Page 3 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

As I make my way toward my car, I reflect on the reason behind this upcoming union. My family’s business relationship with an important investor has been hanging by a thread, and this marriage could be our last chance to salvage it. The Zolotovs are known for many things, but backing down from a challenge isn’t one of them.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I mutter under my breath, unlocking my car and climbing inside.

Starting the engine, I take a deep breath and begin to drive toward Ivan Zolotov’s compound since our cousin graciously offered to host the wedding at his place. This union may be more of a strategic move than a declaration of love, but I have every intention of making it work for the sake of my family.

“Time to face the music,” I whisper to myself, shifting gears and pulling out of the parking lot.

Chapter 2 - Genevieve

I hold my breath, tiptoeing past the creaky floorboard outside my bedroom door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to escape the confines of my room. As for what I want?

It’s irrelevant. It’s too late. It’s impossible.

I feel a lump in my throat as I continue down the hallway. I begin to imagine what it would be like for me to leave this house, get in a cab, reach the airport, and disappear into the world, never to be found again.

Just then, the automatic bright lights near the guest bathroom switch on, and I instantly shudder and freeze, wincing as I close my eyes. I’d completely forgotten that Papa had these fancy lights installed.

“Genevieve?” His harsh, commanding tone comes from the front of the hallway. He must have noticed the lights and starts to walk out from the door to the library. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I look at him. His stern expression sends chills down my spine, and I know there’s no way I can evade this confrontation. I avert my gaze.

He’s almost dressed and has his waistcoat on. All that’s left is for him to fix his tie and put on his jacket and shoes.

“Father,” I choke out, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “I was just... getting some water.”

“Really, Genevieve?” His tone is icy, devoid of warmth. “You expect me to believe that? The maid left water in your room, as she does every night and every morning.”

“Of course, Father.” I force myself to meet his gaze, though every instinct tells me to look away. “I…I must have forgotten.”

“Have you seen the bloody time?” he roars at me, walking closer. “It’s almost nine-thirty in the morning, and we have to be at the Zolotov’s by noon!”

He crosses his arms over his chest as if attempting to shield himself from my influence. I’m about to apologize, to speak, when he continues on his tirade.

“And you haven’t even started getting dressed! You’ve got to do your hair and your makeup. Or do you plan to go looking like a little rag doll?”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. It’s not easy being the daughter of Gerald Russo, the man who runs our little corner of the world.

“Father… I… I—” I mumble, trying to find the right words. Yet, none come to me. These past few weeks have been nothing but words. I’ve tried to tell him, in a million different ways, that I’m too young to get married, let alone to a man I don’t know, but it all comes down to what he needs me to do for the family. There’s nothing more to say. My fate is sealed, and so remain my lips.

“Your behavior lately has been... concerning,” he continues, now glowering at me. “I don’t want anything jeopardizing this union. You understand me?” he shouts at me, a finger pointing at my face.

“Hey, hey!” Gael’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere like soft butter, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. He strides into the hallway and stands beside me.

“Genevieve, what’s going on? Why aren’t you in your room, getting dressed?” he asks gently.

“Just look at her,” Papa puts me down, now shaking his head at my brother. “Your sister’s only goal in life is to embarrass us all.”

“Papa, no, please. You know how much I want to make you proud,” I cry out, my hands extended for him to take. He ignores them, and they tremble as I put them down.

The tension in the air is palpable as my father’s anger remains unrelenting.

“Genevieve, do you have any idea what this marriage means to our family?” His voice drips with disappointment, adding to the heaviness in my chest. “It’s more than just a union between two people; it’s a symbol of the honor and glory we could achieve.”

“Papa, I understand the importance of this arrangement,” I interject, attempting to cut off his tirade. “That’s why I’m getting married today, aren’t I?”

But he’s not finished, and my interruption only fuels his anger.

“Then why are you behaving so irresponsibly with all the sulking around? You simply haven’t been yourself the last few days,” he demands, his words sharp like daggers. “This alliance with the Zolotov family is crucial for us. They hold the keys to power, wealth, and influence—and we need them on our side. And I wonder if you’re going to sulk through your wedding and embarrass us all? That is if we even reach it on time!”

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