Page 10 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

She glanced anxiously at Benedikt, then back at me, finally scampering out of the room. A few seconds later, I heard a door click shut down the hall and I looked down at her father, who still whimpered about his nose. He tried to give me a defiant glare but one blink had him shrinking back against the wall.

I leaned over and hauled him up to sit in the kitchen chair, tossing him a pile of napkins for his bleeding nose.

“We need to figure this out,” I said. “Now, listen and agree to everything I say, and you might just make it out of this alive.”

Chapter 6 - Olivia

Oh God, what was Dima up to? There was no arguing with the stormy look on his face, so I ran to my old room and shut myself in, my mind reeling. So much new information. Learning the truth about how much my father had actually stolen nearly brought me to my knees.

It was already bad enough, but nearly a million dollars seemed insurmountable. And stealing a shipment from the Kuzmins? Had my father finally gone off the deep end with his hubris?

It almost seemed like a nice memory, thinking that Russia's long, cold winter was the least of my problems. Now that Dima knew everything, there was no way he wouldn’t tell his brother. He was too loyal and dutiful. They were traits I admired about him. My father didn’t understand loyalty, and greed always swayed him away from those who’d shown him nothing but kindness in the past.

I paced the length of my tiny room, catching sight of myself in the full-length mirror on the wall next to my old pop star posters and the school achievement awards my mother had been so proud of me for earning. For a split second, I was appalled by my wild hair. I tried to smooth the tangled curls into a ponytail with a band I dug out of my dresser drawer.

What did it matter what I looked like at a time like this? But it gave me a sense of control over something, and once my hair was tidy and neat, I felt a fraction more like myself. It all crumbled when I turned away from the mirror and remembered what faced me on the other side of the bedroom door.

So much money, just gone. It wasn’t like Papa's stolen money was hidden somewhere, and Dima and I could pry thelocation out of him. No, it would all be long gone, wasted on his foolish gambling, an even worse addiction than the get-rich-quick schemes he always fell for.

What the hell was going on out there? I pressed my ear against the door and didn’t hear any loud noises or yelps of pain. Rubbing my cheek where my father had slapped me, I wasn’t sure how relieved I was about that. But Dima had stopped him fast enough before he could really lay into me for accidentally revealing we meant to run off to Russia.

My initial panic about being sent to my room while Dima “talked” to my father turned to curiosity now that they really seemed to just be talking. What was so serious about whatever he had to say that I had to leave the room? And also, why was he here at all if he really hadn’t found out that Papa owed Aleks so much money? Did Max get worried and send him? It just didn’t make sense, and I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for his intervention. Oh, why did he have to be such a damn hero?

I hated the idea of Dima bailing my father out of this predicament. I hated pity of any kind, and it was made worse by the fact that I already felt beholden to his family for giving me a job. I had proven over time that I deserved it, but even with Max's generous salary, I couldn’t hope to pay it all back in my lifetime. It would be pure charity, and that was too much for my pride to bear.

While Papa might have always been one to shirk duty and hard work, always looking for the easy way in everything, my mother instilled in me a completely different set of ethics. Always do your best, always work hard. I wanted to be more like her than Papa, and thought she would be proud of me so far. And she never wanted this life for me, not at all.

The original plan was for me to go to college and have a life that was far removed from the Bratva. Her death had changed all that, and I was given the job soon after I graduated high school. College was off the table since Papa didn’t think it was worth spending money on me when I could be out earning instead.

It wasn’t ideal, but there was an even worse fate than having to work for a Bratva king, according to my mother. Being forced to marry one. Talk about a life sentence.

Even after I came to terms with working for one of the biggest crime families in California, I decided to make a five-year plan in order to get out. Retire from working for anyone in the Bratva, no matter how kind they were. I had been saving almost every penny I earned, but it was difficult when Papa constantly needed to be bailed out of something or other. I was perpetually starting over from nothing again and again.

I didn’t want to give up on my plan to leave it all behind, even though Max was a great boss and tried to keep me out of harm’s way as much as he could. I’d grown to think of it as an ordinary assistant job, just with the occasional explosion, but I wanted to live the life my mom and I had dreamed about together.

Ordinary, calm, and peaceful. No bombs, no ransoms, no getting called out of bed at three in the morning to track down your boss’s best cleaner, and no, not someone who wipes down countertops, either.

I stopped trying to hear anything and started pacing. How long were they going to take? I prayed there weren’t any more surprises my father had been keeping from me. As the minutes crawled by like hours, I realized that if Dima offered to pay off my father’s debts, there was nothing I could do about it. I'd haveto accept it, just like being dragged off to Russia. I’d just never be able to look him in the eyes again.

The only other option was to stick to the plan and run, but if Papa and I tried that now, we wouldn’t make it to any airport without one of Aleks’s people waiting to grab us. So, what could they be discussing?

I sat down on my old bed that still had the blue polka-dotted bedspread that matched the frilly curtains. My mother helped me pick them out when I was ten; they’d never been changed. We never had too much extra money for frivolous things like home decor. Besides that, I still loved it, thinking it was so grown up and sophisticated at the time.

Plucking anxiously at the spread between my fingers, I just couldn’t calm down completely because I had no idea what was going on or even what to hope for because running was no longer an option, and I hated the idea of it. Being beholden to Dima of all people almost seemed worse even though it would mean I might be able to return to work and my freedom down in San Diego.

But why would Dima offer to pay off that staggering amount of money, and if he did, what would the punishment be for my father? Of everyone to be worried about, Papa should have been last on my list, but it was only because of the damn memory of shopping with Mama that had me feeling even slightly benevolent where he was concerned. She’d loved him, and he’d been good to her, at least.

“Olivia,” my father finally bellowed from the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, I hurried back out, coming to a standstill when I couldn’t make anything out from either of their expressions. Dima sat at the kitchen table, and his stormy, ice-cold eyes were completely unreadable. Papa sloppily poured a splash of his vodka into three glasses.

“Shall we toast to the new union?” He nudged a glass across the table toward Dima and then staggered a few feet to hand one to me.

Uh, what new union? I took the glass but didn’t drink as Papa raised his and began to slur out a toast, clearly delighted underneath his drunken state. Dima was a blank slate, not drinking either, just taking me in as my father’s muddled words finally started making sense.

Dima would pay off the debts to the Kuzmins and Aleks, and in return…

“To wedded bliss!” Papa laughed, chugging his glass down like it was iced tea.

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