Page 21 of Forced Marriage Vows

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you to my house.”

How in the world is that supposed to be obvious?

We step into the elevator and he presses the button for his floor, which is of course the penthouse. We make the short ride in silence, nerves blossoming in my gut at the thought of being in his house alone with him.

The doors of the elevator open and we walk out into the house. It’s the height of elegance and wealth. Motion-activated lights come on as we walk in, illuminating the high ceilings, hardwood floors, and walls lined with abstract artwork in colors that match the deep brown and black leather of the furniture in the living room.

Mikhail leads us there, sitting me down on the plush couch.

“There we are, home sweet home,” he announces with a smirk, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets.

“Why am I here, Morozova?” I question.

He pauses, placing a hand on his jaw as he observes me, eyes locked on mine. Tension simmers between us, impossible to ignore.

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

“I’m not promising you anything. The fuck?”

“You Vasilievs and your unyielding stubbornness,” he says, shaking his head.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I press.

He takes a breath, his eyes boring into mine. When he speaks, the words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“You’re going to be my wife, Anastasia.”

My heart stops and I can’t breathe for a second. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.” His voice is steady. There’s no room for doubt.

I stare at him, shock and disbelief flooding my senses. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can assure you, Anastasia, I am,” he murmurs.

But I refuse to believe that. I lean into the couch, running a hand through my hair as my mind whirs, trying to come up with a believable explanation for what’s going on. I look up at Mikhail sharply. His eyes are still fixed on me.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke? A prank? Is my brother in on this?”

That would make sense. It’s exactly the kind of joke Anthony would play on me.

“Your brother’s not involved, no. He has no idea what’s going on, actually,” he informs me.

I suck in a sharp breath. “Exactly whatisgoing on, Mikhail?” I ask quietly. “I don’t understand.”

Maybe it’s my use of his name or the stark confusion on my face, but his expression softens. He lets out a quick breath before taking a seat on the couch directly opposite me.

“You’ve already figured it out, Anastasia. I’m taking over as Pakhan. But it’s not that simple. Positions like that require some form of legitimacy.”

“Your father’s one of the most powerful commanders in the Bratva. Doesn’t that lend you enough legitimacy?”

“Not exactly. If I tried to take over as Pakhan right now, there would be too much dissent from the members of the Bratva. And I can’t very well kill every single person who has something negative to say about my rise to power.”

He speaks about murder so easily. Like taking a walk through the park.

“Okay.” I nod slowly, trying to see his point. “So you need legitimacy. But there has to be another way to achieve that because I’m not marrying you. That’s insane. I barely even know you.”

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