“Sit down.” I try not to flinch at the sharp command. Warily, I perch on the edge of the gold embroidered wing back chair on this side of his desk, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. Grand-da steeples his fingers under his chin. “Emilio Ricci is returning to Brooklyn,” he pauses as though this should mean something to me. “In two weeks, you will marry him.” I blink, my brain slow to process what he just said. “What?” “His father and I have come to an agreement. In an effort to strengthen our forces against the Russians, we feel it’s in our best interest to form a familial alliance.” There
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