Page 4 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Father, please. Allow me to talk to my sister,” Gael tries to soothe. “It’s her wedding day. She’s probably just nervous. But Ginny is a good girl, Father. She will make us proud as she leaves our home to become a Zolotov, won’t you, Ginny?” he looks at me pointedly.

My heart shatters at my younger brother’s words. From today, I will no longer be a Russo. This will no longer be my home. Tears come to my eyes. Gael puts his arms around me and looks at our father.

“Father, I’m going to take her back to her room now and make sure she looks absolutely beautiful.”

“Very well,” Papa says after a long moment, releasing his arms and stepping aside. “But remember Genevieve, your actions reflect upon this family—our honor, our reputation. Don’t forget that.”

I say nothing. I simply keep my head bowed and allow Gael to guide me back to my room. The weight of my father’s expectations presses down on me, threatening to crush my spirit. But I won’t let it. Not tonight, not ever.

We reach the door to my room, and Gael leans over as I open it and whispers, “Want to talk about it? In private?”

“Sure,” I reply softly.

The door to my room shuts behind us with a soft click, and Gael releases a long sigh as he slumps onto my bed. I sit next to him, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air.

“Listen, Ginny,” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “I only said those things out there to appease Dad. He’s been really on edge lately, and I didn’t want him to blow a fuse.”

“I know, Gael,” I reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your help.”

He hesitates for a moment before continuing, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I just... I miss Mom so much. Everything was so much better when she was here. She would have never allowed Father to let you marry…” he doesn’t complete the sentence. After all, what point would it serve?

Mom’s been gone for over a decade, and Papa is who he is, and we are where we are.

My heart aches as I wrap my arms around him, feeling the weight of our shared grief. “I miss her too, Gael. More than anything.” We sit like that for a while, comforting each other in silence.

Eventually, Gael pulls away and grins at me. “Enough with the moping,” he teases, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, Sis. You can’t let Dad’s harsh words get to you. Remember, you’re always a Russo. This will always be your home, at least as long as I’m around.”

“Easy for you to say, but Father might share a different opinion,” I retort, rolling my eyes but smiling nonetheless. The playful banter feels familiar and comforting amidst the uncertainty of my impending marriage.

“Hey, you’re Genevieve Russo—the strong, passionate woman who I learn from every single day. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

His words bring warmth to my chest, making me feel stronger. At least I have a brother who supports me. “Thanks, Gael. You always know what to say.”

“Of course!” he exclaims, puffing out his chest and striking a dramatic pose. “I am the great Gael Russo, after all.”

We both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through my room.

“Now come on, get dressed before Dad blows a fuse,” Gael says and leaves me to my own devices.

After he’s gone, I stand in the center of my sanctuary, and the reality of my situation sinks in like a stone dropped into still water. The truth hits me all at once, causing a splash.

I can’t run. I can’t back out. This is my role to play, and once I fulfill my duty to the family, Papa will be proud of me. My gaze is drawn to the full-length mirror, and I stride toward it, the fire in my eyes growing with every step.

“Get a hold of yourself, Genevieve,” I whisper as I stare at the reflection of the woman I’ve become. Overnight, I no longer feel like the innocent twenty-two-year-old I was. I’m now going to play a part I can’t fail at—that of a wife to a man I don’t know.

And someday, when Papa succeeds in getting what he wants, I will find a way out of this arranged marriage and grab a chance at my freedom.

The flicker of determination within me begins to grow, fed by the memories of my late mother’s strength and Gael’s unwavering support.

In this moment of introspection, my thoughts turn angrier, drifting to younger dreams of the wedding day that I had long nurtured. I had imagined a grand, lavish ceremony surrounded by friends and family, filled with laughter and love. But the reality looming before me is a stark contrast—a small, intimate gathering with unfamiliar faces devoid of warmth or genuine affection.

The only people representing me today are Father and Gael. I have no bridesmaids, no flower girl.

This wedding is the only thing they control. Moving forward, under no circumstances shall I let these Zolotov strangers control my life.

I slip on my wedding dress and force on a smile. I may not have chosen this path, but I will walk it with my head held high and my spirit unbroken. I will not give them the satisfaction of believing they have power over me.

“Ready or not,” I murmur, my reflection echoing the fierce glint in my eyes, “Here I come.”

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