Page 15 of Mafia King's Bride

Suit Man speaks again, calm and measured. “We decided it was best not to draw attention. Staying too close would’ve alerted the security team in your building.”

I run a hand through my hair, feeling a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. I should’ve seen them. I should’veknown. But the real kicker? Dmitri—who hasn’t even bothered to show his face in three weeks—didn’t tell me.

I square my shoulders. “I’m Anastasia Petrov. My father is Nikolai Petrov, which means I’m more than capable of looking after myself. I don’t need you two.”

Suit Man shakes his head, unfazed. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re under strict orders from Mr. Orlov to watch you at all times. We’ve determined that this location is vulnerable to potential threats.”

“Threats?” I hiss, furiously. “This isBloomingdale’s! Who’s going to harm me here?”

I see them exchange glances, clearly not swayed by my anger. They’re immovable, just like Dmitri.

“Stay away from me,” I snap, but even as I turn and walk away, I know they won’t listen. They cling to my shadow like I’m a target under siege.

The frustration builds inside me, bubbling until I can’t enjoy the shopping trip anymore. After a while, I decide to cut my excursion short, heading for the exit with an irritated sigh. Glancing over my shoulder, I see them still trailing me, alwayskeeping their distance but never far enough to disappear. I turn back to the two men, who stand stoic and unmoving.

“Can you give me some space?” I hiss through clenched teeth. “You’re not helping.”

They don’t listen, of course. They’re just like their boss—impervious to reason, stubborn as hell. I toss my shopping bags to one of them, not in the mood to carry them myself. If they’re going to shadow me, they might as well make themselves useful.

“I’m done here,” I say. “Where are you parked?”

One of them opens the car door for me as if I’m some kind of royalty. I roll my eyes and slide into the backseat, settling in with a sigh.

As we pull away from Bloomingdale’s, a thought strikes me. “You know what?” I say, leaning forward. “I think I’d like lunch. There’s a place I know, it’s about twenty minutes from here.”

I rattle off an address, leaning back and closing my eyes. I don’t actually want to go there, but if they’re going to ruin my day, I might as well take them along for the ride.

After a full dayof dragging these bodyguards around with me, enduring stares from every corner, I finally decide it’s time to head home. I slide into the car, exhausted, and scroll mindlessly through my phone, trying to speed up the journey back.

That’s when I remember my father.

I haven’t heard from him since the day after the wedding. I’ve been so caught up in surviving this mess of a life that I didn’t even realize how long it’s been. He hasn’t called either, but that’s not unusual for him. Which is why I spent most weekends at home, making up for it.

Sighing, I dial his number, thinking of the last time we spoke—his voice thick with emotion, something I’d rarely heard from him. The phone rings once, and then nothing. Not unusual. He probably left it somewhere. I wait a few minutes before trying again. No answer.

Five minutes go by. Then ten. Fifteen. An hour passes.

Still nothing.

In all the years I’ve lived away from him, this has never happened. He doesn’t always answer on the first try, but by the third or fourth ring, he picks up. Always.

Something isn’t right.

I try again, heart pounding. My calls continue going to voicemail, and my mind starts racing. What could’ve happened? What’s different now? The uneasy feeling in my chest intensifies, and then a chilling thought creeps into my head—Dmitri.

I remember what he said three weeks ago, how my father was banned from coming to the house, how I wasn’t allowed to see him anymore.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

I shake my head, chuckling bitterly. Dmitri didn’t make my father ignore my calls. Nikolai Petrov, despite all the twisted circumstances that landed me in this mess, would never let anyone—not even Dmitri—cut him off from his daughter.

But that thought lingers, gnawing at me. What if he did?

“No,” I mutter aloud, trying to convince myself. “Something else must’ve happened.”

I scroll through my contacts, finding Daria’s number—my father’s secretary. It’s the weekend, but I know she’ll help. She’s always been loyal, and if anyone can reach him, it’s her.

The moment she picks up, I don’t waste any time. “Daria, I’m sorry for calling you like this, but could you try reaching my father? I’ve been calling him, and I’m getting worried.”

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