck curled as
she watched me sob on the shore. It was atypical to see them so early in the season, atypical to see
them at all around the area. But I didn’t care about any of that because for a moment I had forgotten
about the arrangement watching her large, beautiful feathers in the dark. I sat in awe of her for longer
than I can even remember now, my skin covered in gooseflesh and my nose numb to the cold. I don’t
know what had made me do it, but with freezing fingers I inched closer to the water’s edge, my arm
stretched, fingers reaching to touch her smooth feathers.
 That’s when he had shown up.

With his brooding eyes and angry touch he had yanked me back, effectively scaring off the swan in

a swarm of splashing water and feathers.

His touch had brought me back to reality, one I didn’t want to be in, and I lost the last of my

composure. In a fit of frozen limbs and lace, I had fought his hold as he tried to shake some sense into
me. But one phrase had struck a nerve, one that continued to sting for years after.
“You’re mine.”
A phrase he never let me forget from that moment on. And one that I hated for so long.

One that I hated, until I wasn’t his.

 Chapter One
BEVERLY | 12 YEARS OLD

“Are you excited?” Julian’s voice chimes beside me, a slight crack in the question that makes my
lips twitch.
Puberty can be such a bitch.
“For?” I ask, despite knowing the answer. It always drives my brother crazy when I play dumb.

A soft puff of breath blows over my cheek as he huffs, his finger lightly digging into my side as he
jabs at me. “To see your boyfriend, of course.”
Even though I knew the teasing was coming, I still feel my teeth bite into the inside of my cheek. “I
have no idea who you’re talking about,” I say simply, raising a brow at Julian as his hand moves to
poke me once more. I speak up before he makes contact with my ribs, “Touch me again and I’ll break
your finger.”
His teeth flash, hazel eyes bouncing from me to our mother as we follow our parents toward the
party. He knows how much my mother hates public disturbances, and unfortunately for her, my brother
and I cause them often.

I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t care, quickly moving to tug at the end of my
hair instead. I catch his wrist before he pulls back, squeezing tight enough his lips thin around his
smile. “Stop freaking touching me.”
“Beverly Hunter Esposito! Let go of your brother, right now!”
Giving Julian’s wrist one more hard tweak, I drop his hand and start walking again, his low
chuckle at my back. How my mother always manages to catch me doing things and never my brother is
beyond me.
My eyes find hers but only briefly, nearly rolling out of my head at the sight of her clutching her
chest at my behavior. She’s always ever so dramatic about everything I do since the arrangement was
announced.

Bile coats the back of my throat at the thought, and I hurry past my parents, Julian hot on my heels

as we go through a set of French doors leading to the party. His shoulder bumps mine and I eye him.
“Why do we even have to be here? I hate these stuffy old parties.”

“We don’t have to, Bev. You do,” he says absently, smiling at every girl we pass, fingers waving
when they bother to return his gaze. “Any party being thrown for the future boss is considered
important enough for you to show up, I guess.”
My lip curls into a grimace at the mention of “the future boss”. In an attempt to deflect from the

curdling of my gut, I snap at my brother, “I can guarantee that those older girls don’t care about a
twelve-year-old like you.”
Snorting, he bumps my arm as we get to the backyard, pushing hard enough I stumble down the
slight step. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Bev.” He smiles at my responding frown, tucking his hands into the
pockets of his slacks as we find a spot to stand near the edge of the yard.
Looking over all the overly dressed heads, I let out a heavy sigh, already hating the party before
it’s truly even begun. My eyes fall back on my brother’s freckled face, one that matches perfectly with
mine. We are identical in every way: dark hair, hazel eyes, and cheeks dotted with freckles that
darken in the summer sun.

Where we differ is in our personalities. He enjoys parties and people and I’d rather be home, the
only people surrounding me very much fictional.
My eyes flit from one person to the next, a snake of anxiety swirling through my chest with every
one that doesn’t belong to him. “Is there at least some sort of entertainment or are we just expected to
walk around and pretend we want to be at this crappy party?”
“Se non vuoi essere qui, vattene.” If you don’t want to be here, leave.
It’s just above a whisper, but the voice bangs in my head like the crack of a cymbal. I spin on my
heel, intending to smack the owner of the voice away from me, but my arm is caught before it makes
contact, a dark honey gaze sneering down at me. He allows me to yank my arm back and I fight to
stand my ground despite the hard, angry thumping in my chest telling me to run and hide.

Remy Luciano.

Three and a half years older than me and the bane of my existence, Remy has a knack for finding
me in any crowd. My entire life has been spent trying—and mostly failing—to avoid everything that

has to do with or about him. All chances of escaping him disappeared at the beginning of this year
when I was privileged with the right to be arranged as Remy’s future wife.
I cried for an entire week when I found out. And if I allow myself to think about it even now, I can
feel that lump growing in the throat, scratching like rusty nails.

Remy is cruel and rude.

Like a bull in a china shop he wrecks everything around him with his bitter words and harsh touch.
Set to be the next boss of the Sicilian Mafia, Remy gets away with just about everything. His
callousness looked upon as a trait worthy of a future boss instead of the concerning personality flaw it
truly is.
Remy’s almost black hair shines in the glow of the hanging lights, a small tattoo flashing from the
collar of his dress shirt. Despite only being fifteen he already has quite the collection of tattoos, an
obsession I doubt he plans on stopping anytime soon. His honey eyes are still narrowed on my face,
the dimple marking his cheek telling me just how much he loves the look of disgust I’m giving him.

“As if I’d be here if I didn’t have to be,” I finally say, my fingernails biting into the palm of my
hand. I want the comment to hurt him, to make him feel bad that I don’t want to see him, but it appears
to have the opposite effect as he hums with amusement.
“Why are you so snippy all the time, baby Bev? Don’t you have anything nice to say to your future
husband?” he asks as he takes another slight step toward me, invading my space even more in an
attempt to intimidate me.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I hiss through my teeth, choosing to ignore his last comment. My hands
shaking with the effort it takes to stay chest-to-chest with him. It’s not that I’m afraid of Remy, per say,
but my body’s natural instinct is to flee.
 He’s the predator and I’m the prey.

“Or what? You’ll throw a fit? Hit me?” He reaches out to lightly tug the end of my hair, curling the

dark strands through his fingers. I bite my lip to keep myself from pulling away from him—he’d only
make a bigger scene if I did.

“One of these days, I’m going to slap the stupid dimples off of your stupid face,” I snap once his
fingers retreat. Tears burn behind my false bravado, my heart thumping angrily at how easily Remy
can rile me up. Julian snorts at my retort, sucking his lips between his teeth to hide his smile when my
eyes narrow his way.

As always, my threat bounces off of Remy with zero implication that it bothered him. He’s never
as affected by what I have to say as I am by him.
“Wow. You really have a way with words. Is your mom homeschooling you, baby Bev? Is that why
you’re so weird?” His eyes meet Julian’s over my shoulder when I glare back up at him, one of those
stupid dimples of his mocking me.
He knows I’m not homeschooled.
We go to the same school, all the Mafioso kids do.
“You know what, Remy?” I wait until his eyes are back on my face before straightening my spine
to spit my words at him in the cruelest tone I can muster. “Freak you.”

The smile on Remy’s face has started to turn dark, a glint of angry annoyance making his grin look
like wolf’s teeth. “I’m sure I misheard you, baby Bev. Want to try again?”
My hard swallow just about gets stuck in my throat, my fingers pinching the fabric of my dress at
my sides. I know I’m letting this get too far, especially here at this party, but I can’t back down now.
Not without looking like a coward, and that’s just not something I’m willing to do. “I meant what I
said.” Another hard swallow. “Freak. You. Remy.”
His smile turns on Julian, tongue running over his teeth before his eyes fall back onto me, feeling
heavy like a weighted blanket. He steps even closer, our chests lightly brushing as his large palm
snaps out to grab onto my upper arm. His nose nearly brushes mine. “If you’re going to curse, at least
do it right.”

My heart drums in my ears as I wait for him to speak again, sensing he’s not done as his breath hits

my parted lips.
“Say, ‘fuck you, future husband.’”

I blink, the reminder that this is my future causing my stomach to turn. Instead of doing as he
instructs, I try to distract him. “Don’t you have better things to do than bother me? Why don’t you go
bother someone else, like Stephanie. I’m sure she’d love that.”
His eyes flick between mine, narrowing at the edges. “She probably would, baby Bev. Believe it

or not, most girls like it when I talk to them.” He ignores my quiet scoff, talking over me as he shoves
back from me, the movement almost making me stumble in the grass. “But I think I will. If anything,
she's not a child like you.”
The comment smacks me right in the chest but I do my best to ignore the feeling, watching as he
smirks at Julian.
“No offense, Julian.”
Julian chuckles at his joke, waving Remy off as he starts to back away. “None taken.”
Remy’s eyes find mine once more. “I’ll find you before the meal starts. My father wants us at his
table.”

He spins away without an answer from me, and I suck in a breath realizing I hadn’t taken a full one
since he showed up. My pulse races below my skin, watching him disappear into the crowd. “Why
don’t you ever stand up for me?” I ask Julian, continuing to stare into the crowd. His eyes are on my
face when I finally turn to look at him. “You’re my twin. Shouldn’t it bother you when he’s mean to
me like that? Shouldn’t you feel mad when I’m mad or something?”
Julian shrugs, a small smile parting his lips. “Do you feel mad when I’m mad? Because no. No, I
don’t.” I purse my lips at his attempt to turn the situation into a joke as he continues, “And it’s none of
my business what happens in your relationship.”
“Shut up.” I let out a big breath, tugging at the skirt of the dress I’m wearing. “We aren’t in a
relationship. We will never be a couple.”

“You’re literally arranged to be married, Bev.” I shake my head in defiance and he sighs, changing

the subject, “How about we go get some drinks.”

I nod, wordlessly following after him as he moves into the crowd toward the beverage station. I

watch his back, biting my lip when he waves at some of the other kids we pass. Unlike me, Julian
actually gets along quite well with the other Mafioso kids. He’s more outgoing than I am which I
guess makes him more likable. Where he effortlessly fits into the mold my parents have created for
him, I find myself struggling. I’m sure Remy’s constant picking has something to do with it, though.

Everyone around here worships him, Julian included, and Remy has turned me into a pariah among
them.
I’m the wallflower who prefers fiction over real life and the only girl the king himself handpicked
to torture. Why? I couldn’t tell you. He’s always gotten along fine with my brother.
“Beverly.” My heart jumps into my throat when my mother grabs onto my arm as I pass, startling
me from my thoughts, her voice stopping Julian who turns back toward us. “Francesca was just telling
me about how well you and her son get along.” My mother’s eyes leave me and drift back to Capo
Famiglia’s wife as she finishes with, “I didn’t know the two of you were so close, but I’m so happy to
hear it.”

“We’re not,” I say against my better judgment and my mother squeezes my arm in warning, her face
still beaming at the other woman. I frown at the side of her head before turning my attention to
Francesca. She’s already smiling at me when our eyes meet, perfectly white teeth almost glittering
from the lights hanging above the tables.
She spends more time getting ready for the day than she does caring about either of her children. I
highly doubt Remy has ever said anything about me to her. I think I’ve seen her spend a total of five
minutes with either of her children, and that’s saying something considering I’m always around them.
“Sei molto carina stasera, Beverly.” You are very pretty tonight, Beverly. Her perfectly
unwrinkled face doesn’t match the softness of her voice.
 Lightly tugging my arm from my mother’s grip I step to the side and out of reach, smiling politely

in response, my fingers picking at the smooth material of my skirt. “Thank you, Francesca.” My gaze

flicks quickly between her and my mother. “If you’d please excuse me, Julian and I were going to get
a drink.”

Francesca’s long fingers wave me off, “Go, go. We’ll chat during dinner, no?”
My stomach drops, remembering I’ll have to sit with Remy for the meal, but I smile through the
feeling. “Of course.”
Grabbing Julian’s shirt sleeve, I tug him away from the table, dropping his sleeve once we’ve

slipped far enough through the crowd that both my mother and Remy’s are out of sight. “I can’t stand
that woman.”
“Mom or Francesca?”
I glance back at Julian’s smirk with one of my own. “Sometimes both, but right now? Francesca.”
He laughs and I sit on the edge of a giant plant as we pretend to listen to whatever speech is being
yelled out over the crowd. Julian keeps talking, but I stare toward the speaker, not bothering to listen.
We never got drinks and my throat is dry, nearly raw from my emotions earlier.
He nudges my arm, drawing my attention. “Did you hear me?”
“No.” I push up off of my makeshift seat, looking at Julian. “I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

“Grab me a drink on your way back!” he yells at my retreating form, and I wave in
acknowledgment over my shoulder.
Entering the house I look around, unsure which way I should go. I don’t really have to use the
restroom, but I figure it’s the only place I can go to get a moment of peace without fear of Remy
finding me. Passing a room I hear a familiar giggle within and pause in the doorway. The Lucianos’
nanny is sitting on the floor with the youngest Luciano, a deck of cards being passed between them.
On a whim I enter the room, smiling when they both look up at me.
“Beverly!” Delaney yells happily, bouncing in place. “Want to play a game of Go Fish?”
Settling down beside her, I smile at the nanny as she starts dealing me cards before I even respond,
“Thank you, I could use an escape from the party for a minute.”

REMY

My shoulder stings from how I’m leaning against the fence, but I ignore the dull ache, staring
absentmindedly at where Beverly had disappeared into the house. Despite what I led her to believe, I
didn’t spend any time with Stephanie after our argument. Instead, I stole two shots of whiskey from
the bartender, played the entertainment for a few of my father’s Capos, and then posted up here where

I watched Beverly like a creep.

“You know, she’s not that bad actually.”
Shifting to stand, I eye my half-brother Gavino as he joins me, only now aware that he must also
have been watching Beverly to know that’s where I was looking. “She’s just a kid,” I spit back,
annoyed he’s even talking about her. “A bookworm with more freckles than face.”
He shrugs, his hands slipping into his pockets. “I don’t know. I kind of like her freckles.”
My pulse pounds looking at him, teeth biting into my cheek. Truthfully, I also like her freckles. I
like the way her dark hair curls around her cheeks when it’s wet. And I like the way she smells, like
books and lavender. I really like the way she talks back to me when almost no one else will.

But I hate that I’m being told that I have to like her.
I hate that she was handpicked for me by my father.
And I also hate that she hates me.
“I don’t. I can’t stand anything about her,” I finally say back to him, the lie tasting bitter on my
tongue.
Gavino eyes me. “She’s always nice to me. If you were nicer to her—”
My stomach twists with ugly hot jealousy that burns angrily under my skin. He stops talking at the
look I give him. “Beverly is my future wife, which means I’m the only one who gets to like anything
about her.” Snatching the front of his dress shirt in my fist, I yank him close. “She isn’t nice to you.
She isn’t anything to you. Beverly is mine and it would do you good to remember it.”

He stumbles back when I let him go, his lips pinched tight as if he’s fighting the urge to say

something back to me. Luckily for him, he doesn't, choosing to clear his throat instead. “Got it,
brother.”

BEVERLY

Unlike Remy, I get along well with Delaney.

Sure, she’s only eight, but she’s always been mature for her age. And kind. Surprising really since
Remy has done more to raise her than their actual parents have.
“This party really is one of the lamest I’ve ever been to,” Delaney says, off topic, eyeing the cards
in her hand before leveling me with a serious look over the top of them. “Do you have any twos?”
“Sorry, no twos.” I laugh at her huff, watching her snatch up a card to add to the many already in
her hand. “How’d you get lucky enough to skip it back here?”
Delaney shrugs, shaking her head at the nanny when she asks her for a five. “Ollie said I could
hang out in the house and no one argued.”
Delaney is the only one who calls him that, a play on his middle name. It always makes him sound

so much nicer than I know he is. I hum, picking through my cards for a moment. “Any sevens?”
Plucking the card from Delaney’s fingers I set my pair aside before commenting, “Remy does get
whatever Remy wants.”
“Non stai parlando di mio figlio, vero?” You’re not talking about my son, are you?
My head snaps up to Capo Famiglia’s entrance, returning his smile. Unlike his wife, he doesn’t
radiate fake kindness. He wears his emotions on his sleeve when around friends and family, and
thankfully, all he’s ever shown me are pleasant ones.
“I plead the fifth,” I state. Tucking my cards away into the stack. It seems my break was short-
lived.
 He chuckles at my remark, watching as I rise from the floor. “Dinner is about to be served. I came

to get Delaney.” His eyes find the nanny. “Make sure she’s at our table before appetizers start.”

With that he leaves and Laney huffs, “We just started the game with Bev too.” The sound of Capo
Famiglia’s footsteps disappearing down the hallway can be heard as she hands her cards to the nanny

who is tucking them away in their box.

“Maybe we can play again after dinner,” I say to her frown, watching her rise.
“You’ll be busy.” Remy’s voice creeps along my spine, prickling at my skin like poison ivy as he
steps into the room just as silently as his father had before.

“Doing?” I can’t help but let my annoyance seep into the word despite knowing how it’ll make
Remy respond.
“Spending time with me.” I sneer at his remark but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care,
smiling at me before looking over at his sister. “Come, it’s time to eat. You can sit with me and
Beverly.”
“Oh good! I hate getting stuck down by Mamma. She never has anything interesting to talk about,”
Laney chimes, skipping past us and out the door.
“Why don’t you eat with Stephanie instead?” I ask Remy as we make our way out of the room,
trailing a bit behind Delaney.

“Because she isn’t my future wife.” The venom dripping from each word sends chills up my spine,
but the little jolts of lightning don’t hurt nearly as much as the squeezing of my heart as he leans in
close to my ear, speaking just loud enough for me to hear, “You are.”
Chapter TwO
 BEVERLY | 16 YEARS OLD

“I look like an idiot.” My hands tug at the hem of the short, fitted bottom of my dress, attempting to

pull it lower on my legs, an annoyed sigh groaning from my chest when all that manages to do is pull
the already very low-cut top down even more. Julian laughs at me as I struggle, his face hovering
behind mine in the mirror.
“You don’t…”
I cut him off with a glare. “Don’t lie to me.”

His teeth flash in his reflection as he takes a step away from my back. “You look fine, Bev. I think
you’re just uncomfortable because it’s not something you’d usually wear.” The laughing continues as
my expression sours further, his eyes sweeping over my outfit before meeting mine in the mirror once
more. “Stop, will you? You look beautiful. Gorgeous. Spectacular. And…” I’m already rolling my
eyes knowing what he’s about to say, “I would know because we have the same face.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” I mock, brushing a stray hair off of my cheek before stepping away from the mirror.
Crossing my arms over my chest I scowl over his outfit. “Why do I have to wear this when you don’t
have to dress up? This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Beverly!” My eyes almost roll into the back of my head at my mother’s voice, dropping to find
her glaring at me from the doorway.
“It is!” I continue my argument, shrugging when she gasps. “I look like a fucking idiot and it’s not
fair.”
Her head swivels around the room, looking around like she can’t possibly imagine that it’s her I’m
speaking to like that. “I don’t know where you’ve learned that dirty mouth of yours, but it stops.
Now.”
She ignores my mumbled, “Whatever,” walking to pick at Julian’s hair.
“You don’t look like an idiot.” She says the word like it’s a curse, wrinkling her face around it.
“You look very chic and upscale. A perfect complement to how I’m sure Remy will be dressed

tonight.”

At the mention of Remy my lips pucker like I’ve sucked on a lemon, my mouth tasting just as bitter.
I couldn't care less what that douchebag is going to be wearing.

Mom steps back from Julian, eyes sweeping over the soft beige bandage bodycon dress I’m
wearing with approval. Of course she would approve of it, she’s the one who picked it out.
In a last-ditch effort to get an outfit change, I frantically ask as she starts to leave the room, hot on
her heels, “Where’s Dad? Has he seen this dress? All this skin showing? All the boob?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Beverly. Any boobage you think is showing is very much covered.” Her
eyes find mine briefly over her shoulder. “Half the time I’m yelling at you to wear a bra and now
you’re worried about not having one on?” She shakes her head, another tut pursing her lips.
An annoyed groan slips from between my teeth, my fist rising in Julian’s direction at his chuckling.
Spotting our dad by the front door, I hurry past my mother, the light clicking of my four-inch nude
wrap wedges beating as frantically against the hardwood floor as my heartbeat. “Dad! Look at this
dress! Isn’t it too revealing? A nipple could fall out at any second!”
He looks past me and to my mother, rubbing his eyes at whatever look she gives him. “Beverly,
please don’t talk about your nipples. It’s disturbing.” He drops his hands, the look on his face saying

he very much does not like my dress, but he won’t say that. “You look fine.”
“Ugh!” I stomp past him and yank the door open, letting it smack against the wall even while my
mother scolds my behavior. “I hate it here.”
Pinching my lips together, I slide into the back of the car, sitting out front, crossing my arms as
Julian slides in next to me. “You know, if a nipple does fall out, you’ll be the most popular girl there.”
I scowl at his smile. “Stupid.”
He lounges back in his seat, looking out the window. “You’ll probably also kill half the males
attending if Remy catches them looking.”
Remy.
 God, I don’t want him to see me in this dress.

Tonight will go one of two ways: he’ll either love the dress or he’ll hate it. And I honestly

couldn’t say which I’d prefer because either one means his attention is on me.
It takes far less time than I would have preferred to get to the Luciano estate, and I resist the urge

to bang my forehead against the window as we pull through the large black iron gates. My stomach is
already churning, heart thumping madly beneath my ribs at the thought of being here, let alone in this
dress. Julian lightly pinches my arm and I whack at his hand, absently looking out the window at the
other guests exiting their cars.

My fingers lightly tremble as I open my door, Julian and I slapping them shut in unison to look at
one another over the top of the car before we start toward the back half of the estate toward the
gardens.
“I thought you didn’t care what people thought of you?” Julian asks when he gets to my side.
“I don’t,” I bite out, rubbing my glossy lips together. It’s not a complete lie. I don’t really care
what people think.
I care what Remy thinks.
But only because I’d rather he thought nothing of me at all. If I had my way, the douche wouldn’t
exist in my life.

My eyes briefly find my brother’s annoying smirk. “I care about what I think.” I finish, “And I
think I look like an idiot.”
He laughs, holding the back gate open for me, “Well, why don’t you change what you think?” He
comes back to my side, arm lightly bumping mine as we walk. “If you tell yourself you like it, then
you won’t be as miserable.”
Scanning the crowd, I notice I’m not the only one dressed formally, though I am the only one who
looks like they belong on Desperate Housewives. Turning my attention back to him I snort, “Easy for
you to have a solution when you’re not the one looking like an idiot.”
He laughs, grabbing a drink from one of the waiter’s trays as we walk by, downing whatever it is
with a grimace before dropping the empty glass on another passing tray. I eye one of the giant banners

strung around the property, pictures of ugly little dogs with beady eyes plastered on each one, a giant

poster in the middle of the space featuring Mama Spinoza. Tonight’s event is Mama Spinoza’s silent
auction dog charity, and although I hate my attire this year, it’s usually one of my favorite events

simply because of how ridiculous it is.

Mama Spinoza, known for her vanity, lost her husband a while ago and now spends her time and
money lavishing herself and her dogs. She also has a blaringly obvious crush on the one and only
Remy Luciano.

Something I find incredibly hilarious.

Turning to question Julian, I watch him grab two glasses from another passing tray before handing
one off to me. “Why is the auction here?”
He shrugs, raising his glass up. “Don’t know. This one looks better than the last one.”
Throwing the drink back at the same time he does, I shudder as it burns down to my gut, and drop
off the glass at an empty table. The perks of being a Mafioso child is the leniency when it comes to
drinking. There’s always a party or some gathering, always drinking, and never a caring adult as long
as you don’t make a fool of yourself. “Was that better? Because it tasted like shit.”
Julian shakes his head and I laugh, grabbing a chair from the nearest table to us to drag behind me.

My brother does the same and we make our way to the outskirts of the gathering. Andrea, son of
another Capo who works closely with the Capo Famiglia, must have had the same idea as us because
he nods in acknowledgment as we set our seats by his.
His eyes flick over my dress before meeting my scowl as I sit down. “What the hell are you
wearing, Bev?”
“Clothes. Shouldn’t you be old enough to figure that out on your own?” I tug my skirt down a bit,
as he shakes his head at me, a dark loose strand of hair curling around his ears.
Besides his arms crossing over his chest and his baby blues rolling away from me, he doesn’t
respond. The same age as Remy, he gives off the ‘I’m too cool for you’ vibes, but it’s mostly just an
act. We’ve known him our entire lives and despite how he likes to act tough, he’s actually a big softy.

I consider him to be more of a brother than a close friend, and even though he’d never admit it, I know

the feeling is mutual.

Julian bends to rest his arms on his knees so he can see around me to Andrea. “Where’s Remy?”

My brother has become even more obsessed with the future boss since taking his oath of omertà a
few months back, and to say I find it an annoyance is a wild understatement.
Remy has slowly started to take over every aspect of my life, my brother now included.
“Who cares?” I mumble but they both ignore me. I know it’s just a matter of time before Remy

finds me, and I’d like to enjoy my freedom while I can. After ten minutes too long of hearing nothing
but pointless babbling from my companions, I get up, tugging my dress back into place. “Welp. Not
that listening to you two gaggle on about the almighty Remy isn’t extremely interesting, but I’m going
to find something else to do before I puke.”
Andrea rolls his eyes at my parting curtsy, and I spin toward the direction of the auction tables,
flipping the bird over my shoulder as Julian yells about “keeping my nipples contained.” I could only
ever speak so freely about my feelings toward Remy with them; if any of the adults heard me being so
disrespectful I’d be hung for it, I’m sure. Still, I do it anyway because part of me doesn’t give a damn.
Picking up a stray pen, I start randomly writing names with outrageous bids, when Gavino’s

smiling face pops into view. “Hey, Bev.”

Returning his smile I straighten, clicking my pen. “Oh hi, Gavino. How have you been?”
It would seem that both of Remy’s siblings missed out on the same bitter gene that he was born
with because they, unlike him, are both kind and friendly. Gavino is only Remy’s half-brother, a
bastard child from the Famiglia Capo that was born a year before Remy. For the most part, he only
spends the summer with the Lucianos, but every once in a while I see him at other holiday events. I
actually like Gavino quite a bit, he’s always been nice to me. He’s also always been cast in Remy’s
shadow, always looked down on by the other Mafioso boys because he preferred warehouse jobs
over working the streets. Really, he should be the future Capo Famiglia, but because he isn’t
legitimate it was never even an option.

“I’ve been good. I’m back for now,” he says, leaning over to see what I’m writing. He chuckles

seeing me go back to scrawling names that clearly don’t belong to me. “What are you doing?”
“Bidding.” I pause to look up at him, his light brown hair shifting in the breeze, dark blue eyes

waiting for me to say more. “Well, I’m not. I’m bidding for other people.”
His leg lightly bumps the table as he leans in close, a smile tipping the corner of his lips. “Do they
know?”
I look up, our faces close enough that I can drop my voice to a whisper, “No.”

He laughs, the sound making me smile as I slowly write out Remy’s name next to a four-hundred-
dollar bid under a self-portrait of Mama Spinoza and her dog. Gavino’s shadow suddenly retreats and
I look up to see him turning away, just as a long tan arm reaches around me, fist closing around the
pen in my hand.
There’s more ink spread out along the limb than I remember seeing last time, a somewhat fresh-
looking tattoo shining on his forearm. I tighten my grip on the pen, not letting it be ripped from my
fingers.
“You put the wrong name here.” Remy’s deep baritone washes over me, prickling my skin with
gooseflesh despite the warm breeze floating through the air. His clothed chest is hot against my bare

back as he tries to force the pen toward his name with no luck.
“No, I didn’t,” I snap through my teeth, fighting him as he pushes my hand, leaving a long, jagged
line across the paper that just misses his name.
“Change it.” It’s growled into my ear and I grit my teeth, hating the way my gut twists at the ugly
tone in his voice.
“No.” I jerk my arm hard enough to dislodge him, throwing the pen before he can take it. It
bounces off the back of someone's head but I quickly turn around before they see who threw it. Remy
is standing far too close for comfort, so I raise my arms to push him away, but he catches my palms,
holding my hands against his chest and locking me in a far more intimate pose than I’m willing to be
in.

Especially surrounded by all of these people.

I can already feel their eyes on us.

Eyes are always on Remy but even more so when I’m around.

“Let go of me, Remy.” It’s barely above a whisper, but I know he heard me, his breath puffing
down along my cheeks as I scowl up at him.
“Chiedimelo gentilmente, futura moglie.” Ask me kindly, wife-to-be.
His lips twitch at the corner when I stay silent, knowing damn well I’d rather bite my own tongue

off than ask him “kindly” to do anything. Honey browns dip lower, skimming over my glossy lips and
down to the deep V of my dress. They narrow as he uses our joined hands to lightly push me back,
dark gaze burning over the rest of my dress while my heart thumps painfully behind my ribs.
“You picked this out?” he asks once his eyes finally make their way back to mine.
I swallow, my hands becoming warm wrapped up in his. “Yes.” I don’t know why I lie, but
something about the way he asked made me think he didn’t like it, and I like anything he doesn’t.
A gasp parts my lips as one of my hands is dropped, the other being used to spin me around so that
Remy can get a three-sixty view before I’m back to where I started. Curls from my updo tickle along
my cheeks and shoulders, having fallen loose from the sudden movement, my pulse racing in my throat

at the look that greets me.

A hum vibrates up from Remy’s chest, a dimple marking his otherwise serious expression. “I don’t
believe you.” I scoff but he continues, ignoring me, “Ma sembra molto… carino.” But it looks very…
nice.
Nice? Nice? I hated this dress before but now that all Remy has to say about it is “nice” I feel my
skin getting hot with annoyance. I know I look better than nice.
Before I can stop myself, I’m yelling, “Carina?! Ho un aspetto più che carina. Ho un aspetto
fantastico!” I look more than nice. I look amazing! I’m shoving back from him before he can stop me,
heads that weren’t already watching us turning to see what all of the commotion is about. Snatching
the bid with Remy’s name off the table, I level him with a glare. “Mama Spinoza will love to see how

much you’re willing to spend on her portrait, don’t you think?”

His jaw is ticking, eyes never leaving mine. “Throw that bid away, Beverly.”
The ice in his tone should have been warning enough to stop, but I don’t find myself willing to

care as I turn around, the bid pinched between my fingers as I stomp toward the podium where Mama
Spinoza is posing for a photographer, one she probably hired for herself.
“Beverly!” Remy’s voice is steel above the crowd and I smirk over my shoulder, eyes drifting
through the faces.

My mother is the first person I find, eyes narrowed on me in warning. Capo Famiglia’s small
smile rivals her glare from across the table. But before I’m able to get within sight of Mama Spinoza,
I’m being wrenched to the side by an iron grip around my waist.
“Hey!” is all I can manage to get out as I’m forcefully walked toward the Lucianos’ garden,
quickly hidden by tall thick walls of summer florals.
A grunt slips from between my lips as I’m pressed hard against the side of a tall stone water
feature. Stepping up close, Remy cages me in place, snatching my wrist to yank the bid from my
fingers. I grab at it as he tosses the paper into the fountain, but miss because his inked fingers grip my
chin, jerking my face back to look up into his. Bergamot and vanilla melts off of his skin, carried by

the warm breeze as he scowls down at me. His fingers are just tight enough to keep me in place, but
not hard enough to be painful, refusing to let me get out of his grip.
“Hai ragione.” You’re right, he finally says, pausing my attempts to get loose.
“About?” My voice is breathier than I’d like it to be, the heat of his body feeling like it’s going to
consume me.
“You do look more than nice in this dress.” My breath catches at his admission, the softness of his
words contradicting the angry tic of his jaw. “Sei bellissima, futura moglie.” You look beautiful,
wife-to-be.
I’m too stunned to respond, my lips parting. I feel the swipe of his thumb against my cheek, his
dark honey gaze dropping to the gloss on my mouth. “Have you ever been kissed, Beverly?”

Blinking, I stare up at him, confusion at the abrupt change in topics making me frown. “Excuse

me?”
He swallows, eyes lifting from my lips to meet my gaze. “The answer better be no.”

The silent challenge in his words makes my blood boil. “Or what?” His brow rises, his body
reacting to the anger burning along my skin at his question. “What if I have been kissed?”
He drops lower, his nose just brushing mine, the soft vanilla on his skin so close I can almost taste
it with each breath I suck into my lungs. “I’ll find whoever touched what is mine and I’ll kill them.”

Mine.
My ears ring with the word, old wounds and irritation bubbling up to the surface, “You have no
right—”
My sentence is cut off as Remy’s warm lips press to mine, hard and sure. His fingers are pinching
around my jaw, my cheeks squeezed almost awkwardly in his hand as his lips encourage mine to
move. I'm not sure if it's the vanilla coming off his warm skin that is messing with my senses or if he
actually tastes like burnt sugar, but it tricks me into pressing into his mouth for the smallest of
moments, my fingers grabbing onto the cotton of his shirt as he swipes his tongue along the seam of
my lips.

The boom of Mama Spinoza talking over a microphone pushes me back into reality and my eyes
shoot open, my hands shoving against the chest they were just clutching onto. Remy just smirks down
at me, stupid dimples mocking me and my flushed cheeks.
How fucking dare he.
My arm winds back before he notices, my fist smashing right into the same mouth he just gave me
my first kiss with, splitting it with the single hit. I bite back a smile of satisfaction as he grunts,
shaking my hand at my side and pretending it doesn’t feel like I’ve just broken every single one of my
fingers.
Inked digits rise to his lips, pressing against the cut my knuckles caused. “You punched me.”
 He should be mad, but he doesn’t sound anything close to it. Instead, he’s smiling at me, tongue

snaking out to swipe away the blood.

It’s confusing and does nothing but irritate me more.

“My first kiss was not yours to take,” I finally say, my voice carrying a slight tremble I hate myself

for.
He nods, but it’s not out of understanding. It’s mocking. He reaches out and lightly grasps my hand,
his brow rising at the hiss that leaves my lips as he looks at the already bruising skin. “To be clear,”
he pauses, his eyes flicking up to mine, “everything of yours is mine.” I suck in between my teeth

when he shifts my hand in his, the movement effective in cutting off any retort I had. “I want you to
start going to the gym every week from now on. I know someone who will help you improve your
form.”
I blink, my eyes locked on our joined hands. “Who? Why?”
“One of the best freestyle boxers in the area.” He bends, eyes on mine as he presses a soft, warm
kiss to my palm before letting it drop to my side and stepping back from me. I’m so confused by the
gesture and his explanation that I don’t question it, eyes following him as he starts to walk away.
“But why do I need to see them?” I call out, just before he disappears.
He looks over his shoulder but doesn’t stop. “Because he’ll make sure no one ever touches you

unless you want them to again.” He looks away but keeps speaking, “Including me.”

REMY

My tongue swipes over the sting of my busted lip, the metallic tang of blood making me smile as I
leave the garden.
Who knew the bookworm had such an arm on her?
Spotting Donatello, I make my way to him, drawing his attention away from the gaggle of girls
around him. One of my best friends, anyone who didn’t know us would probably think we were
brothers; he’s basically the darker, smilier version of me. Personality-wise, we are complete

opposites. Donatello is nothing but crooked grins, terrible dad jokes, and flirting.

“Oof, hate to see what the other guy looks like,” Donatello jokes after detaching himself from a
blonde girl that was clutching onto him to meet me.

Andrea joins us, his arms crossing over his chest as he takes in my bloodied lip the same way
Donatello had, waiting for me to comment before saying anything.
“Girl, actually. And she is—” My eyes scan the crowd, finding Beverly walking from the entrance
of the garden, her dark curls a mess on her head. Impeccable. Flawless, I want to say, but don’t.

Instead I mumble out, “Trouble.”

Donatello follows my gaze, a snort of amusement drawing my attention back to him. “You know, I
always liked that girl.” My eyes narrow and he raises his hands placatingly, “Not like that,
obviously.”
Ignoring Andrea’s amused grunt, I ask Donatello, “You still working out with Cal at the gym on
Garland?”
Easily distracted, he winks at someone that walks by and Andrea smacks his arm with a shake of
his head. “Yeah, I’m there twice a week. Why?”
“I want Beverly to start going with you.” My eyes briefly wander back to Beverly. “If she’s going

to be my wife, she needs to know how to protect herself.”

“That’s not typically the type of woman men around here want,” Andrea comments, his amusement
bleeding into the sentence.
“Ha! As if anything about Remy is typical.” Donatello laughs. “But yeah, I can bring her.”
“Does she know she’s going?” Andrea asks. “And that it’ll be with this bastardo?”
I shake my head, spotting Gavino making his way toward Beverly. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll go
because I want her to.”
Andrea follows my gaze. “Gavino back for the summer already?”
“He came back last week, didn’t he? I heard he was at that bookstore on Elm Street with Bev last
Friday,” Donatello says, making both mine and Andrea’s eyes narrow on him. His hands rise. “Maybe

he wasn’t, though. I didn’t see it.”

My feet are moving toward Gavino in the next breath, Andrea scolding Donatello, “Why are you
always starting shit?”

I don’t hear Donatello’s reply because Delaney jumps in front of me, abruptly stopping my
forward progression. “Can I go to Aubrey’s house later?”
Gavino’s already gotten to Beverly, his hand resting close enough to hers that their pinkies touch
on the table. My jaw works, pure unbridled rage tearing its way through my chest.

“Remy? Can I go to Aubrey’s?!” Delaney repeats, momentarily drawing my attention back to her.
“Yeah, go. Ask Andrea to take you,” I say, trying not to let my annoyance seep into my words as I
lightly push past her.
“Thanks, Ollie!”
I barely register her thanks, eyes zeroed in on Gavino. He should know by now how much I
despise his relationship with Beverly. He should also know by now that touching is absolutely off-
limits. I almost forgot about how I caught him so close to her earlier, distracted by Beverly. But now
all that irritation is coming back full force, rising to the crest and ready to unleash on Gavino like a
tidal wave.

Someone above must be watching out for him, because my father stops me next, his voice quiet
and strong. “Leave it, Remy. Sit with me for a moment.”
Shit.
I hadn’t even noticed I was passing his table.
My heart thumps angrily below my ribs, hands fisting at my sides as I unwillingly follow my
father’s orders. Dropping into the chair opposite of him, I can still see Beverly and Gavino, and I bite
my cheek to fight the urge to storm over there.
“Your brother is just getting in for the summer,” he says casually, lifting his drink to take a sip. It
clunks loudly back onto the table when he’s finished. “I don’t need you hospitalizing him because
you’re jealous of his friendship with Beverly.”

I bite back my retort, knowing it would get me nothing but punishment from him.

Downing his drink, he stands and rounds the table toward me, lightly tapping me on the shoulder
as he passes. “Some fights aren’t worth fighting. Let this one rest.”

Sitting there, I do as my father says, but only because I don’t have any other choice, a single
thought running through my brain.
If Gavino makes even one wrong move, I’ll be putting him to rest.
Chapter Three
 BEVERLY | 18 YEARS OLD

I pick at the soft black velvet of my dress, watching Julian get ready. He’s currently trying to adjust

the ridiculous aquamarine bow tie he purchased to match his date’s dress around his neck. “Bev, I
love you and you’re gorgeous… being my twin and all… but you’re giving off some real Morticia
Addams vibes right now.”
I raise a brow in his direction, watching him continue to struggle to secure the tie. “And?” I run my
hands over the snug fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles over my thighs. It’s just a simple dress with a

V-neck and spaghetti straps that hits mid-thigh, but it’s classically pretty. Paired with my straightened
dark hair, I can see where he’s coming from. It’s not my usual vibe, but I like it.
“Oh, that’s what you were going for?” He shrugs, head turning sideways as he nods with approval
at his crooked tie. “Never mind then. You’re killing it.”
“Your tie is crooked.”
His eyes find mine in the mirror. “Not when I do this.” He proceeds to turn his head sideways and
I laugh. “You sure you want to go tonight?”
He stares at me, probably trying to see if he can pick up on any feelings I’m trying to keep in. He

won’t find anything. I really don’t care about not having a date tonight. I was really only going to
prom because it was something Julian wanted to do. I already knew that dating was out of the picture
for me since my engagement to Remy.
“I’ll stay home with you. Fuck them all and their dumb dance.” He starts to take his bow tie off but
I stop him by tapping his leg with my bare foot.
“Thank you, but it’s fine.” I smile at his raised brow, continuing, “I don’t need a date to have fun
tonight.”
He stops, looking down at his tie. “You should have stopped me before I took this shit off then.”
Our mother comes into the room at that moment, waving her hands to shoo Julian’s arms to his
sides as she fixes his tie into a perfect bow in a fraction of the time it took him to botch it. “There. We

need to work on your tie skills. Every man should know how to fix a tie.” He rolls his eyes over her

shoulder and I stifle a laugh, watching as she continues to fuss over his outfit.
“Where is your sister?” Her head tilts my way, a quiet “Oh!’ slipping from her lips as she claps

for me to stand. I startle at her loud gasp, her hand reaching back to grab Julian by his sleeve without
looking to tug him to my side. “Look at you two! Oh. Why can’t you always look this nice? You would
if you weren’t always fighting with me over your outfits.”
Julian and I share a look, but say nothing, letting her continue to fuss. She bends down and starts

picking at some invisible lint on my rib cage, pinching my side when I try to wiggle away. Instead of
arguing, I just frown down at the top of her dark curly head. Julian and I are the spitting image of her,
me being an almost clone-like copy. Even behind the scowl she’s always giving me, she really is
beautiful, a softer kind of beauty I’d love to achieve some day.
With a wave of her hand she instructs us to follow her, still tutting under her breath about how
great we look as she exits the room. I quickly grab my chunky black wedges, my bare feet padding
softly on the carpeted stairs as I join her and Julian in the living room below. Sitting on the edge of
the couch, I slip my heels on, noticing I haven’t seen my dad yet. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at the Lucianos’,” Mom says, her phone at face level as she swipes around on the screen.

“Which reminds me, I’ll need you to drive one of the cars there for him.” She looks at me over the
phone, waiting for my responding nod before handing her phone off to Julian in a huff. “I don’t know
how to work this piece of junk. Open it up so I can get a picture before you leave.”
She’s waving impatiently at him as he closes the hundreds of apps she had up in the background,
rolling her eyes instead of listening when he tries to show her the button on the front screen. “That
wasn’t there or I would have seen it. Now, go stand by your sister.”
After fifteen solid minutes of getting yelled at for not posing properly, my mother finally lets us get
out the door. “Go, have fun. Be Good.” She eyes my brother with the last bit.
Julian just chuckles, walking into the garage to get into his car while I grab the keys for Dad’s
black SUV. “Bye, Mom.” I wave at her before catching Julian’s attention. “I’ll meet you at the dance.

I’ll just have Dad drop me off.”

He gives me a peace sign, already backing out of the space. “Later, gators.”

Leaving the SUV in the driveway, I walk up the stone steps of the Luciano residence, taking a seat
on the cold tile once I’ve reached the top. Of course my mother made me come here. I swear she
knows I can’t stand Remy, yet she sends me over here every chance she gets.

“You look nice tonight, Bev.” My head rises to see Gavino coming from the house, and I smile,
looking down at my dress.
“Thank you.” He sits down beside me and I prop my elbow on my knee, cheek in hand. “Prom is
tonight.”
A piece of light brown hair drops over his brow as he smiles over at me. “I didn’t think you’d
want to go to that.”
Shrugging in response, I let out a sigh. “I don’t really. But I knew Julian would try and skip it
because I was, and that’s not fair to him.”

“I’m not busy tonight,” Gavino says, drawing my attention from where it had wandered to the tree
line. “We can do something instead? I saw that the new movie you said you wanted to see was playing
at the theater.”
I smile at the idea. It definitely sounds better than going to prom. My smile falters just a tad. “Do
you think Julian will care that I’m ditching him?”
Gavino chuckles, shaking his head. “Not based on his last Instagram post.” He leans to the side,
his shoulder bumping mine as he pulls his phone out from his pocket.
After a moment of swiping, he brings up Julian’s post, smiling as he moves his phone so that I can
see the screen. I snort, watching the boomerang of Julian raising a bottle of champagne in the back of
someone’s limo.

It certainly doesn’t look like I’ll be missed.

“He’s always been the life of the party.”

Hearing the crunch of gravel in the driveway, we both look up at the SUV coming from the back

garage.
Fuck me.
Remy stops, his eyes flicking between me and Gavino, rolling his window down. “Your dad is at
the cabin still.”

I bite my cheek. Great. Who knows how long he’ll be up there. I would bet anything my mother
somehow planned this. “Thanks for letting me know.” When it doesn’t look as if he’s leaving, I add,
“You can go now.”
Gavino grunts back a chuckle.
As usual, Remy doesn’t listen to a thing I say, getting out of his car instead. “Where are you going?
I can drop you off.” He leans back against the closed door, inked arms crossing at his chest.
Staring down at him for just a beat too long, I don’t know what to tell him. I look at Gavino before
answering, “It’s fine. Gavino and I were going to see a movie.”
“You and Gavino, huh?” I hear the long breath he lets out, watching him pull a Zippo from his back

pocket, lighting a cigarette a moment later. “Don’t you have other plans, brother?”
My gut churns at the tension in the air, the hair on my arms rising with every passing second. My
fingers run over the skirt of my dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as the silence between us
grows. I’ve never understood their relationship, but it always makes me uncomfortable.
Gavino stands, drawing my attention. “You’re right.” His eyes find my confused frown, lips ticking
up at the corner in an attempt to ease any worry. “Sorry, Bev, I totally forgot.”
“Oh,” I finally say, swallowing as I shake my head. “You’re fine. We’ll go see that film another
time.”
“You got it,” he says, his smile fading as he looks at Remy. He gives him a curt nod before turning
and walking back inside of the house. The sound of the door closing is loud, the brass knocker

banging lightly as my eyes find Remy still leaning against his car door.

“Now that you don’t have plans,” smoke blows through his nose as he speaks, disappearing into
the night air as I purse my lips at him, “just get in the fucking car, Beverly.”

He has the perfect bad-boy image wrapped in an actual bad-boy life. Almost black hair shaved
short on the sides and longer on top, a light scruff on his face, covered in an array of dark ink all
painted across a body that’s hard as rock and scarred from his job—a job he does exceptionally well
at.

It’s annoying to me how attractive I find him.

I bristle at his tone, my fingers finding the edge of my skirt. “I don’t like to be told what to do,
Remy.” My eyes narrow on him and his smirk. “So why don’t you kiss my ass?”
He stands from the car, more smoke blown into the sky as he glares up at me. The honey tone of his
eyes glimmers in the light from the porch, making them look softer than usual. A trick of the light that
vanishes when he takes a step closer. He drops the cigarette onto the gravel, crunching it beneath his
boot, and I scramble to stand up, looking down at him as he responds with, “Get in the car on your
own or you can kiss mine while I toss you into the back.”
I scoff, but my gut coils.

There is no doubt in my mind that this heathen of a man would do just as he threatens.
After a brief silent standoff I give in, hands clenched into fists as I stomp down the steps. He picks
up his cigarette butt and sticks it in his pocket, watching as I toss my dad’s SUV keys into the cab’s
open window as I pass. Heels crunching around the front of Remy’s car, my eyes briefly meet his as
we open the car doors in unison.
My velvet skirt rises as I settle into the leather seat and I nervously tug it lower on my thighs,
frowning over at Remy as his eyes trail along my outfit until he meets my narrowed gaze. I clear my
throat when he says nothing, his slow perusal making my skin feel hot. “Can I help you?”
He shifts the car into drive, pulling forward and driving for far too long with his eyes on me
before looking at the road ahead of us. “You were going to the movies dressed like that?”

“No.” I swallow, feeling my skin grow hot under his attention. “Prom. It’s being held at the

Addison.”
He hums, honey eyes finding mine for just a moment. “You’re not going to that either.”

Crossing my arms, my skin prickles under his gaze in a way that makes me uncomfortable, anger
burning along my ribs. “Excuse me?” I raise my brow at his profile before continuing, “That’s not for
you to decide, actually.”
“You don’t have a date,” he says, the tone of his voice telling me that he’s annoyed with just the

idea of me having one, evening knowing I don’t. “And you still want to go?”
Looking out the window instead of his face, I consider not answering him, but eventually do,
resting the back of my head against the headrest. “Not really, no.” I’m not sure why I tell him that, but
it’s not like it really matters if he knows—he already said I wasn’t going. “That’s why I was going to
go to the movies with Gavino instead.” I roll my head to face him when he doesn’t immediately
respond like I thought he would.
He’s already looking at me. “You want to spend tonight with me, though, yeah?”
A small snorting laugh escapes my chest. “Full offense, Remy, but I don’t particularly like
spending time with you.”

His dimple winks at me in response. “Is that a yes or no, Bev.”

I sigh, looking out the front windshield instead of him when I answer, “I suppose.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and gravelly as it fills the small space between us. It’s annoying how
much I like it. It’s not the first time just the two of us have hung out together, one of many actually, but
it’s almost always because it was forced on us by our parents. Even so, he still has a way of making
me nervous.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask, biting my lip at the silence that stretches after the question.
The smirk in his voice makes my heart pound. “To get a tattoo.”
I can’t get a tattoo, my mother will kill me.
 “Based on the way you said it, I’m assuming you think I won’t get one.” I look back over at him,

his face glowing intermittently with the passing lights. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, fingers

lightly shaking in my lap. The challenge hanging between us. I surprise myself when I say, “Once
again you’d be wrong.”

“No, you’re definitely getting one.” My gut coils. “And I’m picking it out,” he adds with smirk.
The “hell no” about to come out of my mouth is interrupted by him saying, “Last time we spent quality
time together, you made me buy you two hundred dollars’ worth of candy because you didn’t know it
was priced per ounce.” I almost snort at the way he said “quality” but keep it in. His eyes find mine at

a stoplight. “Then you puked it all back up after insisting I do donuts in the parking lot to get back at
them for ripping you off. So, I’m picking out your tattoo.”
Popping my lips with feigned nonchalance, I roll my eyes when he raises a brow. “Fine. But
you’re paying for it.”
He just laughs, the sound yanking at the corners of my lips with his. “I always pay.”

“I will be pissed if you let them tattoo something stupid,” I mumble as he flicks through a book of

tattoo designs, ignoring me as I walk around the small parlor. “What are you getting?”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me, slapping the book closed and raising two fingers. Someone
magically appearing to help him, like always.
“Aaahh, Luciano, back for more?” The voice comes from a man wearing what I imagine a
lumberjack would, with a thick goatee, gauges, and a sleeve of tattoos that extends to the left side of
his head. His eyes find me before Remy can answer. “Who’s this? A friend?” He winks at Remy with
the question and I scrunch my nose.
Remy says “Yes” at the same time I say “No,” and the man laughs.
“All right, what’re we doing then?” he asks Remy, motioning for us to follow him.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kira Kiralina
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Kira Kiralina

Adrien Zograftin ensimmäinen kertomus

Author: Panait Istrati

Translator: Anna Silfverblad

Release date: November 17, 2023 [eBook #72153]

Language: Finnish

Original publication: Helsinki: Kust.Oy Kirja, 1926

Credits: Tuula Temonen

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KIRA

KIRALINA ***
KIRA KIRALINA

Adrien Zograffin ensimmäinen kertomus

Kirj.

PANAIT ISTRATI

Kahdennestakymmenennestä painoksesta tekijän luvalla

suomentanut

Anna Silfverblad

Helsingissä, Kustannusosakeyhtiö Kirja, 1926.

SISÄLLYS:

Esipuhe
I. Stavro
II. Kira Kiralina
III. Dragomir
ESIPUHE

Tammikuun alkupäivinä vuonna 1921 sain kirjeen eräästä Nizzan

sairaalasta. Se oli löydetty erään onnettoman taskusta, joka oli
yrittänyt päättää päivänsä leikkaamalla poikki kurkkunsa. Hänen
toipumisestaan ei ollut paljoakaan toiveita. Luin, ja sisällön
ryöppyävä nerokkuus teki minuun syvän vaikutuksen. Polttava
tuulenhenki yli lakeuden. Se oli balkanilaisen uuden Gorkin
tunnustus. Hänet onnistuttiin pelastamaan. Halusin tutustua häneen.
Kehkeysi kirjeenvaihto. Meistä tuli ystävät.

Hänen nimensä on Istrati. Hän on syntynyt Brailassa vuonna

1884. Isä, jota hän ei koskaan ole tuntenut, oli kreikkalainen
salakuljettaja, äiti kaunis romanialainen talonpoikaisnainen, joka
omisti koko työteliään elämänsä poikansa hyväksi. Huolimatta
kiintymyksestä äitiinsä hän jätti tämän kaksitoistavuotiaana, mihin
hänet pakoitti kiertolaisveri tai paremminkin polttava tarve tuntea
elämää ja rakastaa. Nyt seuraa kaksikymmentä vuotta
kulkurielämää, omituisia seikkailuja, uuvuttavaa työtä, toimetonta
harhailua ja kärsimyksiä, milloin helteessä, milloin sateessa,
koditonna, yövahtien ahdistelemana, nälkiintyneenä, sairaana,
intohimojen raatelemana ja kurjuuden nääntämänä. Hän tuntee
kaikki ammatit, on tarjoilijana, sokerileipurina, lukkoseppänä,
mekanikkona, rautatietyöläisenä, lastaajana, palvelijana, maalarina,
sanomalehtimiehenä, valokuvaajana. Hän ottaa jonkun aikaa osaa
vallankumouksellisiin liikkeisiin. Hän samoilee Egyptissä, Syyriassa,
Jaffassa, Beirutissa, Damaskuksessa ja Libanonissa, Itämailla,
Kreikassa ja Italiassa, usein tyhjin kukkaroin, joskus piilottautuen
laivoihin, mistä hänet matkalla keksitään ja heitetään rannalle
lähimmällä pysähdyspaikalla. Hän on putipuhdas, mutta tallettaa
sydämeensä kokonaisen maailman muistoja, ja usein tyynnyttää
nälkänsä lukien ahmimalla etenkin venäläisiä mestareita ja
länsimaisia kirjailijoita.

Hän on synnynnäinen kertoja, itämainen kertoja, joka haltioituu ja

heltyy omista tarinoistaan ja viehättyy niihin siinä määrin, että hänen
kerran alotettuaan ei kukaan tiedä, yhtävähän kuin hän itsekään,
kestääkö tarina tunnin vaiko tuhannen ja yksi yötä. Mutkitteleva
Tonava… Tämä kertojaluonto on niin vastustamaton, että kirjeessä,
joka on kirjoitettu itsemurhan aattona, hän pari kertaa keskeyttää
epätoivoiset vaikerruksensa kertoakseen pari huvittavaa tapahtumaa
menneen elämänsä ajalta.

Minä sain hänet taivutetuksi kirjoittamaan muistiin osan näistä

kertomuksista. Hän on ryhtynyt aikaakysyvään työhön. Siinä on kuva
hänen elämästään, ja teoksen, kuten hänen elämänsäkin, voisi
omistaa Ystävyydelle, joka tässä miehessä on pyhä intohimo. Pitkin
matkaa hän pysähtyy muistelemaan kohtaamiansa henkilöitä; kukin
heistä kätkee itseensä kohtalonsa arvoituksen, josta hän tahtoo
päästä selville. Ja romaanin jokainen luku muodostaa novellin.
Kolme, neljä lukemaani novellia on venäläisten mestarien veroisia.
Hän eroaa heistä temperamenttiinsa, henkensä kirkkauteen ja
selväpiirteisyyteen nähden, tuohon murheelliseen hilpeyteen
nähden, joka on kertojan ilo ja keventää ahdistettua sydäntä.
 Muistettakoon vielä, että mies, joka on kirjoittanut nämä niin
eloisat sivut, omin päin opetteli seitsemän vuotta sitten
ranskankielen lukemalla klassikoltamme.

Romain Rolland.

Te olette sitä mieltä — samoinkuin ystävämme Romain Rolland'kin

— että minun pitäisi muutamin rivein selostaa sitä pääaihetta, joka
kulkee läpi kirjojeni.

Itse en ole koskaan tullut ajatelleeksi, että minun pitäisi selittää

jotakin tässä suhteessa. En ole ammattikirjailija, eikä minusta
koskaan tule sellaista. Villeneuve'in ihmiskalastaja [Romain Rolland]
sai minut sattumalta onkeensa yhteiskunnan valtameren
pohjavesistä. Olen hänen työtään. Voidakseni elää toisen elämäni,
tarvitsin hänen rakkauttaan, ja saadakseni tämän lämpimän,
sydämellisen rakkauden osakseni hän vaati minua kirjoittamaan.
»En odota teiltä haltioituneita kirjeitä», hän kirjoitti minulle, »odotan
teosta. Luokaa sellainen, oleellisempi kuin te itse, pysyvämpi kuin te
itse, teos, joka teissä jo on kätkettynä».

Tämä piiska selässäni — ja niiden kaurojen ravitsemana, joita

ystäväni Georges Jonesco auliisti minulle tarjosi — aloin lasketella
täyttä ravia. Adrien Zograffin kertomukset ovat meidän kolmen
ansiota. Jätettynä yksikseni en olisi kyennyt muuhun kuin talojen
maalaamiseen, valokuvaamiseen taivasalla ja muuhun sellaiseen,
mihin kuka tahansa pystyy.

Adrien Zograffi on tällä hetkellä vain nuori mies, joka rakastaa

Itämaita. Itseoppinut, joka löytää Sorbonnen, missä haluaa. Hän
elää, uneksii, halajaa monenmoista. Uskaltaapa hän myöhemmin
väittää, että monet ihmisten ja luojan luomukset ovat pahasta.
Tiedän, että on hyvin vaarallista nousta luojaa ja sellaisia ihmisiä
vastaan, jotka eivät maalaa rakennuksia eivätkä harjoita
ammattinaan valokuvaamista »Promenade des Anglais'lla», mutta te
ranskalaiset sanotte, että on mahdotonta olla mielin kielin koko
maailman ja isänsä kanssa. Toivon kuitenkin, että tämä röyhkeys
suodaan Adrienille anteeksi. Sillä pitäen kiinni vapaudestaan hän
rohkenee vielä toistamiseen olla uskalikko, nimittäin rakastaa, ja olla
aina ja kaikkialla kaikkien niiden ystävä, joilla on sydäntä. Sitä on
vähän, mutta Adrien ei usko, että ihmisyys on niin rajaton kuin
luullaan.

Sillä välin kun me kuuntelemme hänen tarinaansa, kuuntelee hän

itse nyt vain, mitä muut kertovat. Kuunnelkaamme hänen kanssaan,
jos suvaitsette.

Panait Istrati.
STAVRO

Adrienin pää oli täynnä sekavia mietteitä hänen kulkiessaan

Brailassa pitkin Jumalan Äidin bulevardia, joka johtaa
samannimisestä kirkosta Kansanpuistoon. Puiston portille
saavuttuaan hän pysähtyi hämmentyneenä ja kiukuissaan.

»Oli miten oli!» hän huudahti ääneensä. »Enhän enää ole lapsi!…
Ja luulenpa olevani oikeutettu ajattelemaan elämästä miten haluan».

Kello oli kuusi illalla. Oli arkipäivä. Puiston kummallekin pääportille

johtavat käytävät olivat melkein autiot. Ilta-aurinko kultasi hiekan,
sireenipensaiden jo verhoutuessa yön hämärään. Yölepakot
lentelivät sinne tänne, kuin vainottuina. Penkit käytävien vierillä olivat
miltei tyhjät, paitsi puiston etäisimmissä kolkissa, missä nuoret parit
painautuivat liki toisiaan ja muuttuivat vakaviksi häiritsevien
ohikulkijoiden lähestyessä. Adrien ei kiinnittänyt huomiota
ainoaankaan vastaantulijaan. Hän hengitti mielihyvin puhdasta
ilmaa, joka kohosi äsken kostutetusta hiekasta ja johon sekoittui
kukkien tuoksua, ja ajatteli sitä, mitä ei voinut ymmärtää.

Hän ei ymmärtänyt nimenomaan sitä vastenmielisyyttä, jota hänen

äitinsä osoitti hänen valitsemaansa seuraa kohtaan,
vastenmielisyyttä, joka vastikään oli aiheuttanut kiivaan
sananvaihdon äidin ja hänen ainoan poikansa välillä. Adrien tuumi
näin:

»Hänen mielestään Mikael on muukalainen, epäilyttävä heittiö,

sokerileipuri Kir Nikolain palvelija. Entä mitä sitten?… Mitä minä
olen?… Maalari, ja kaiken lisäksi saman sokerileipurin entinen
palvelija!… Ja jos joskus matkaisin vieraille maille, pidettäisiinkö
minua siellä muitta mutkitta heittiönä».

Kiihtyneenä hän polkaisi jalkaansa:

»Tuhat tulimmaista! Se on kurjaa vääryyttä Mikael-parkaa

kohtaan. Minä pidän tuosta miehestä siksi, että hän on minua
viisaampi ja kokeneempi, ja että hän nurkumatta kärsii kurjuutta.
Mitä? Siksikö, ettei hän kuuluta katoilta nimeään, maataan ja
puuttuvien hampaittensa lukua, siksikö hän on vain heittiö?… No
niin, minäpä tahdon olla tuon heittiön ystävä!… Ja tunnenkin olevani
siitä oikein onnellinen».

Adrien jatkoi koneellisesti matkaansa, punniten samalla

mielessään kaikkea, mitä hänen äitinsä oli sanonut. Ja kaikki tuntui
hänestä mielettömältä.

»Ja entä tuo naimahanke? Olen vasta kahdeksantoistavuotias, ja

hän aikoo jo sälyttää niskoilleni jonkun hölmön, hölmön, ehkäpä
kaniinin, joka näännyttäisi minut hellyydellään ja muuttaisi huoneeni
kaatopaikaksi. Jumalani!… Luulisipa, ettei ole mitään nerokkaampaa
maan päällä kuin munia pieniä tyhmyreitä, täyttää maa orjilla ja tulla
itse tuon roskajoukon ensimäiseksi orjaksi. Ei, ei!… Pidän enemmän
Mikaelin tapaisesta ystävästä, olkoonpa hän vaikka
kymmenkertaisesti epäilty. Mitä siihen moitteeseen tulee, että
»vedän ihmisiä kielestä saadakseni heidät puhumaan», en
tosiaankaan tiedä, miksi niin mielelläni »vedän ihmisiä kielestä».
Ehkä siksi, että valkeus tulee väkevien puheista, kuten Jumalankin,
joka sanoi: 'Tulkoon valkeus!', ja valkeus tuli».

Keväisen illan hiljaisuuden katkaisi äkkiä laivan höyrypillin viiltävä

ääni, havauttaen nuoren miehen ajatuksistaan, samalla kun hän
tunsi voimakkaan ruusun ja neilikan tuoksun tulvahtavan vastaansa.

Adrien suuntasi askeleensa suurelle kävelytielle, joka kiertää

ylängön laitaa ja josta näkee yli sataman ja Tonavan. Hetkiseksi hän
pysähtyi katselemaan tuhansia valoja, jotka tuikkivat satamassa
ankkuroivista laivoista, ja hänen rinnassaan heräsi vastustamaton
matkahalu:

»Jumalani! Kuinka ihanaa mahtaisikaan olla matkata tuollaisilla

laivoilla, jotka kyntävät meriä ja alati löytävät uusia rantoja, uusia
maailmoita!»

Suruissaan siitä, ettei voinut antaa valtaa mieliteolleen, hän lähti

allapäin jatkamaan matkaansa. Silloin hän kuuli huudettavan
takanaan:

»Adrien!…»

Hän kääntyi katsomaan. Penkillä, jonka ohi hän juuri oli kulkenut,
istui mies tupakoiden. Likinäköisyys ja hämärä estivät Adrienia
tuntemasta häntä. Mies ei noussut, ja Adrien lähestyi häntä hiukan
vastahakoisesti, ja huudahti sitten riemusta:

»Stavro!…»

He kättelivät toisiaan, ja Adrien istahti hänen viereensä.

 Stavro, kulkukauppias — yleisemmin tunnettu nimellä
»mehusaksa», myymänsä aineen mukaisesti — oli Adrienin äidin
pikkuserkku, ja aikoinaan hyvin tunnettu ilmiö esikaupunkien
huimapäiden kesken; menneet kolmekymmentä vuotta ja silloin
sattunut häväistysjuttu ovat nyt haudanneet hänet unholaan.

Hän oli kooltaan yli keskimitan, kasvoiltaan kalpea, hyvin laiha ja

hyvin ryppyinen. Hänen suuret siniset silmänsä, toisinaan avoimet ja
vilpittömät, toisinaan epäluotettavat ja pälyilevät, milloin mitenkin,
kuvastivat Stavron koko elämää. Häilyvää, levotonta elämää, johon
hänet saattoi kummallinen kulkuriluonne ja jota hänen
viidennestäkolmatta ikävuodestaan alkaen synkisti yhteiskunnan
murheellinen väliintulo (johtuen avioliitosta rikkaan, sievän ja
tunteilevan tytön kanssa), yhteiskunnan, jonka ulkopuolelle hän
vuotta myöhemmin joutui häväistynä, sydän rikkirevittynä, luonne
turmeltuneena.

Adrien tunsi hämärästi hänen tarinansa. Hänen äitinsä oli kertonut

sen hänelle kajoamatta yksityiskohtiin, varoittavana esimerkkinä
paheellisesta elämästä. Mutta Adrien teki siitä aivan päinvastaiset
johtopäätökset. Ja useammin kuin kerran hän oli sisäisen vaistonsa
vetämänä lähestynyt Stavroa, niinkuin lähestytään soittokonetta,
jonka ääntä halutaan kuulla; soittokone oli vaiennut.

Muuten he olivat tavanneet toisiaan vain pari kolme kertaa, aina

ulkosalla. Hänen äitinsä koti oli suljettu Stavrolta, niinkuin kaikki
kunnialliset kodit. Mitäpä sanottavaa olisikaan ollut halveksitulla
kulkukauppiaalla tälle hemmoitellulle pojalle?

Stavro oli kaiken kansan silmissä suurveijari, ja se hän todella

olikin ja tahtoi olla. Hoitamattomana ja puku rypistyneenä, vaikka se
olisikin ollut uusi, näöltään puolittain maalaisena, puolittain
kaupunkilaisena, paita silittämättä ja kauluksettomana, ilmeeltään
kuin hevosvaras, hän käytteli kieltään ja elehti tavalla, mikä huvitti
ihmisiä, mutta samalla alensi häntä ja saattoi hänet ylenkatsotuksi.

Hän sinkautti keskellä katua tuttavilleen pilkkanimiä, jotka eivät

koskaan olleet ilkeitä. Monet heistä saivat pitääkin ne. Jos joku
miellytti häntä, pyysi hän hänet kanssaan kahvilaan, tilasi puolikkaan
viiniä, ja juotuaan pistäytyi ulos muka jollekin asialle, jääden sille
tielleen. Jos joku vastaantulija pidätti häntä liian kauan, saattoi hän
huudahtaa:

»Se ja se henkilö odottaa sinua siinä ja siinä kahvilassa; mene

pian!…»

Mutta eniten huvittivat Adrienia tzirs'ien [eräänlainen savustettu

silli] päät ja Stavron tupakkakotelot. Puhellessaan jonkun kanssa
hän veti taskustaan tuollaisen kuivaneen kalanpään, jonka kita
ammotti selkoselällään, ja tartutti sen hiljaa puhetoverinsa
takinliepeeseen. Mies jatkoi matkaansa katua pitkin, kalanpää
tarrautuneena takin helmaan, ohikulkijoiden suureksi riemuksi.

Kukkarojuttu oli vieläkin parempi. Kuten tunnettua, on itämailla

tapana, milloin haluaa kiertää itselleen savukkeen, pyytää tupakkaa
niiltä, joiden seurassa sattuu olemaan. Stavro ei hidastellut kääntyä
ensimäisen vastaantulijan puoleen. Mutta sensijaan että hän,
käytettyään tupakkakoteloa hyväkseen, olisi kiittäen antanut sen
takaisin omistajalle, hän pisti sen omaan taskuunsa, minkä läpi se
heti liukui maahan. Silloin hän kiiruhti nostamaan sen ylös, pyyhkieli
sitä, pyyteli anteeksi, ja tahtoen muka panna sen omistajansa
laskuun, hän antoi sen sujahtaa ohi. Nikkeli- tai pahvikotelo putosi
jälleen kadulle.
 »Ah, kuinka kömpelö olenkaan», huudahti Stavro.

»Ei mitään», vastasi tavallisesti ilveilyn uhri, tutkien

vahingoittunutta koteloa, läsnäolijoiden vääntelehtiessä naurusta.

Mutta kerran vahingoittamiansa koteloita Stavro ei enää

toistamiseen nähnyt.

Näin Adrien oli alkanut pitää tästä miehestä hänen ilveilyjensä

vuoksi. Eräät omituiset seikat kuitenkin häiritsivät ja kiusasivat häntä:
joskus, kesken kujeilun ja hullutusten, Stavro kääntyi vakavana
Adrieniin päin, upottaen hänen silmiinsä kirkkaan, tyynen ja ylvään
katseen, jollaisen me luomme vasikan hyviin ja typeriin silmiin. Silloin
hän tunsi itsensä vähäiseksi tämän kulkukauppiaan rinnalla, tuo
oppimaton mies lumosi hänet. Tämä oli hänestä selittämätöntä, ja
hän ryhtyi tekemään huomioita. Mutta tilaisuutta sattui harvoin.
Salaperäinen ja häiritsevä katse, jota Adrien salaa nimitti »toiseksi
Stavroksi», näyttäytyi harvoin, ja vain hänelle.

Mutta eräänä päivänä — kymmenen kuukautta ennen tuota

tapaamista puistossa — saattaessaan Stavroa maustekauppiaan,
vanhan, äreän kreikkalaisen, luo, jolta tämä osti sokerin ja sitruunat,
hän näki yhtäkkiä »toisen Stavron» edessään. Adrien iski silmänsä
hänen silmiinsä.

He olivat kolmisin tuossa huonosti valaistussa kaupassa, kun

Stavro, kasvojen rypyt ikäänkuin silenneinä, piirteet pehmenneinä,
silmissään avoin, luja ja kirkas ilme katsoi yrmeään ja äänettömään
maustekauppiaaseen ja sanoi arasti, mutta päättävästi, toisen
nyökätessä myönnytellen päätään:
 »Kir Margulis… Ajat ovat huonot… Ei ole lämmintä eikä kukaan
osta virvokkeita… Syön säästöjäni ja teidän sokerianne… Mutta
olemmehan yhtä mieltä? Tämän kerran vielä saan maksutta, eikö
niin? Sopimus on entinen: jos kuolen, menetätte kymmenen
frangia».

Ja kauppias, tuo saituri, mutta ihmistuntija, myönsi luottoa, tarjoten

kätensä, joka oli yhtä kuiva kuin hänen elämänsäkin.

Ostokset kainalossa Stavro ulos tultuaan lasketteli

sanasutkauksia, taputteli joitakin tuttavia olalle ja hyppi yhdellä
jalalla.

»Minä puijasin häntä, Adrien, minä puijasin häntä!» suhahti hän

nuorukaisen korvaan.

»Ethän toki, Stavro!» vastusti Adrien, »et sinä häntä puijannut.

Sinä maksat takaisin!…

»Niinpä niin, Adrien, minä maksan, jollen kuole. Ja jos kuolen, niin
maksaahan piru!…»

»Jos kuolet… Se on toista… Mutta sinä sanot puijanneesi häntä,

ja sehän olisi epärehellistä».

»Kenties olenkin epärehellinen…»

»Et ole, Stavro, haluat vain pettää minua; sinä et ole

epärehellinen!»

Stavro pysähtyi äkkiä, työnsi seuralaisensa aitausta vasten, ja

kasvojen saadessa hetkiseksi tuon peloittavan ja ylpeän ilmeen, hän
sinkautti Adrienille päin naamaa:
 »Niin, olen epärehellinen!… Ikävä kyllä, Adrian, olen hyvin
epärehellinen!…»

Ja näin sanottuaan hän kääntyi menemään. Mutta jonkinlaisen

kauhun valtaamana Adrien tarttui hänen takkinsa rintapieliin, pidätti
hänet, ja huudahti tukahtuneella äänellä:

»Pysähdy, Stavro! Nyt sinun on sanottava minulle totuus!… Näen

sinussa kaksi olentoa; kumpi on oikea, hyväkö vai paha?»

Stavro vastusteli:

»En tiedä».

Ja riistäytyen rajusti Adrienin käsistä hän huusi suuttuneena:

»Jätä minut rauhaan!» Arvellen loukanneensa nuorukaista hän

vasta etäämpää lisäsi:

»Sanon sen sinulle, kunhan korvantauksesi ovat! kuivat».

Senjälkeen he eivät olleet nähneet toisiaan. Maaliskuusta

lokakuuhun Stavro kierteli markkinoilta markkinoille, ja myyskenteli
talvisin paahdettuja kastanjoita Jumala ties missä. Brailassa hän kävi
vain ostoksilla.

*****

Tavatessaan hänet tuona päivänä puiston penkillä Adrien oli yhtä

tyytyväinen kuin lienevät joet saadessaan yhtyä virtoihin ja virrat
kadotessaan merten helmaan.

Stavro oli vastoin tapaansa vaitelias, mikä etenkin miellytti

Adrienia. Viimeksimainittu tarkasteli häntä illan kelmeässä valossa ja
huomasi hänen olevan entisellään. Kukaan ei olisi voinut tarkalleen
arvata hänen ikäänsä. Mutta Adrien huomasi, että vaalea tukka alkoi
ohimoilta vivahtaa hopealle.

»Miksi katselet minua noin?» kysyi Stavro närkästyneenä. »En ole

myytävänä».

»Tiedän sen, mutta halusin nähdä, oletko vielä nuori, vai jo

vanha».

»Olen nuori ja vanha niinkuin varpuset…»

»Se on totta, sinä oletkin varpunen, Stavro!» Hetken vaiti oltuaan,

hän jatkoi:

»Etkö haluaisi tupakkakoteloani, saadaksesi pudottaa sen

maahan? Se ehkä muistuttaisi sinulle, että olen aina utelias
tietämään, mistä tulet ja mihin menet, ja kuinka kauppa sujuu».

»Ei paljoakaan merkitse, mistä tulen ja mihin menen, mutta

kauppa sujuu melko hyvin. Tällä haavaa olen kuitenkin hiukan
pulassa, poikaseni».

Ja hän taputteli Adrienia polvelle.

»Sellaista sattunee sinulle harvoin», vastasi tämä.

»Ja miksi olet pulassa, vanha veikko? Ovatko sitruunat käyneet

harvinaisiksi?»

»Ei, eivät sitruunat, mutta entisajan 'rehelliset katupojat'».

»Rehelliset katupojatko!» huudahti Adrien, »sehän on sanaleikkiä

eiväthän katupojat voi olla rehellisiä.
 »Luuletko tosiaankin niin? Minä tunnen useita sellaisia».

Stavro istui etukumarassa, tuijottaen maahan. Adrien tunsi hänen

puhuvan vakavissaan ja halusi kuulla lisää, mutta edeten varovasti
hän sanoi:

»Voisitko ilmaista minulle, mihin tarkoitukseen tarvitsisit sellaista

katupoikaa?»

»Seuraamaan mukanani S:n markkinoille ensi torstaina. En tosin

häntä tarvitse, mutta olisihan niinkuin oli ennenkin. Tiedäthän, että
minun on tapana asettua torilla sokerileipurin viereen, joka paistaa
ohukaisia. Talonpojat syövät, tulevat janoisiksi, ja siinä olen minä
virvokkeineni. Tarvittaessa hyppysellinen suolaa ohukaistaikinaan…
(Näethän, että olen epärehellinen!…) No niin, sokerileipurini on Kir
Nikolai…»

»Kir Nikolai!» huudahti ällistynyt Adrien.

»Naapurinne, entinen isäntäsi. Mutta nyt tullaan asiaan: hän ei voi

jättää paistinuuniaan ja tulla torille. Siksipä tarvitaan »rehellinen
katupoika» hänen palvelijansa Mikaelin avuksi kokoamaan maksuja,
toisen käännellessä ohukaisia öljyssä. Kokonaista kaksi päivää olen
etsinyt »rehellistä katupoikaa».

Vakavana ja suruissaan Stavro päätteli lopuksi:

»Yhä harvemmin ja harvemmin tapaa Brailassa miehiä!»

Adrien tunsi helpotusta. Hän hypähti seisoalleen »mehusaksan»

eteen ja sanoi:

»Stavro! Kelpaanko minä tuoksi rehelliseksi katupojaksi?»

 Kaupustelija kohotti päätään:

»Tarkoitatko totta?…»

»Kautta rehellisen katupojan kunnian! Minä seuraan teitä!»

Stavro ponnahti pystyyn kuin simpanssi ja huudahti:

»Paiskaahan kättä, sinä lemmensairaan romaniattaren ja

vallattoman seikkailijan poika!… Olet esivanhempiesi kunniakas
jälkeläinen…»

»Mitäpä sinä tietäisit esivanhemmistani?»

»Oh, ainakin sen, että he varmasti olivat kelpo katupoikia!»

Tämän sanottuaan Stavro syleili maalaria, ja tarttuen häntä

käsipuolesta vei hänet mukaansa, sanoen:

»Nyt pian kertomaan Nikolaille tämä hyvä uutinen!… Lähdemme

viimeistään huomeniltana, sunnuntaina, ehtiäksemme S:ään
tiistaiaamuksi varaamaan itsellemme hyvän paikan. Sinne on päivän
ja kahden yön hevosmatka. Hevonen kulkee käyden tai juosta
hölkyttelee voimiensa ja majapaikoissa meille tarjottujen viinien
laadun mukaan».

*****

Markkinakaupustelijan ja hänen toverinsa ilmestyminen

sokerileipurin luo aiheutti tiukan keskustelun. Kir Nikolai ymmärsi
Stavron äänekkäästä elehtimisestä, että tämä oli mielestään tehnyt
oikean löydön; Stavro lasketteli turkinkielellä sellaisen sanatulvan,
että henkeä salpasi. Mikael, joka oli perillä asiasta, sekaantui riitaan,