Page 5 of Forced By the Bratva

I knew the answer before it came. He’d always favored Veronica. She was his golden child, while my mother and I were mistakes—as he’d called us on several occasions. This would be an easy choice if he had to sacrifice one daughter to save another.

“This marriage,” he said finally, his voice devoid of warmth, “could solve all our problems—financial stability for everyone. We can’t refuse it—they wouldn’t hesitate to wipe us all out, and you wouldn’t want that, would you? Considering the current situation, especially since your mother will be the easiest target. So, you’ll do this, Jenna, for your mother, for your family.”

My father’s voice held no room for argument. He wasn’t giving me an opportunity, he was making a trade, and that was final. His words felt like a hammer blow. Tears streamed down my face, blurring the room around me.

I knew why I’d come here, and I understood that it would mean some sacrifice from the moment I decided to do so. A part of me just knew that my father wouldn’t part with such a considerable sum of money, especially for my mother and me, without wanting something to balance out, but I’d hoped for something less scary. Something that didn’t have to take my life at the end of it.

Maybe taking away our allowance for a while or forcing me to work more jobs so I could pay him. These were the kind of consequences I’d prepared for.

Not this!

A marriage to Feliks Sharov? It was a death sentence, and there was no way I was coming out of this unharmed.

But . . .

Better my life than my mother’s. If this was the price for her life and good health, I was willing to pay.

So, even with my heart shattering into a million pieces, I knew the answer. I had no choice. With a choked sob, I whispered, “I’ll do it.”

I could hear my father telling me I’d made the right decision and Veronica and her mother cheering around the house, but they all faded as my mind reeled with only one thought: I was going to marry a Bratva man.

Chapter 4 - Feliks

The air in the room hung heavy with the scent of cigars and my simmering frustration. The mahogany chessboard gleamed under the harsh overhead light. Across the table, Kirill, my cousin, and confidant, surveyed the game with a predatory glint I knew all too well dancing in his eyes.

I tapped my finger against the rim of the glass of vodka in my hand, but the coolness of the glass did nothing to help with the burning storm brewing within me.

Kirill captured another pawn with a satisfied smirk, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The man had been incredibly annoying since the news of my marriage had circulated.

I took a swig of vodka before concentrating on the board before me, trying to calculate my next move.

I moved a pawn forward, and Kirill wasted no time making his next move.

“Looks like your king’s about to be checkmated, Feliks.” Kirill chuckled, the sound like gravel underfoot. “Just like the Pakhan’s little arrangement has checkmated you,” he said in a sing-song voice that almost had me lunging at him.

This time, Kirill let out a loud laugh, and I scowled, fighting the urge to squeeze the life out of him. The mention of my forced marriage to Daniel’s daughter, Veronica, was scraping against my already-frayed nerves, and Kirill’s mockery was adding salt to the injury.

I had yet to meet this woman, but Kirill’s disdainful description of her—they’d met once before at an event—wasn’t exactly painting a flattering picture. Kirill had a knack for reading people; no matter how good of a pretense one put up, Kirill was the guy to see through it.

He was so good that, over time, I’d come to respect his ability; he was never wrong. He saw people for who they truly were, and with his description of Veronica, it was safe to say that this entire arrangement would be a much bigger problem than I had initially anticipated.

“She’s probably got more plastic on her than a surgeon’s convention,” Kirill continued, his eyes glittering. “Trust me, Feliks, you won’t last a week with that girl.” Kirill guffawed.

“I’m sure she can’t be that bad, Kirill,” I said calmly, capturing his knight as I spoke, but the action didn’t deter him because he continued.

“Exactly, because she’s worse. Spoiled brat.” Kirill scoffed, making a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Daddy’s little princess, with a trust fund bigger than her brain. I’m telling you, she’s the typical socialite Barbie.”

I winced. The image Kirill conjured was not exactly a turn-on, especially since I’d seen a picture of my bride; it was too easy to picture her in the light my cousin was painting. The whole arranged marriage left a bitter taste in my mouth that I hadn’t been able to get rid of for days. Marriage had never been on my agenda; commitment—in that aspect—wasn’t a word I was comfortable using.

But defying the Pakhan? Even more unthinkable.

“Orders are orders, Kirill,” I growled, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “The Pakhan has instructed it to happen, and there’s hardly a thing you and I can do about it. If there were, I would never be seen with that blondie. In truth, I doubt I would have gotten into a relationship with anyone. Left to me, I’ll die on this hill of bachelorhood, but life has other plans.”

I took another swig of my drink as I spoke, hissing when it warmed my throat on its way down.

“You should meet her, at least once, before the wedding—you know, to melt away the ice so things are a little... easier. It might be a good idea to get acquainted. There’s no telling how long you’ll be stuck together, and it might help if the foundation is not so shaky.

“You might also want to put away big, bad, scary Feliks when you meet her—some ladies like the appeal, but not a woman like Veronica. You don’t want her running in tears back to her Daddy at the first sight of you. You never know—maybe she’s changed, maybe she’s less of a spoiled brat now. You might even end up falling in love and have a successful and happy marriage.” Kirill’s words held a hint of seriousness for the first time that night, causing a slight smirk to form across my lips.

---