Page 5 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

“You can trust me,” he said. “I’m all ears if you need to vent. Don’t pretend nothing’s wrong, Olivia. You don’t have to, not with me.”

The look on his face, the sound of his voice, and the way he instantly caught me trying to hide my feelings, had me on the verge of tears.

“My father’s in financial trouble,” I admitted. I didn’t say ‘again,’ and I certainly didn’t admit that I knew it was partly because he was running a scam that would affect his brother Aleks if my father couldn’t come up with the money to pay it back in a hurry.

He couldn’t. I had already exhausted every avenue, and the amount this time was so staggering there was no way I could secure a loan to cover it. I had a bad feeling that as soon as I was back in LA, Papa would drag me off to hide somewhere, and I’d be isolated until he could figure it out. Why he bothered when he clearly couldn’t stand me was beyond my comprehension and not worth thinking about anymore. I’d come to accept he liked having a twenty-four-hour servant he could take his frustrations out on.

Dima’s hand had dropped from my chin but rested very close to mine, and now he let his fingers glide over mine ashe gave me a compassionate look. Not pity, but it was still too much. It was bad enough I had to admit my father was in debt over his head, but the way Dima was looking at me had me wishing for things that couldn’t happen in a million years.

“That’s not the worst thing in the world, is it?” he asked.

God, how I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t. I couldn’t tell him everything, but the anger still raged in me, and I let loose a little bit more.

“One of the people he owes is Rurik Kuzmin,” I said.

“Oh shit.”

Yep. It was like that. Rurik Kuzmin was the head of a rival organization that the Fokins had a tenuous peace with at the moment, and he made the Fokins look like kittens. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, since they could be just as ruthless when wronged, and I clammed up again, wishing I hadn’t opened up at all. Despite the cease-fire up in Los Angeles, the two families were by no means friendly, with a long history of animosity towards each other.

I had thought it might feel good to let it out, at least a little bit, but embarrassment flooded me, followed swiftly by shame that I’d aired my own family’s dirty laundry.

“It’ll all get worked out,” I said, pushing my chair back. The cake sat untouched on its plate, but the last thing I wanted was to waste time getting a to-go box. I needed to get out of there, away from Dima’s compassionate gaze.

It looked too much like pity now, and the tears I’d been fighting were close to finally falling.

“Wait, Olivia,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There. Now, I could pretend that never happened, and after the end of the week, I’d never see him again. There was already so much weighing me down, the pain of realizing this was probably true nearly toppled me. All I could do was pretend it wasn’t happening and start packing once I got home.

My tiny apartment was strewn with things I meant to wrap and put in boxes because I couldn’t bear to get rid of anything. Just about every moment of freedom had meaning to me, and I saved the tiniest mementos to commemorate it all. As if I knew it had to end all along, because, of course I did.

As I was packing, my father called, and I listlessly answered, wishing he’d just leave me in peace for these last couple of days.

“You need to get home now,” he said before I finished saying hello.

“That’s impossible,” I said, looking at all my stuff. “I have to finish out the work week.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” he snapped.But you do, I didn’t bother reminding him. “Get your ass back here by tomorrow morning. I found someone who can get us out of the country faster than I planned, because things have escalated with Kuzmin, and he wants his money now. Like tomorrow night. So, we obviously can’t be here.”

Why was I a part of this again? “Listen, let me talk to him,” I said, just the thought of it sending a creeping chill up my spine. “You leave the country, and I can still keep sending him my paycheck while you figure something else out. Maybe I can figure out a way to make more, ask for a raise…”

My father laughed bitterly. “And why do you think your boss will give you anything when he finds out what we owe?”

I held my breath, so I wouldn’t scream, knowing how it all worked. If Rurik Kuzmin couldn’t find my dad, he’d come after me. And the Fokins wouldn’t be there to save me, because they’d be next in line wanting their pound of flesh.

My arguments turned to pleading, but it was futile. My father was too controlling. The fact I was able to move down to San Diego in the first place had been a miracle. If I flat-out refused to head home immediately like he demanded, he’d only send one of his cronies, or let the Kuzmins drag me back to pay.

I hung up without answering, but he knew I’d be on my way without me saying a word. I had no choice. Closing my eyes, I conjured up my mother’s sweet, smiling face. She was so weak right before she died, but she never stopped smiling for me, so I wouldn’t worry too much that she was in pain. Some of her last words came back to me.

‘Take care of your father. He’ll see how important you are to him when I’m gone.’

I laughed without a hint of humor as I tossed some things into a suitcase; no time to bother with my beloved keepsakes anymore. For about five minutes I had hoped what my mother said was true, but he only got worse instead.

As I zipped up the hastily packed case, I realized I wouldn’t get to say a final goodbye to anyone. Running out on them like this might even make the people who’d been so kind to me and treated me like one of their own think that I was part of my father’s schemes.

The tears I’d been holding back for so long finally started to flow.

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