“How many men have asked you to marry them so far?” he asks through clenched teeth.
I bite my lower lip, wondering how to reply. If I take his question literally, then none. But if he means how many men asked my father for my hand in marriage over the past two years, he won’t like the answer. As a capo’s daughter, I was considered quite a catch. I did say no each time, of course. Half of them I haven’t even met, and most of them were Father’s business associates. Father wasn’t pleased when I systematically rejected each of his partners, but Milene was still a minor then, so he couldn’t use her as blackmail.
Slowly, I lift my right hand with three fingers up, and Mikhail’s eye widens. I bite my lip harder, then add my other hand, all five fingers splayed wide.
“Eight?” he inhales and
