Page 10 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

My chest heaves as I glare at them, daring them to justify this betrayal.

The library suddenly feels claustrophobic, closing in around me. I fight the urge to flee, to escape this nightmare.

"It's not like that," Dima interjects, his tone gentle. "This union is strategically important for our family's interests."

A harsh laugh escapes me. "Oh, of course. How silly of me to forget that my happiness is irrelevant compared to a good business deal."

Nikolai stands, his imposing frame tensed. "Sofia, be reasonable. Vladimir Zolotov is a powerful ally. This marriage will secure our position and keep us safe."

For a moment, I'm certain I've misheard. My eyes widen, and I feel the blood drain from my face. Vladimir Zolotov? The man who had his eye on me the whole time during our party? He’s handsome, sure. But he’s also a decade older than me! And I can’t forget that he’s a Zolotov. As the reality of their words sinks in, white-hot fury gives in to shock.

"You’re joking, right?" I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. My fingers dig into the arms of my chair as I struggle to maintain my composure.

"It's for the good of the family," Dima interjects weakly. "The alliance will strengthen our position—we’re still weaker than we’d like to be."

"The good of the family?" I spit out, my control finally snapping. I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. "And what about my good? Did that even cross your minds for a second?"

I advance on them, my green eyes flashing with rage. "You had no right to make this decision for me. I'm not some pawn to be traded!"

"Sofia, please," Nikolai pleads, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "If you'd just listen—"

"Listen?" I laugh, the sound bitter and cold. "I think I've heard quite enough. You've made it abundantly clear where your priorities lie, and it's certainly not with my happiness or autonomy."

I'm trembling now, a mix of anger and disbelief coursing through my veins. How dare they? After everything I've done for this family, all the sacrifices I've made, this is how they repay me?

"I won't do it," I declare, my voice steely with determination. "Find another way to secure your precious alliance. I refuse to be sold off like chattel to a man I barely know."

With that, I turn on my heel and stride toward the door, my head held high. I may be trapped in this world of power andpolitics, but I'll be damned if I let them strip away my autonomy without a fight.

As I reach for the doorknob, Nikolai's voice stops me. "Sofia, please. At least meet with Vladimir. Give him a chance."

I pause, my hand hovering over the cold metal. Part of me wants to refuse outright, to slam the door and never look back. But the dutiful sister in me, the one who's always put family first, hesitates.

Without turning around, I say, "Fine. One meeting. But don't expect me to play nice."

I yank the door open and step out, leaving my brothers to deal with the aftermath of their decisions. How could they do this to me? My own brothers, treating me like a bargaining chip.

As I reach my room, I slam the door shut, leaning against it and closing my eyes. The absurdity of the situation hits me, and I let out a humorless laugh. An arranged marriage. To Vladimir Zolotov, of all people.

His face comes to my mind. Those broad shoulders, that intense gaze. Sure, he got my heart racing. But I’ve had plenty of men do that, and I never given them the time of day.

He’s also a recluse. Arrogant. And a Zolotov.

My brothers are fools if they think I'll simply acquiesce to their plans. They may be stubborn, but they've clearly forgotten how unyielding I can be. I push off the door, pacing my room as my mind races.

No, I won't let them dictate my future. My brothers may think they've won this round, but they've forgotten one crucial fact: I'm Sofia Orlov, and I’ll find a way to make sure Vladimir Zolotov refuses to marry me.

I have to convince Vladimir it's a bad idea. And there's only one way to ensure that happens.

I snatch my phone from the nightstand, my fingers flying over the keys as I compose a message. "Mr. Zolotov, I believe we have a matter to discuss. Meet me at Noir tomorrow at 2 PM—Sofia Orlov"

***

I stride into the restaurant, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The maître d' recognizes me instantly, his eyes widening as he hurries to escort me to the reserved table.

"This way, Miss Orlov," he murmurs, leading me through the dimly lit dining room. “Your party is already here.”

My heart begins to race at the thought of seeing Vladimir. I was hoping I’d reach first and have enough time to settle my nerves.

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