Roman Sokolov

I was twenty-six years old, the heir to the Bratva in the United States. My father had been sent here years ago to establish a Russian presence, to expand our power beyond Europe. I had grown up in his shadow, learning everything, earning my place. I was his second in command now, waiting for the day he would finally hand control over to me. Lately, we had stepped further into the public eye. Politics in Boston, business deals, influence. I was the face of it all. Too visible, according to my father. He said my image needed softening. A wife would make me look stable, respectable. Human. The opportunity came faster than expected. The Italian mafia had a daughter, a young woman, barely out of high school and her father, Luca Vitale, was eager to marry her off to secure an alliance. My f