Page 20 of Forced Marriage Vows

“This is kidnapping, Morozova,” I tell him.

He smirks. “You’re welcome to report me to the police, sweetheart.”

“You’ll pay for this.”

“Enough, let’s enjoy the rest of the drive in silence, Anastasia,” he says, eyes fixed on the road.

“No. I deserve answers. You need to tell me what’s going on. Where’s my father?”

He turns toward me, his eyes trailing over my face. His mouth presses into a thin line before he looks back to the road once again.

“He ran away. Like a fucking coward,” he says in Russian.

My fists clench. “Why would he need to run away from you? What have you done? And what do you plan to do with me?”

“One question at a time, Anastasia.”

I inhale a quick breath praying for more patience. The worst part about this entire situation is that I’m not nearly as scared as I should be.

“Why did my father run?” I ask first.

“Like I said before, he’s a fucking coward. He decided to leave instead of staying to fight me like a man.”

“Fight you?” I echo, the pieces slowly falling into place. “You’re challenging him for his position.”

“Challenging is a strong word. I’m taking the position. You can’t exactly challenge a person who’s too much of a coward to even defend himself.”

“Stop calling him a coward,” I grit out.

“No,” he says, almost like a petulant child.

“Okay, fine. So you want to be the next Pakhan. Fine. It was time for my father to retire anyway. Just let him go.”

Mikhail laughs. It’s a small sound that lights up his face, and my heart jumps at the sight of it.

“You know, your brother always used to tell me that you could be a little too naïve for your own good. Especially for a mafia princess.”

I stiffen at that. “It’s not naivety. I’m just choosing to see the good in people.”

“Like your father?” he hedges.

I don’t reply.

“It’s funny. Anthony chose to leave because he couldn’t see any good, while you stayed because you desperately wanted to believe it was there. So what, sweetheart—do you see any good in me?”

I consider that question. Five years ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But now there’s a part of me that believes he’s nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.

“In you, no,” I reply quietly.

“Smart girl,” he says, sounding almost impressed.

The car stops in front of an apartment building. Mikhail steps out immediately, handing his keys to a valet. I’m considering my options, the possibility of running away, whenhe opens my door and offers his hand. I glare at him until he sighs before reaching for my arm and pulling me out of the car.

“Stop fighting, Anastasia. I like it rough, but now’s not the time to play,” he whispers in my ear as he leads me into the building.

I shiver at his dark tone, a hollow feeling sliding through my gut. There is something seriously, fundamentally wrong with me.

No one pays us any attention as he walks me toward the elevator.

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