Page 27 of Mafia King's Bride

My heart starts racing. Did something happen to my father? Is he sick? Worse?

Once we’re alone, Maxim lets go of my arm, and I turn to face him, squaring my shoulders. “What happened?” My voice is sharper than I intended, but I can’t help it. I need answers.

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his thinning gray hair. “Your father doesn’t want to see you. Not yet, at least.”

My stomach drops, the floor seemingly disappearing beneath me. “What?” The word comes out harsher than I mean. “Is this Dmitri’s doing? Because if he?—”

Maxim shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It’s not Dmitri. Your father doesn’t want to see you because he can’t bear to face you after what happened.”

I stare at him, the confusion twisting into frustration. “What do you mean ‘after what happened’? What did he do?”

Maxim looks at me with a deep sadness, like he’s been carrying this weight for too long. “Ever since your marriage to Orlov, your father’s been beside himself. He blames himself, Anastasia. For letting you carry his burden, for putting you in a position where you had no choice but to marry him. He’s been trying to find a way to make things right, but… he can’t face you until he feels like he’s done that.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My father—my Papa—has been avoiding me, not because of Dmitri, but because of his guilt?

“He thinks I’m angry with him,” I mutter, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. “But I married Dmitri because it was the only option. We both knew what had to be done.”

And now, after everything, he’s just going to disappear and leave me to deal with the consequences alone?

“I thought we were past all that,” I say, my voice rising, heat building in my chest. “I agreed to marry Dmitri so Papa wouldn’t have to pay the price for his mistakes. Now he’s going to push me away? Abandon me? After everything?”

My emotions are spiraling now, years of pent-up frustration crashing against the surface. I tried not to feel this way—I really did—but now it feels like I’m drowning. I was forced into this life, into this marriage, and now my father is too ashamed to face me?

“After everything I’ve sacrificed for him, the least he could do isstand by me!” I snap at Maxim, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “He’s the one who left me to deal with the fallout of all this. And now I’m supposed to just accept that he’s refusing to see me?”

Maxim sighs heavily, his hand resting on my shoulder again. “Anastasia, I understand how you feel. But give him time. Your father is a proud man. He can’t face you until he feels he’s made things right.”

I laugh bitterly, shaking his hand off. “Time? I’ve already given himtime. I’ve done everything I can to protect him, to save him from this mess. But if he can’t face me now, after all of this, then maybe I’m better off without him.”

I take a step back, anger and sadness swirling together in my chest, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away quickly.

“I won’t reach out again,” I say firmly, my voice cold. “If he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me. But I won’t be waiting.”

Before Maxim can say anything else, I turn and walk away, my footsteps echoing through the quiet house. Each step feels heavier than the last, but I refuse to stop. I refuse to let the tears fall.

I’ve never felt this alone before. But I’m strong, stronger than this fucked up situation.

I am still Anastasia Petrov. No matter what, I refuse to lose myself.

And they’ll see that. One way or another.

TEN

DMITRI

I scowl at my door, the sound of a knock grating against my already fraying patience. My focus on the work at hand fades the moment my stepsister, Yelena, breezes in like a gust of uninvited chaos.

“Brother!” she sings, dropping her leather luggage with a thud. In seconds, she’s latched onto me, squeezing me tight with her arms, as if she’s trying to suffocate me with affection.

“You look good!” she chirps, clearly ignoring the fact that I can barely breathe.

“And I’m going to be blue and cold if you don’t let up, Yelena,” I rasp, tapping her arm to signal my surrender.

“Oh!” She releases me, stepping back with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just missed you. Wanted to soak in all theyouI could.”

I stretch my arm out, keeping a safe distance between us. “You can soak in the ‘me’ with your words, not your death grip,” I say, cutting her off before she decides to smother me again.

She pouts, dramatically releasing me. “Right. I forget how much you hate physical contact. Always the brooding type. You and your thoughts, all alone in your little castle of seriousness.”

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