Married To The Russian Mafia Boss

Ava

Finding out my father sold me off to a sadistic Mafia Don to save himself was not how I expected my twenty-first birthday to go.

But alas. Here, I am.

"Are you okay?" My father asks, his voice layered with concern. I turn to observe him, my eyes roaming up and down his slouched shoulders. He was dressed in a black tuxedo one of the men who had brought us in had given him shortly after we arrived at the church. His hair was pushed back, the result of countless hand motions through the balding strands in order to appear much younger than he actually was.

It doesn't work.

"Ava... Please talk to me"

I let out a breath, then pressed my lips together forming a thin line. How exactly did he expect me to answer that?

Oh, of course, Dad, I'm fine; it's great that you sold me to a literal mafia boss to save your life; I totally understand and forgive you.

My lips twist downward at the thought.

My father had sold me to one of the most ruthless men in all of Chicago in order to save his neck and waited until my wedding, which just so happens to be my birthday day, to tell me about it.

Can you believe that? He waited until the day of my literal wedding day, despite knowing for months, to tell me what he had done.

Two of Antonio's men had stormed into my bedroom and forced me and my father into a car before driving us to the chapel where my soon-to-be father-in-law and husband-to-be were waiting.

We were currently in the dressing room, and while my father was doing a terrible job at calming me down, I had resorted to giving him the silent treatment.

My gaze wandered to the mirror, admiring how the ivory fabric of the wedding dress I was given minutes ago hugged my body. I always imagined wearing my mother's wedding dress on my wedding day, but the delicate lace clinging to my curves was nothing like the once-white satin dress buried away along with the rest of my mother's things in the attic.

"You can't remain silent forever. Sooner or later, you're going to have to talk to me." his voice cut through my thoughts, but I couldn't bring myself to reply to him. Instead, I continue to fix my gaze on my dress in the mirror, pretending to be oblivious to his persistence.

His voice rang again, softly this time, "I know this whole arrangement may seem a little... unexpected but you have to understand, this was the only thing he wanted. You were the only thing he wanted."

Il Mercante di Morte. Merchant of death.

It was what the Italian mafia called men like my father.

Men who sold weapons to the mafia in exchange for temporary power, and were too blind to see the inevitable consequences their actions would cause. My father believed he could outsmart men who built their empires on the blood of their enemies and the loyalty of their partners and that was the beginning of his and my downfall.

The Moretti Family was one of the three crime families that operated in Chicago. The families were of Italian, Russian and Irish descent but the Morettis were the most ruthless of them all. Their Leader, Alessandro Moretti, was a man known for his precision and unwavering authority. He ran his business like a well-oiled machine and left no room for screw-ups. Two months ago, my father made the mistake of selling faulty guns to the Moretti Mafia. His actions resulted in the death of three of Alessandro's men. One of which was his nephew.

As you would expect Alessandro wasn't too pleased to find out that the cause of his nephew's death was my father. A life for a life was the number one rule of the mafia and Alessandro was determined to make my father pay with his.

Until he saw me.

Well a picture of me.

On my father's table. He took one look at that picture and decided that I would be the perfect fit for his son.

As his bride.

As twisted as it sounded, Alessandro Moretti believed that forcing my father to give up his only daughter to his son would be punishment enough for my father.

"You sold me." the words fell from my lips before I could stop them. My nails bite into the flesh of my palm as I stare at him through glassy eyes.

He tipped his head back, briefly closing his eyes, "Ava, it isn't like that. Alessandro... this was all he wanted. For you to marry his son. If I hadn't agreed to this he would've killed the both of us. I didn't have a choice."

"You had a choice. You could've chosen not to sell off your only daughter to a monster. But you didn't."

He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, finally meeting my gaze. "Antonio will be good to you. His father will make sure of it."

I almost laughed at how convinced he sounded that Alessandro, a man who was notoriously known for going back on his words, would ensure that his son would treat me well.

As the next in line for his father's role as the head of the Moretti family, Antonio Moretti was as ruthless and vile as they came.

I had heard rumours about my future husband. About how he killed without a second thought and how he was willing to do anything and everything to get what he wanted. He was a murderer and a rapist who spent most of his nights visiting clubs, surrounded by women, alcohol and drugs.

Although his father had spent most of his life preparing him to become the perfect successor, Antonio had fallen short in his path to being the next head of the Moretti Mafia.

It was one of the reasons Antonio's father was desperate to get him married. Alessandro was getting old and Antonio had shown no interest in settling down.

The mafia needed heirs to survive, and since neither of Alessandro's children was interested in marriage, he was forced to play the role of matchmaker in their lives.

A soft knock echoes through the room and I drag my gaze towards the door where it's coming from.

"Two minutes until the ceremony." A voice says.

My shoulder stiffens.

I wait until the footsteps fade away before turning to my father once more.

My heart sinks. I turn to my father, my tone desperate as I beg, "Please don't make me do this."

He had to see that this was wrong. That he was making a mistake.

My father looks away, shoulders slumped as he stands there, defeated. His unspoken reply simmers in the silence.

It's already been done.

My heart hammers against my rib cage as the heavy oak doors of the chapel fall open. Silence falls over the guests as they stand and turn around to witness my entrance.

Breathe, I remind myself because it appears that I have forgotten.

The grand cathedral, adorned with white roses and soft lighting looks like something out of a dream. White rose petals lay scattered across a narrow crimson aisle that ran from the grand entrance down to the altar where my future husband stood.

The sight would've been breathtaking if it wasn't for the tiny knot of dread gnawing at my chest.

My father bent his arm, extending his elbow for me to hold on to. With trembling fingers, I settle my right hand over the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket. The delicate fragrance of roses lingers in the air as my father begins our descent down the aisle.

My eyes sifted through the faces that filled each pew. I had never met any of these people but yet Alessandro had deemed each of them of utmost importance to be in attendance.

I wondered if they were aware of the circumstances surrounding this wedding. Did they even care that they were attending the wedding of a man who had caused suffering to hundreds?

My father mumbles something under his breath, but I pay him no mind. Instead, my gaze finds the man I will soon refer to as my husband in a matter of minutes. He isn't much taller than me. His face is round and chubby and reminds me more of the weirdly shaped potato my brother Aaron found in my mother's garden when we were children. His hair is dark and noticeably thinning with bald spots at the center of his scalp. The buttons of his tux strain around his belly as they try to keep the fabric taut.

He wasn't attractive by any means but I already knew this.

I suppose that's what happens when you're in your late forties and as powerful as Antonio.

You tend to let yourself go.

But none of that bothers me the way his eyes do.

Dark and soulless.

Antonio watches me walk down the aisle with the same predatory intensity as a lion stalking its next prey. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and when Antonio's gaze briefly collides with mine, I see his.

And it makes me sick. Bile rushes up my throat but I push it down.

His gaze never leaves mine, and the closer I get to the altar, the more my heart sinks. An irresistible urge to turn around and run away grows with each passing second, but I know I won't be able to take a single step before a bullet finds its way up the back of my skull.

My father releases my hand once we've reached Antonio and for a moment I allow myself to believe that he has come to his senses and is letting me go but my momentary relief is soon replaced with an unnerving sense of panic as Antonio extends his big grubby palm towards me and without waiting, takes my hand from my father.

The moment His fingers curl around my wrist, a jolt of revulsion shoots through me, I fight the urge to jerk away, forcing myself to accept the unwelcome weight of his touch. From the corner of my eye, I see the handle of a gun sticking out from Antonio's best man's pants.

I swallowed and forced my eyes away from the weapon. Instead, I readjusted my gaze to the balding man in front of me.

The corner of Antonio's lips curl into a cruel, sadistic smirk and he squeezes my hand, the warning he intended clear in his grip.

Try anything and you're dead.

"Smile", comes his cruel voice "It's your wedding day."

I do as he says. Forcing a tight-lipped smile onto my lips. His smirk widens.

"Better," he says and turns to the priest, signalling him to begin the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved," the priest began, "We are gathered here today to join your daughter Ava Blackwood and your son Antonio Moretti in holy Matrimony..."

From the corner of my eye, I find Antonio's eyes locked onto the swell of my breast. He darts his tongue out, licking his bottom lip and disgust knots around my stomach.

The hall is silent when the priests ask if there are any objections. Nobody says a word.

Please, God, save me. Please, God...

The priest turns to me. "Do you, Ava Blackwood, take Antonio Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband as long as you both shall live?"

I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip and open my mouth to say the words I know will seal my fate forever, when a voice erupts from the back of the room, stopping me.

"Well, Well, Well, isn't this lovely?"

The intruder starts, each word accompanied by a deliberate slow clap.

His voice is smooth and deep, sending a shiver through me. Each word is laced with a faint Russian accent, tangling around each syllable that leaves his lips.

Murmurs break out from the audience while I turn around narrowing my eyes, trying to find the cause of the disruption. My breath catches in my throat when my gaze collides with a pair of deep green eyes. There, at the back of the room, stood the most devastatingly handsome man I had ever seen, leaning against the door frame of the exit.

A dim light flickered above him and I watched as the intruder made his way towards us. Something about his presence changed the atmosphere in the room. It consumed me. How easily his presence changed the room. There was something about him that went beyond his height and the impressive bulk of his frame.

Power.

Pretty quickly I concluded that he was one of them.

Except he shouldn't be here.

He wasn't invited.

Yet, there he was.

My lips parted in a gasp as my eyes swept over his features. He was striking, in a dangerously unsettling way. His sharp jawline and neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of calculated refinement, but there was nothing soft about him. He was dressed in a plain white shirt that showed off the planes of his broad shoulders. The fabric clung to his frame and the first two buttons were undone, exposing the patterns of dark ink etched in his skin from the side of his neck to the center of his chest and lower.

An unexpected image of me tracing the curves of the design inscribed in his skin with my finger suddenly flashed through my mind, startling me. I've never been one to fawn over tattoos but on him the ink only added to the allure.

"What is the meaning of this?" Alessandro roared, rising to his feet, his face flushed with rage. A thick vein bulged the side of his neck, pulsing with his anger.

I barely have time to register Antonio's grip on my wrist before he yanks me to his side, his fingers pressing into my skin as he turns to face the stranger.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done." he growled, his voice thick with barely contained rage.

The intruder pauses mid stride. His Green eyes find mine in the midst of the chaos and I freeze.

Those eyes. I've seen them before.

But where?

I frown, urging my brain to recall where I'd seen him and instead come up blank.

"You" it's my father's voice that slices through the tension. His eyes are wide like he's just seen a ghost, except he's looking directly at the intruder, "It can't be... you're supposed to be dead."

Dead?

Did my father know this man?

Uneasiness crept through me. There was something about my father's reaction that told me I was missing something.

A maniacal grin curled at the corner of the intruder's lips, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I got better"

"Enough!" Alessandro roars, settling his angry gaze on my father, "Do you know this man Marcus?"

My father doesn't respond.

"Allow me to introduce myself." the stranger began, his voice low and dripping with menace."My name is Nikolai Volkov and I believe you have something that belongs to me."

AVA

I believe you have something that belongs to me.

His words linger in the air for only a second before gasps erupt from the audience.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I blinked at the intruder in disbelief.

His?

What was he talking about?

My gaze finds my father. He stands frozen, his lips slightly parted and eyes wide with shock as he looks at the man who called himself Nikolai.

"What is going on Marcus!" Alessandro roared, his rage-filled gaze fixed on my father. His face filled with rage.

A smile peaked at the corner of the intruder's lips as he shoved his hands into his pocket.

"It's quite simple, Alessandro. You've been played."

Played? As if snapped from a trance My father looked up, his gaze finding mine amid the chaos. Remorse clouded his features.

"Forgive me, Ava." my father says, giving me an apologetic look.

My brows knitted together as a slow wave of dread settled at the pit of my stomach, "What have you done?"

"It was a long time ago." He began, his voice heavy as he continued. "The Russians, they had kidnapped you because I was running late with their shipment. Do you remember?"

How could I forget? The three days I had spent locked up under the Russians remained the single most traumatic experience of my twenty-one years on earth.

"I begged for them to return you to me. I begged them to spare your life but they refused to see reason. They said that if I didn't bring the shipment as agreed, they would kill you. I had to do something. I had just lost your mother; I couldn't lose you too."

My heart sank, No. Please don't tell me he did what I think he did.

"Nikolai's father decided that the only way he would let you go and forgive me was if I agreed to a contract."

"What type of contract, father?" I bit out, my hands trembling at my side.

"Ava..."

"What type of contract?" I repeated, my voice rising.

He hesitated, "The contract stated that you will be married to Nikolai on the day of your twenty-first birthday."

My breath hitched in my throat and my eyes widened as the realization of what he was saying sunk in. "You sold me twice."

His silence was the only response I needed to confirm my suspicion. The final restraint I had held on to snapped. "How could you!" I demanded, my pulse pounding loudly in my ears.

I couldn't breathe. My father, the man I'd trusted with my life, had sold me to not one but two of the most dangerous men in the city.

"You were just a child. I didn't want to do it but my hands were tied. If I had refused they would've killed you on the spot. I couldn't do it. I'm so sorry, Ava... if I could go back and stop myself from making that deal, I would. I didn't mean for things to end up this way." He turns to Nikolai, "And you. You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be..."

"Dead?" Nikolai interjects, a sardonic smile creeping onto his face. "Come on now. You, of all people, should know that it'll take more than a miserly fire to keep me dead."

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as he accesses me. "And you must be Ava. My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he says, the words dark and twisted coming from him.

I shouldn't find the way he says that attractive. I know this but yet I can't stop the slight flush his compliment brings to my skin.

He starts to walk towards me but Antonio doesn't let him get within an inch of me. "I wouldn't take another step if I were you." He growls roughly. He squares his shoulders, straightens his stance and forces me behind him, acting as a barrier between Nikolai and me.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with." Antonio seethes.

Nikolai studies Antonio for a moment, his gaze flickering with a hint of amusement as he leans back slightly on his feet and raises a brow. "Don't I?"

In one swift motion, Antonio pushes me towards his best man and draws a sleek black pistol from his holster, aiming the barrel squarely at the centre of Nikolai's chest.

Nikolai tsked and stepped closer to the muzzle of the gun. "I wouldn't do that if I were you", he mused, using his index finger to tap the end of the barrel lightly as if it were a toy rather than a weapon.

"Try me." Antonio retorted, his grip tightening around the handle of the gun.

"I suggest you leave. Whatever deal you and her father had before is considered void as far as I'm concerned, nothing is owed to you."

"On the contrary, She is owed to me" Nikolai replied smoothly, a dangerous glint forming in his eyes. He taps the barrel of the gun once more. "I suggest you put that thing away and listen to what I have to say."

Antonio's jaw tightens but he makes no move to drop his gun.

"Like hell, I will. You can't just stroll in here and make demands. Last time I checked, the Russians don't make the rules around these parts. We do."

The corner of Nikolai's lips tilted up in a smug smirk as he arched a brow. " Is that so? Perhaps you would reconsider once you've heard what I have to say."

I arched my brow. I didn't understand what his angle was, and neither did anyone else, so it seems. At first glance, there was nothing about Nikolai that struck me as the kind of man who acted on instinct. A man like him wouldn't just storm in here without having some type of card up his sleeve and it appears that I wasn't the only one that thought so.

"That's enough Antonio." The sound of Alessandro's voice cuts through the air, slicing the tension between the two men.

"But Father,.."

"Put the gun down, Antonio," but he makes no move to do what his father says, "Now", Alessandro barked.

Antonio's fingers flexed around the trigger of the gun, his jaw tight as he maintained his defensive stance.

Nikolai's gaze drops to Antonio's finger still hovering over the trigger and a mocking grin spreads across his lips when he sees Antonio's hesitation "I suggest you listen to what the old man says." he says, his voice even, "Unless, of course, you prefer to be the reason your father loses his only daughter."

Alessandro stiffens and Antonio's laughter echoes off the walls of the chapel "Nice try" he sneers, switching the gun to his other hand "But my sister isn't even in the country"

"You're right," Nikolai chimed without missing a beat, "Your sister was supposed to be in France today. In fact, her plane just landed except," he pauses, a maniacal grin curving at his lips, "she isn't on it.

Antonio's laughter faded instantly, morphing into a look of disbelief. His eyes widened as the reality of Nikolai's words settled in.

"You're lying" Antonio shot back, but the tremor in his voice betrays his uncertainty. I glance back and forth between the two men.

"Am I?" he corked his head to the side, "I can assure you that you won't think so once you've checked your phone."

As if on cue, the sound of phones buzzing filters through the air. Alessandro was the first to retrieve his cell phone, and I watched as his face paled at whatever was on the screen.

"What is it?" Antonio asks, his grip on the gun wavering as he senses his father's reaction. Alessandro's hand shook as he held the phone in front of him, the light from the screen illuminating his strained expression.

"it's... It's a video of Clara," he says then looks up at Nikolai, "He has her."

Antonio's expression shifted from disbelief to burning rage as he stared at Nikolai. "How dare you. If you touch so much as a strand of hair on my sister's head, I swear I'll..."

"Careful now. You'll want to think twice about what you say next. You wouldn't want something terrible to happen to your precious sister now would you?"

Antonio clenches his jaw, his face taut with the force of his rising anger.

"Drop your gun and step away."

He clenches his fist, the tension in his shoulders tight as he takes a deep breath, and then he tosses the gun to the side. It clatters against the marble floors, echoing through the now-silent church.

"Excellent choice." Nikolai grinned, a predatory glint dancing in his eyes as he glanced in my direction. It wasn't the first time we had made eye contact during the entire ordeal but it felt different. My heart slams against my ribcage as I watch him slowly make his way up the altar. He stands in the position Antonio had stood in barely seconds ago. Antonio steps away just as his best man releases my arm from his grip. Nikolai extends his hand, a silent offer, urging me to take it.

I don't.

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to marry you." the words are out of my lips before I can stop them. My shoulders tense and a gasp escapes my throat when I find him directly in front of me.

He lifts a finger, dragging the digit along the side of my neck, the motion cool and deliberate before resting his finger on my jaw. My breathing shallows as he grips my chin between his thumb and index finger, tipping my head back until our eyes meet.

And I stutter.

His eyes were the most remarkable shade of green I had ever seen. Like a magnet, they seemed to pull me in, sucking me into their depths until all I could see was the darkness that lay underneath.

He smiles, his lips curling upwards in a grin, but it's devoid of any warmth, "I don't recall giving you a choice," he leans in, his nose grazing mine until his lips brush my ear causing tingles to erupt all over my skin "You're mine Solnishko"

Solnishko? What did that even mean? And why did it sound so familiar? My head throbbed as I tried to piece together why everything about this man struck me with a sense of familiarity.

"I don't belong to you" I retorted, trying my best to keep my breathing and mind under control.

I must be going insane. Why was I pissing him off? A smart person would know that pissing off a deranged mafia boss-especially one who was currently holding the daughter of another mafia boss hostage- was a terrible idea.

But here I was doing exactly that.

His gaze drops to my lips and my body grows rigid. He grins. "Let's fix that shall we," he says, then lowers his hand and steps away, releasing me. I stumbled back, blinking rapidly as I struggled to process what the hell just happened.

He shifts his attention to the priest who stood as a silent spectator to the guns and war that had threatened to break out in his church.

"Finish the ceremony," he commanded, voice thick and stripped of the teasing tone he held moments before. The priest hesitates, his eyes widening as he opens his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word Nikolai draws his pistol, aiming the barrel at the center of the priest's forehead. The priest swallows nervously as his gaze darts up to the gun being pressed into his forehead.

"F-fINE I'll d-do it j-just put the g-gun away please." he stammered his voice trembling.

Nikolai's smile returned and he lowered his gun, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Good choice. Skip straight to the I dos, and if you try anything funny I won't hesitate to end you."

The priest nods quickly, obviously distraught by his near death experience. "Um...Do you, Ava Blackwood, take this man Nikolai Volkov as your lawfully wedded husband?"

I open my mouth fully intending to protest but the words die in my throat when I catch sight of my father from the corner of my eyes.

"On one condition." I state, my voice steady as I look up at the man whose maniacal smile has once again vanished.

"What is it?"

"If I do this you have to protect my family from the Morettis. My father and brother.

"Ava..." my father starts to say but I glare at him, shutting him up.

"As much as I hate you right now. I'm not ready to lose you yet. You might think I'm doing this because I still feel obligated to protect you but make no mistake father, this will be the last time you will ever see me."

I turned to Nikolai, " So do we have a deal?"

Something shifts in Nikolai's expression tethering between the lines of intrigue and amusement, "You want me to protect the man who sold you to save his neck?"

I nod, already regretting my decision, "if it means you'll protect my family I'm willing to do whatever you want."

His lips tip up in a smirk, "whatever I want?" His gaze darkens, "are you sure about that?" there was a dangerous edge to his question and my chest squeezes.

Nodding, I respond. "Yes" my voice trembles with my answer despite my best efforts.

Nikolai tilts his head to the side, examining me with an intent look in his eyes.

"Very well," he says after what feels like hours and relief courses through me and I feel the tension roll off my shoulders.

"Thank you"

The ceremony continues and when the priest asks me again if I take Nikolai to be my husband, there is no hesitation in my voice when I say I do.

"With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may... um you may kiss your bride."

Nikolai dips down and captures my lips in one fluid motion.

I start to pull away but he doesn't let me. Grabbing my hip firmly with one hand, he pulls me flush against his rigid planes of his body.

A whimper crawls up my throat. It's soft and barely audible but it's there, and he hears it. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, in between a growl and a groan and it goes straight to my center.

I placed a hand on his chest, my lips hesitant as I tried to mimic his movements. In case it isn't clear, I haven't kissed many men in my life. I've only ever kissed three actually and two of them were before high school so I doubted I could count them in my list of conquests.

His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer and swallowing the sounds that threatened to escape him.

His tongue parts my lips and I moan at the way he tastes. There's something about this kiss. Something that makes me feel like the entire world was going to tilt off its axis if his lips ever left mine. Which is crazy to think because just seconds ago the man I'm admittedly enjoying kissing had threatened to end the life of an innocent girl.

I pull away, ending the kiss abruptly.

Nikolais lips hover over mine and our gazes meet only for a brief second. My heart hammers against my chest as light puffs of air escape my lips.

I shouldn't have liked that nearly as much as I did.

A hint of desire flickers in his irises, igniting something inside me.

He wanted me.

The realization sends an unexpected thrill throughout my body.

The priest clears his throat and both of us turn to find the priest and everyone else awkwardly staring at us.

My body tingles as Nikolai lifts his thumb to the corner of his lips, brushing the stain my lipstick had left on his lips during our kiss.

"The bride and groom everybody." the priest announces stepping back and presenting us to a very stunned audience.

I look at the man who was now my husband and my heart plummets. What was going to happen now?

Ava

I was married.

Married.

I still couldn't believe it.

I was married to a man who crashed my wedding ceremony, declaring that my father had sold me to him when I was only seven.

That couldn't have been legal.

Oh, and that's not even the crazy part. Far from it actually. Not only was I married to this crazy person, but apparently, this man was the long-lost heir of the Russian Mafia who was supposed to be dead.

And they say weddings aren't fun.

I drag my gaze towards the man seated in the driver's seat just a few inches away from me.

He sits there composed and unruffled, an effortless control radiating off him like he hadn't just hurled me on his shoulder and out of the church like a caveman seconds ago.

There was no denying the fact that the man beside me was the most painstakingly gorgeous man I had ever seen. His chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones and tousled dark hair framed a face that belonged on the statue of a Greek god. But that still didn't give him the right to do what he did.

He had no right to storm into my wedding ceremony, threaten me and then marry me.

Annoyance flickered inside me, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

It pissed me off how attracted I found myself to him. Because I shouldn't be attracted to him. He was my husband. My captor. For God's sake, the man was a murderer. That alone should have easily killed any attraction I harbored for him.

Except it didn't.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He hadn't said a word since we exited the church. When my father tried to approach me after the ceremony, Nikolai made sure that he was able to get within an inch of me and for that, a part of me was grateful.

Truth be told, I wasn't ready to face my father yet, and I doubted I ever would be. My father saw me as nothing more than a commodity. Something to use to escape the web he so intricately wove for himself each time the strings became too tight.

It infuriated me just how much I let myself believe that he loved me but most of all I felt betrayed

I felt blindsided because no matter how coldly my father had treated me, I never once thought that he would willingly trade my life in exchange for his.

I return my gaze to the window, watching as the blurred scenery passes by in hurried flashes. It was a Saturday, and the streets were littered with weekend shoppers and couples strolling hand in hand who were oblivious to the fact that my entire world had just come crumbling down moments ago.

I let out a rough breath and glanced back at Nikolai whose eyes remained fixed on the road as he drove us to God knows where.

"Where are we going?" I ask, breaking the silence that had previously enveloped the car. My gaze shifts briefly from his face, stopping on the black ink peaking from under his shirt.

He offers a glance in my direction, and for a second, our eyes meet, and I'm instantly sucked into the intensity behind his irises.

Focus, I reprimand myself.

He was my captor. My captor. Nothing more nothing less.

"Home," One word. A hundred meanings.

Although I'd grown up in a home, it stopped feeling like that after my mother's death. After she died my father preferred to spend his time locked in his study or supplying weapons to dangerous men rather than spend time with his own family.

Up until today, I made excuses for him. He just lost the love of his life it's understandable he didn't come for my recital. He's busy, he'll come to my exhibition next time.

Time and time again I had made excuses for a man who had no problem trading me to save himself at the drop of a hat.

What does that say about me?

I let out a breath and leaned further into my seat. I try my best not to roll my eyes as I say, "Oh really, how informative" The sarcasm in my tone isn't lost on him.

"And where is that?"

Silence.

For some reason, his lack of a response only irks me further. I lean forward, snapping my fingers in his face.

"Hello, I'm talking to you," I say.

His grip tightens around the steering wheel as his jaw tightens.

He was pissed.

Good.

I wanted him to be.

"You know, for someone who was awfully chatty earlier at the church, you seem to be pretty good at the whole silent brooding thing."

Still nothing. But there's a faint twitch in his right index finger that tells me he heard me and that's enough to satisfy me.

For now.

Sinking further into my seat, I returned my gaze outside the window, fixing my eyes on the blurred scenery.

The ride 'home' seems to last forever. My back aches from sitting too long to the point that I'm overcome with relief when the sight of a black steel gate comes into view.

I guess the Russians were big on security. But then again, if I were someone who derived pleasure from killing people, I guess a heavy metal gate would be just what I needed to shield myself from the consequences of my actions.

Two heavily built men stand on either side of the gate. Their eyes lock on the vehicle as we approach, and once we stop in front of the gate, one of the men walks towards us.

Nikolai lowers the window, and the man says something in Russian, to which Nikolai replies also in their native tongue.

The man glances at me and makes an odd sound at the back of his throat before returning to his post at the gate. I watch as He leans in and whispers something to the other guard. The second guard nods and steps aside. He presses a button and the gate falls open with ease.

Nikolai drives down a path of smooth concrete. Palm trees stood on either side of the road against the backdrop of the sky, and I was immediately blown away by the scenery. For a place filled with hardened criminals, there was a surprising calm that filled the surroundings.

The road eventually thins into a driveway, and my breath hitches at the two-story house that comes into view.

The house or should I say mansion, is a masterpiece. It's a stunning example of Mediterranean architecture, with its warm, ornamented exterior painted in soft cream and adorned with terracotta roof tiles that gleamed under the sun. It was breathtaking.

Aside from the security guards littered around various points, the house appeared to be empty and I wondered if anyone other than Nikolai lived there.

Nikolai stops the car beneath a covered portico parking between two other cars. The engine dies down into a low hum before he turns the key switching it off.

I start to reach for my door to unlock it, but Nikolai stops me, his hand gripping my wrist as my fingertips brush the door handle.

The warmth from his fingers stops me in my tracks, and I look at him, then at his hand, then back at him.

"What are you doing?"

He doesn't respond, he simply unwraps his fingers from my wrist and unlocks his door.

In four brisk strides, he rounds the vehicle, stopping at my side. He unlocks the door, and when I make no move to step out of the car, he speaks.

"Get out."

A command.

Okay then.

Mumbling under my breath, I gathered the hemline of my dress and stepped out of the vehicle. I paused, realising he hadn't moved away yet.

His body brushes against mine and goose flesh erupts all over my body. We were barely inches apart, and as much as I tried to repress it, the memory of our kiss at the altar resurfaces in my mind.

The feeling of his lips against mine, the roughness of his touch, the way he swallowed all of every sound that left my throat like he was afraid they would slip past him.

As if he sensed my thoughts, his gaze dropped to my lips and I watched his eyes darken.

For a moment, I feared he might lean in and kiss me again like he did at the altar, except this time it wouldn't be in Infront of confused spectators and a pissed off ex soon-to-be father-in-law and his son. It would be just the two of us, in his parking lot. The thought is enough to pull me back from whatever trance I was momentarily trapped in and I step away from him, creating some much-needed distance between us.

He lingers in the space for a beat, eyes fixed on me before leaning back, his expression unreadable.

"Follow me," he says, his voice calm and commanding.

I do. Trying my best to keep up with his long strides. Not only was my husband inexplicably tall, but one of his strides equalled two of mine, which made keeping up with him rather exhausting,

Husband. The word stops me in my tracks.

As of yesterday,whoasn't even in a relationship and now I was married.

Fucking married. Can you believe that?

Me, the girl who had never been in a relationship was now entangled in a lifetime commitment with a man who only saw me as a possession to be claimed. I can't help it, I laugh. I laugh until I'm gasping for breath and I'm certain I am going to pass out.

Nikolai stops mid-stride and turns around to face me. A frown creases his forehead as he witnesses the way I throw my head back in laughter.

"Something funny, Solnishko ?" He questioned, his tone tight. I shook my head, wiping the corner of my eyes with my ringless finger.

"I-I'm sorry," I say, in between fits,

"It's just that this whole thing", I gesture between the two of us, "is fucking hilarious, don't you think?"

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, fighting an annoyed smile

"Funny isn't the word I would use to describe your current situation, Solnishko"

There's an edge in the way he says those words that cause the laughter to quickly die down on my tongue.

What the fuck did he mean by that?

And why was he still calling me that horrible nickname? I had no idea what it meant but I was beginning to think that it was some kind of russian insult.

"Would you stop calling me that already? It's getting annoying."

Nikolai's lips twitch, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Solnishko?"

He repeats that horrible nickname again and I can barely keep the annoyance bubbling within me at bay.

"Stop it. How would you like it if I constantly insulted you in a foreign language you had no idea how to speak?"

My question only seems to spark his amusement further.

"Solnishko is hardly an insult"

"Then what does it mean?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he condescendingly shrugs his shoulders and turns around, continuing his descent to the entrance of the house, leaving me momentarily rooted in place.

it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with his mood swings. I didn't understand him. One minute, he was giving me the silent treatment, and the next, he was teasing me. It was confusing.

Tightening my hold on my dress I follow him, trying my best to keep up with his pace until he stops in front of the entrance.

He reaches for the doorknob but before his fingers can brush the cool brass the door is yanked open.

Standing on the other side of the door is a girl that could be no older than six years old. She's wearing a set of Blue pajamas and standing barefoot on the floor, her eyes are wide and she's sprouting a grin that reveals her missing tooth. Dark curls frame her round face and she looks up at Nikolai with the most adorable expression I had ever seen etched into her eyebrows.

But it's not just her expression that stops me in my tracks. No, it's the shade of her eyes. They're green, forest green to be precise.

Just like the man beside me.

"Papa!" she exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement as she looks at my captor as if he hung the moon.

My heart stops.

Papa?