Page 1 of Mafia King's Bride

ONE

ANA

“Dochka.”

The familiar word slices through the heavy air, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn, seeing my father standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, holding a small bouquet that feels like a cruel joke. His eyes are haunted as they meet mine. He’s trying to smile, trying to be strong. For me.

I walk toward him without a word, stepping into his arms as they open, and the second his warmth wraps around me, something inside me breaks. A tear slips free, hot and fast, but I wipe it away quickly, as if it never existed. He can’t know. He’s carrying enough guilt without my pain adding to it.

“How are you holding up?” His voice is rougher than usual as he hands me the bouquet—small, delicate, like me. Like the old me. “Do you want me to stay? I can wait with you until it’s time.”

I force a smile so tight it hurts. “I’m fine, Papa. It’s my wedding day, right? I’m happy.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. He sees through it, his jaw tightening as he reaches out and cups my cheek, his touch too soft for this moment, for the nightmare this day has become. “You don’t have to do this. I can find another way. We can delay?—”

“No,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. The bouquet slips from my hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud. “We both know there’s no other way.”

His face crumples, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He’s been my rock, my protector, my everything since the day my mother died. He was the one who held me through every scraped knee, every disappointment, every victory. And now I have to save him.

Tears fill his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I see him break. My father—the man who never flinched when his men were gunned down, the man who stood tall even as his empire burned—is crying. I swallow down the scream clawing its way up my throat.

“Papa,” I whisper, grabbing a handkerchief from the dresser and dabbing at his eyes. The sight of his tears shreds me to pieces, but I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

“You were always dreaming about your wedding when you were little,” he says, his voice cracking with nostalgia. “Your dolls, the dress, the big church. It was all you ever talked about.”

I smile bitterly, the ache in my chest spreading. “That was before I knew what the world is like.”

He shakes his head, pulling me closer. “The world may be ugly,dochka, but your dreams are still yours. I was supposed to protect you from all of this. Not,” his voice breaks, and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest, “make you pay for my mistakes.”

I can’t hold it back anymore. The tears spill over, hot and unchecked, running down my face in streaks. “I’ll be fine,” I manage to say, even though it’s a lie. A lie I’ve been telling myself since the day this nightmare began. I’ve learned from him how to put on a mask, how to make the world believe you’re unbreakable when you’re already shattered.

His hand drops to his side, but the look in his eyes is killing me.

“I know you will,” he whispers, his voice filled with both pride and sorrow. “You’re my daughter.”

We stand in silence, the weight of what’s coming pressing down on us both. This room feels like a tomb—cold, suffocating, the exact opposite of what a wedding should be. I always imagined a day filled with light, love, and laughter. I dreamed of a beautiful dress, walking down the aisle toward a man who looked at me as if I was his entire world.

Instead, I’m walking toward a man I despise.

No expenses have been spared, but there’s no amount of luxury that can mask the truth. In a few short minutes, I’ll be promising myself to a stranger—a man I’m marrying not for love, but for survival. Twelve-year-old me would have run screaming from this moment. She would have refused.

But I don’t have that luxury. If I don’t marry him, my father will lose everything. His empire, his men, maybe even his life.

What a sick, twisted fairytale.

My father steps back, clearing his throat. “I should check on things,” he says, though his voice wavers with uncertainty.

I shake my head, cutting him off before he can offer to stay again. “I’ll be fine. I’m Nikolas Petrov’s daughter, after all.” The words are meant to comfort him, but the pride in my voice feels hollow. Still, it makes him smile, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes.

He pulls me into one last hug, and I cling to him, holding on tighter than I ever have . “I’ll see you at the chapel,dochka,” he whispers.

I kiss his cheek, fighting the urge to beg him not to leave. Helplessly, I watch as the door closes behind him. The moment he’s gone, my legs give out, and I collapse into the chair, burying my face in my hands.

My tears continue to fall freely, and I pray for a miracle. For the ground to swallow me whole and spit me out somewhere far, far away from here. Somewhere I can forget this day ever happened.

But I’m not a child anymore. I don’t get to run and hide. This is my duty, my fate, and I’ll walk down that aisle and marry the man I loathe to save the one person I love most in this world.

There’s no other choice.

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