Page 4 of Forced Bratva Bride

“Twenty minutes,” he finally conceded gruffly. “But you’ll promise me you have to go straight to the grocery store. Nowhere else.”

I broke into the largest smile and felt an unexpected rush of joy at this small freedom. “I promise! See? Problem solved.”

With a tense sigh, he took the receipt and gave me one small nod, opening the door to let me pass. I entered but turned to watch him walk off in the direction of the dry cleaners.

Just to be sure I had actually managed to send him away. Here I was, all by myself in the big, bad world, and the roof didn’t come crashing down. If only someone could explain this to my brothers.

To accomplish this impossible task, I used the oldest trick in the book: the threat of repercussions from my brothers. Being the only sister in an Italian Mafia family had its disadvantages, but it also taught me to keep a few tricks up my sleeve.

Sometimes having a bodyguard was reassuring, but at times like this, when we were in the middle of a busy high street where there was obviously no danger, it was suffocating.

I ordered my coffee, and a pang of yearning washed over me as I waited for it to be made and packed. I wantedmoredays like this.

Today was a rare occasion for me to be allowed out for something as mundane as a grocery and dry-cleaning run, which our housekeeper usually handled. But, Mrs. Bellini was unwell and had the day off, and we had guests arriving for dinner. My brothers tasked me with these chores andexpectedme back soon.

While I enjoyed this small freedom, since every freedom was one I often fought for, given how my brothers believed our fortress of a home was all I needed to experience in life to stay safe, I also knew that we were on a tight deadline.

If I could have had it my way, I would have spent hours here, browsing the stores, getting my hair done, and maybe catching a movie. But those were luxuries I had never experienced. If I needed clothes, a personal shopper would be at our doorstep. If I needed my hair cut, the salon would be set up in the basement.

I remembered Gastone's instructions from this morning. “Nothing complicated, Larissa. Just pick up my suits from Bernardo's, get the ingredients Mrs. Bellini needs, and come straight home. Dom will accompany you.”

Gastone, my oldest brother at thirty-eight, had been running both the family business and the family itself since our father died seven years ago. The “family business” was something we didn't discuss openly, but I wasn't naive. I knew what it meant when my three brothers disappeared for late-night meetings, why our house had more security than most banks, and why I was never, ever allowed to go anywhere alone.

The barista called my name, and I collected my coffee, taking that delicious first sip as I headed out of the door.

I took my time walking toward the grocery store, watching the people passing by, sipping my coffee. No Dom, no brothers. It was just me and my thoughts, and I was loving every minute of it. I felt mildly naughty, like a teenager who had snuck out in the middle of the night.

The street was busy but not crowded. It was truly a beautiful evening. I passed a flower shop, a newspaper and magazine stand, and a beautiful boutique for dresses. Maybe if I was quick with the groceries, I could convince Dom to let me browse there for a few minutes.

Lost in these thoughts, I didn't immediately register the footsteps behind me. But then, the steps got closer, faster. I felt a prickle of awareness creep down my spine, warning me to be alert. I walked faster, but the footsteps sped up.

I felt like someone was following me. Instinctively, I thought to turn, but before I could, a hand clamped around my arm.

“What the f—?” I said loudly, my heart racing as I felt pure, unadulterated fear. I froze, knowing I should scream, but before my brain could send a signal to my throat, I was yanked into an alley I hadn’t even noticed I was passing.

My coffee fell to the ground as I stumbled, off-balance. A tall man was yanking me further into the alley.

“Help!” I screamed, craning my neck toward the street, hoping to catch a passerby’s attention. “Someo—”

A hand yanked around my mouth, and an arm slid around my stomach, his hand splayed across it, digging into my skin. He literally lifted me off the ground, my back against his chest, and carried me toward a black car parked at the end of the alley. I tried to kick back at him, tried to grab his hand around my mouth, tried to dig my nails into his skin to make him lose his grip on me, but nothing seemed to work. He was strong. Far too strong.

The blood rushed to my ears, and my vision became a blur of disorienting sights. An empty alley, a waiting car, an overturned trash can. No one knew where I was, and I was powerless against this brute.

Suddenly, I felt a fear unlike any I’d ever felt before. The man moved fast, releasing the grip on my mouth to pull open the car.

I screamed, as loud as I could, but he threw me in the car and slammed the door shut behind me, muffling out my screams. I reached for the handle and tried to open it, but it didn’t budge.

Fuck.

He got into the driver’s seat, and for the first time, I had a clear look at my attacker. He was tall—taller than Dom, even—with broad shoulders silhouetted under a tailored, expensive suit. Italian, no less.

Under different circumstances, I might have considered him handsome with those sharp cheekbones, flawless complexion, ocean blue eyes, and that strong jaw carved over by a manicured stubble.

But under these circumstances, I hated him with a vengeance and shunned those thoughts side.

“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning closer. My breath hitched in my throat, and he grabbed both my hands as his face came dangerously close to mine, until I could see nothing but his face.

“No!” I tried to twist away. “Let me go! Help!” I screamed, looking desperately out of the window, but we were hidden from view in this alley.

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