Page 32 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
The incident scared the shit out of me—more than I cared to admit. Last night, in my sleep, I had a series of nightmares, all of which involved an attack on my life.
I probably never should’ve opened that package. Because now I couldn’t unsee what I saw inside, and the alone kept me up at night.
Ignorance truly is bliss.
I wouldn’t have been so jumpy and scared if I’d never checked inside the box. Now the content of the package wouldn’t stop haunting me.
“Curiosity is not a sin. But it kills the cat.” That was what my college professor used to say all the time. I never truly understood that until now.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at the elegant woman looking back at me. Lev had hand-picked the outfit I was wearing today: a sleek black blazer paired with tailored pants, the clean creases giving me a polished, sharp look.
On my feet, a pair of classic black heels raised me inches higher with just the right touch of elegance. The outfit was simple, refined, and classy.
Lev had asked me to change into these clothes, saying that I was coming with him to a Bratva council meeting. Of course, I tried to object because what the hell would I be doing in a room full of mean old men with nothing better to do than plot other people’s demise?
But Lev wouldn’t take no for an answer. In fact, the son of a bitch only gave me ten minutes to get ready. It was useless fighting him because his mind was made up, and there was no way he was leaving this house without me.
I could’ve insisted that I wasn’t going anywhere with him. I could’ve stood my ground as always. But to what end?
Besides, I hadn’t been outside these walls since the so-called wedding. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to see the outside world again and breathe in some fresh air.
My hands darted upward, manicured fingers deftly styling my hair into a perfect bun atop my head. I powdered my face and painted my lips a shade of red that blended seamlessly with my light makeup.
The scent of my feminine perfume filled the air around me as I drew a deep breath. A part of me thought this was a bit too much, considering that I hated Lev and his Bratva people.
It was true that I hated the man. However, my father taught me to always dress in a way that I wanted to be addressed. Lev was taking me to a meeting with the Bratva council—a place where women most probably weren’t even welcome.
I had to make a good first impression as his wife. Not because I was seeking their validation, but simply to pass their assessments on whether I was a good wife. I picked my designer purse from the top of the dresser and headed out.
He was waiting in the living room with his back against the staircase as I descended the stairs with slow, measured steps. Maybe he somehow sensed my presence because soon after, he turned around, his eyes locking with mine in a split second.
His charcoal suit fit him perfectly, his dark brown hair catching the light overhead. He looked at me with a blank expression, and I refused to break eye contact until I was standing right in front of him.
Lev’s gaze swept over my body as if he were impressed by what he saw. Yet, he didn’t say a word about it—didn’t even acknowledge my look with a faint grin. He simply turned around and left, expecting me to follow. And I did.
***
This is insane.
All eyes were fixed on me as I sat next to Lev at the long mahogany table that stretched almost the length of the dimly lit room. The scent of whiskey and vodka filled the air as smoke lazily curled toward the ceiling, thick enough to sting my eyes.
The atmosphere was charged with tension as the men—rough, hardened, grizzled by years of violence—stared at me like I was an anomaly they didn’t know what to do with.
Two of them had spoken to Lev in Russian about a minute ago, when we walked in side by side. I didn’t have to speak Russian to know what the conversation was about. Me.
Clearly, my presence at such a gathering of high-profile Bratva elites was not welcomed in the slightest. I didn’t want to be here either, but my husband, their brother, insisted I tag along.
I felt not only their stares but also their judgments. Being the center of attention at every gathering was something I’d grown used to—even though I hated it. But this one was different. And not in a good way.
I barely survived Lev’s intense gaze, but now I had to sit down among ten other men just like him, enduring all their piercing stares. Still, I refused to shrink under the weight of their scrutiny.
Instead, I chose to keep my chin up, posture steady, unflinching, so they’d see that I wasn’t afraid of them.
Lev’s eyes shifted across the men as he responded to them in Russian, probably explaining why he’d asked me to come along with him. The mean-looking men in black suits didn’t seem pleased with his explanation. But as always, Lev didn’t give a shit.
After what felt like an eternity, the men finally decided to ignore me. They started discussing an issue and how to fix it while I sat there, watching and listening silently. I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t here—to distract myself with thoughts,memories, anything at all—because I wasn’t interested in their conversation. It was none of my business.
However, I couldn’t help being a part of this discussion.
