Page 2 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
“The girl… Kiera. She’s not like us. She didn’t know who her father was until after he died.”
I say nothing. Let him keep talking.
“She grew up far from this. Normal. Her mother kept her away from everything.”
The elevator dings. The doors slide open.
“She’s not a weapon,” Mateo finishes. “She’s a girl. Be easy on her… if you can.”
I step inside and turn my back to him as the doors close. I don’t need to ask the question already forming in every man’s mind.
Why offer her now? Because they’re desperate, and because she’s expendable.
“She’s not like us.”
I don’t believe him, but the hesitation in his voice… that was real.
The lobby is quiet when I step out, all polished stone and expensive silence. My driver’s already waiting at the curb, black car idling, heat humming through the cracked windows. He gives a short nod when he sees me, but says nothing. Good. I’m in no mood for conversation.
The car door groans as I pull it open and sink into the driver’s side. I let the door slam shut harder than necessary, the sound echoing through my ribs. Rain still falls in steady sheets, streaking down the windshield, blurring the city into something formless. My knuckles tighten on the wheel.
I killed her father. Now I’m expected to marry the daughter.
My grip loosens. One hand rises to my face, fingers digging into the curve of my brow. The muscles in my neck ache. I’ve spent the last fifteen years turning into something sharp, something brutal, and suddenly I’m being told to play husband.
She has no idea what that means.
My phone buzzes against the console. I glance at it—Andrei. I let it ring once more before answering.
“What.”
“You sound like hell,” he says, not bothering with hello. “Did Mateo whisper sweet things in your ear on the way out?”
“He thinks I’ll be gentle with her.”
Andrei huffs a laugh. “That’s cute.” There’s a pause. Then: “You going to be?”
I stare ahead, the streetlights warping in the rain. “No.”
He doesn’t ask why. We both know this isn’t about the girl. Not really. It’s about control. Territory. Legacy. They’re dangling a new pawn in front of me, expecting me to play nice because her hands are still clean.
“She’s twenty-two, Maxim,” he adds. “Barely out of university. You think she knows what she’s walking into?”
“She’ll learn.”
“Or break.”
“That’s not my problem.”
I hear him sigh, soft and tired. Then: “You don’t have to say yes.”
“She’s not the one I’m answering to.”
Dominik made that clear the moment he said I’d meet her once. That’s all it takes. One meeting. One impression. Then I decide whether to tie her to me in name, in bed, in blood.
Andrei changes tack. “You remember the last time we tried peace through marriage? It doesn’t always end well for the girls involved… or for us. She could be a spy.”
I exhale through my nose. “Kiera Vargas isn’t a spy.”
