Page 16 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
If marrying Lev Tarasov was the only way to save my family, then so be it.
It took a lot of courage to make that decision because I knew there was no turning back now. When Dad learned of the choice I made, he was both sad and relieved.
However, I left his study before he could get too emotional and make my tear glands water. I had already promised myself that I had cried enough. No more. I had made my choice, and I would live with the consequences as long as my father and the family business were safe. Lev had left the address to this office the last time he was here. He said to meet him there when I decided to go through with the plan. When. Not if. As though he was certain that I would.
I located the place and drove my vehicle into the compound. My brows arched at the sight of armed men lingering by the gates and high walls. Their rifles were slung casually, their sharp eyes roaming the surroundings.
“What the hell?” I murmured, pulling up in front of a low warehouse looming over me. “Office my ass.”
This place was a fuckin’ fortress. Not an office. And what was more disturbing was that, of all the places in the city, he chose this as our meeting point. This man would do anything just to prove that he was in charge.
Condescending jackass!
I killed the engine, my grip tightening around the steering wheel. I clenched my jaw, feeling the boiling of my blood. I’d never hated anyone the way that I hated Lev Tarasov, and without thinking twice, I’d put a bullet in his head if the opportunity ever presented itself.
The car door clicked open, and I stepped out into the evening sun setting on the horizon. My face was twisted into a frown as I walked into the warehouse with steady strides.
I thought one of the commandos lingering in the compound would ask who I was or who I was looking for. But to my surprise, no one approached me. They all just went about their activity like a strange woman hadn’t just waltzed into their territory without identification.
Strange. I hadn’t been expecting so much freedom of movement in a fortress like this. Either they weren’t afraid of my scowl, or their bastard boss had already told them I was coming.
Yeah, the latter made more sense.
Inside, the warehouse stretched wide and cavernous, the smell of oil, sweat, and metal drifting through the air. Crates were stacked high along the walls, and the hum of generators vibrated through the building. Loud voices echoed as workers moved sealed boxes and crates across the space.
Heads turned as I walked toward the door labeled “office,” my shoes clicking against the concrete floor. I could feel the workers’ gazes as I moved, but again, nobody said a word to me.
I reached the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked it open. There he was, seated at his desk, hands placed on the mahogany table. His eyes were fixed on the door, as if he knew I was coming and was waiting for me.
A faint, mocking smirk curled the corners of his lips as he met my gaze. My jaw clenched, and my pulse raced with a sudden dryness in my throat.
His stare was so intense it almost stripped me of my confidence. And just like that, fear crept its way into my heart, reminding me that this was the moment of truth.
I closed the door behind me and walked over to his desk in silence. He didn’t rise, didn’t say a word, just watched me take a seat.
My eyes fell on the marriage contract lying on the table between us, black ink against white paper. He reclined in his chair with a cocky grin on his lips, his gaze unwavering.
“Sign that,” he said, calm as always, “and all your problems will go away.”
With my heart pounding like a drum, I skimmed through the contract, each clause another shackle to keep me chained to him for all eternity. If I signed this, I would be giving up my freedom, my future. Essentially, I’d be throwing my life away.
I glanced up at him, furious by that cocky grin on his lips. My fingers curled into fists, and my jaw tightened, but the selfish prick didn’t seem to care. All he was after was my signature on the fuckin’ paper.
The fact that he already believed that I belonged to him only infuriated me all the more. I should turn around and walk away—prove him wrong. But as much as I wanted to do that, I couldn’t.
What was the point? I was already here, so I might as well just do what I came to do.
My hands trembled when I reached for the pen before me. I picked it up, lowered it toward the paper, and after a moment of hesitation, closed my eyes and slowly signed the damn thing.
Once done, I set the pen back on the table, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. No. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me vulnerable.
“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” he asked, a hint of mockery lacing his tone.
I gritted my teeth but said nothing.
“Congratulations,” he added. “Your father’s a free man again.” He reached out and retrieved the signed contract.
“Are we done here?” I asked, my voice sharp as a knife, eyes blazing with fury.
