Page 8 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
I don’t want to scare her any further, but God, I can’t help but bellow, “Your brothers hurt my family. Horribly!”
Her face pales further. “N-No!” she stutters. “There must be some mistake. My brothers wouldn’t hurt anyone!”
“Viktor Sokolov, your cousin, was killed because—”
“Killed?” she screeches, clutching the wall behind her in shock. I notice her hands tremble. “Viktor died of a heart attack two months ago,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“A heart attack? Come on. Even you don’t believe that. You can’t be putting on such a dull story!” He was in the Bratva, princess.
“Bratva?” she repeats, looking genuinely perplexed. “What’s that?”
I shuffle impatiently. Time’s running out, I know. I need to get this marriage over with quickly and have her out of here before someone tracks us down. Before her brothers hear what happened and find us.
I take her arm and pull her toward the desk. “Russian mafia,” I say as she struggles against me, and suddenly, she stills, walks with me like a puppet.
Only a very terrified person would do that. This doesn’t make any sense. Why keep up this act…even now?
“M…mafia?” she whispers. “My brothers have taken over Viktor’s restaurants. They… if you had problems with Viktor, we don’t know about it.”
This is an act I’ve seen before—the innocent girl routine. But I have to admit, she’s convincing.
“We don’t have time for games,” I say finally. “Your brothers have disappeared underground since Viktor died. Finding you was pure luck, and I’ll take any Sokolov I can get my hands on.”
“Please,” she trembles. “Just let me call them. They’ll help you understand that there’s been a terrible mistake.”
“You can call them, after the ceremony,” I say and give the priest a nod. The priest says one word—one—before she screeches.
“I’m not marrying you! You can’t force me to do this!”
God, she’s really getting on my nerves.
She struggles, trying to pull away from me, but I hold tight. “This isn’t legal!” she screams like a shrieky little thing. “You have no right.I don’t agree to this!”
“Continue, please.” I ignore her—she’s starting to give me a headache.
The priest nods nervously and opens his book.
“We are gathered here today...” he starts, his voice echoing.
Arina struggles against my grip, but I hold her firmly beside me.
“I won’t say the vows,” she hisses at me. “You can’t make me.”
“You don’t have to,” I inform her. “It’ll still count. I’ll answer for you. Clearly,” I turn to the priest, “she’s overwhelmed.”
He nods, and her face crumples. For a brief moment, I feel guilty at how shattered she looks, but her name is enough to make that guilt feel meaningless.
Where was the guilt when her brothers allowed Viktor to torture Lilibeth? This, by the treatment my sister-in-law suffered, is five-star service.
The priest rushes through the ceremony, eager to be done with this marriage. When he pronounces us husband and wife, I slide the marriage certificate toward her.
“Wish I had a ring, princess. But you can sign for now.”
“No.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “And stop calling me princess!”
I sigh. “Fine, Arina. If you don’t sign voluntarily, my men will force your hand. Literally.” I nod toward the witnesses, who step forward menacingly.
Her hand shakes as she takes the pen, tears now falling freely down her face. She scribbles her signature, then throws the pen across the room.
