Page 1 of Unwilling Bratva Bride

Chapter 1 - Adley

Alcohol hit the back of my throat, and I stifled a wince as I swallowed. The little shot glass smacked down on the bar top with a solid thunk, my move to set it there gently failing spectacularly.

“Cheers to the MacCormacks’ utter fucking failure. Way to go, Adley. You’ve done fuckall to help the situation, and now you’re buzzed. Excellent.”

The sarcasm stung my ears, but I couldn’t force myself to find that grit my grandmother had always been on about before she passed. I was too damn tired at this point, and I was pretty set on drinking my troubles away. As far as ideas went, it sounded like the one most likely to succeed today—hell, the whole damn year.

The bartender walked by, the classic towel slung over his shoulder, and I nodded to get his attention.

“Another, please.”

“You should slow down. You’ll be on your ass before you know it; a tiny thing like yourself keeps knocking ‘em back like that.”

I smirked, full of venom and redirected anger. “I assure you, bucko, I can handle it fine. I have a hell of a tolerance.”

The guy raised his eyebrows before shrugging and pouring more Jameson into my glass. As he walked away, I raised it to him, sipping gently so he wouldn’t bother again. I was in a sour ass mood, which was rare for me, and I wasn’t about to let him spoil the one thing that was making me feel better.

Still, I didn’t knock it back as fast as the first. I wasn’t a moron. I still needed to walk to the El to get home.

Shitty music played on the jukebox, and I was too close to a speaker to ignore it properly. Some dumb song by some dumb pop princess that probably would have been fine if it weren’t for the fact that my entire family was looking at eviction soon.

Hours. I’d spent hours today walking around downtown on foot and talking to stuffy-ass bankers who lacked any form of sympathy.

I’d been begging. I knew that’s what it was, but still. You’d think one of them would have had half a heart. We just needed a little more time. It had been rough everywhere, and with the state of the world, mom-and-pop bodegas like ours were getting hit damn hard by the lack of foot traffic.

We’d bounce back. It couldn’t stay broken out there forever. At least, that was what I’d thought—until about thirty minutes ago when the last bank turned me down for the loan.

I have no collateral, no down payments, and no proof that I could help my folks make the rent this time around.

“Yeah, you’re fucked, Adley. First art school, now this.”

And worse, it would mean no college for the twins, either.

I’d set aside my aspirations to go to the art school to help Mom and Dad care for the shop and prevent my mother from working herself into an early grave. Oh, not to mention the fact that they could never afford it.

The twins were just hoping to go to community college, and it was still a damn stretch to make tuition, and that wasbeforethe only source of income for the entire family was in jeopardy of being shut down forever.

My heart ached at the prospect, and I chugged down the rest of my shot as the words of the last banker I’d spoken to today burned in my mind.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but the bank cannot support you without a down payment or collateral. We don’t feel you’d be a good option for a small business loan. Stores like yours—well, they’re a dying breed. I would encourage your parents to look into becoming part of a franchise if they can save up.”

Save up. Like it was that fucking simple. Sure, they can’t pay the rent on the shop, which also happens to be our home, but of course. They’ll just rub their pennies together and see if they multiply like rabbits.

The shop hadn’t been open for a week because we weren’t permitted to keep it open while we were in violation of our rental agreement, and each day it sat closed was another we weren’t earning money.

And it all fell on my shoulders. I was the oldest, after all. My sibs were sheltered and babied endlessly by my parents, and I couldn’t help but be a little bitter about the fact that it looked like they got to have a childhood while mine had been cut short.

But that’s how it goes when you’re the eldest sibling, I guess. At least for me.

“God, I’m as low as George fucking Bailey.”

I spun the shot glass around, listening to it rolling against the resin-covered surface as I tucked a long strand of hair behind my ear. It had fallen loose from my braid, and I wasn’t about to redo the thing now. Just as I was about to ask for another, a shadow darkened the area next to me.

I turned and looked up into the face of what could only be described as a thug—straight up out of the movies with the tattoos, steely expression, and leather jacket. He was so damn tall, with light blonde hair that was styled into a sleek if tussled, cut that was shorn around the sides and back with long,sweeping pieces on the top, including a tempting chuck that fell into his eyes.

He looked down at me with a smirk, fire lighting up behind his blue-gray eyes as he chewed on a toothpick.

“Who’s George fucking Bailey?”

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