Forced Marriage Vows

7. Anastasia

CHAPTER 7

Anastasia

F ear’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. Not when I’ve spent most of my life living in bubble wrap. My father ensured I was safe and protected, far away from the scarier parts of our world. I’m starting to think that was a mistake. Because when it all goes to shit, I’m wholly unprepared for what happens next.

“Listen to me very carefully, Ana. The meeting point is at Galena,” my dad says, listing directions to our family’s safe house. “I want you and Coda out of that house in ten minutes. Tell him to drive and keep driving. You can’t let them catch up to you.”

“Slow down, Papa. Who?” I ask, my heart racing in my chest. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

He curses in Russian before his attention is pulled away by someone calling his name in the background. He trades a few words with this person, and I’m able to glean that he’s already out of the city.

“Papa, where are you? Are you hurt?”

“For now, zvezdochka . I’m safe for now. But it won’t be long before they come after me.”

“Who?” I ask on a sharp exhale. “Who’s coming after you?”

I whirl around when I hear the sound of the code to my apartment being entered. My stomach churns, a sick feeling washing over me.

“You can’t let him have you, Ana,” my father tells me.

“Who?” I whisper, watching the door of my apartment carefully.

“Mikhail Morozova.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid just as the door swings open.

“He’s here, Papa,” I whisper right before I hang up the phone, rushing to my feet.

Mikhail stands in my doorway, tall and imposing, his face calm, detached—too calm for what’s happening. His hand is gripping the back of Coda’s neck, holding a gun to his head. Coda’s eyes are wide, panicked, but he doesn’t move.

Mikhail steps forward into the apartment, dragging Coda with him. He has an unimpressed frown on his face.

“Anastasia,” he says, his voice light. He might as well have been talking about the weather. But the way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine.

“Hi,” I say back, trying to put on the same unaffected air. “I wasn’t expecting a visit, Mr. Morozova.”

He smiles. It doesn’t do anything to thaw that icy coldness that he always exudes.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“Leah, my best friend,” I answer without skipping a beat.

Mikhail smirks. “Life would be so much easier for both of us if you didn’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

I decide to forgo all pretense. “What do you want from me? What have you done to my father?” I ask, my fingers clenching around my phone.

“Those are important questions for sure. But why should I answer your questions, when you’ve refused to answer mine?”

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask.

His eyes soften, and the sight surprises me. It makes him look more human. He looks like he couldn’t contemplate ever hurting me. Then the expression clears and he’s back to a cold, imposing statue.

“Depends on if you’re good, sweetheart.”

I suck in a sharp breath at that.

“Ana…” Coda starts to speak. But he doesn’t to finish his sentence before Mikhail shifts his grip, knocking him out with a swift blow to the head.

My bodyguard crumples to the ground, unconscious. Okay, now I’m really scared. I freeze, backing up until I hit the wall.

“Stay the hell away from me!” I shout when Mikhail steps forward.

He doesn’t listen, closing the space between us in a few long strides. He grabs my arm, his grip firm but not painful, encroaching on my space as he does so. His presence fills the room, suffocating in its intensity. I make sure to look him in the eye, trying to show him I’m not cowed.

“You have no idea how much I wish this was happening some other way, Anastasia. But we’re out of time and I have no way of knowing if your father has sent other men to retrieve you. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to follow me out of this apartment, and you’re not going to make a sound. Alright?”

“Go to hell,” I spit.

He makes a low, frustrated noise before his eyes briefly fall shut. “I’m not going to hurt you, Anastasia,” he grits out. “I would never hurt you.”

His eyes darken and for a second something shifts between us. The air thickens, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else entirely that makes my heart race.

“I don’t trust you.”

“That’s fine. But whether you like it or not,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, “you’re coming with me.”

I try to fight it, to yank my arm back, but he’s stronger than me.

“Mikhail—”

But he’s already dragging me through the door and into the dark hallway. My mind is a blur of panic and frustration as he forces me into the passenger seat of the BMW parked in front of my apartment. He shuts the door behind me, and before I can even begin to open it, he’s on the other side, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He starts the car and then we’re off. I think about Coda unconscious on the floor of my apartment. I hope he’s okay.

We’ve been driving for about five minutes before I finally turn to look at him.

“This is kidnapping, Morozova,” I tell him.

He smirks. “You’re welcome to report me to the police, sweetheart.”

“You’ll pay for this.”

“Enough, let’s enjoy the rest of the drive in silence, Anastasia,” he says, eyes fixed on the road.

“No. I deserve answers. You need to tell me what’s going on. Where’s my father?”

He turns toward me, his eyes trailing over my face. His mouth presses into a thin line before he looks back to the road once again.

“He ran away. Like a fucking coward,” he says in Russian.

My fists clench. “Why would he need to run away from you? What have you done? And what do you plan to do with me?”

“One question at a time, Anastasia.”

I inhale a quick breath praying for more patience. The worst part about this entire situation is that I’m not nearly as scared as I should be.

“Why did my father run?” I ask first.

“Like I said before, he’s a fucking coward. He decided to leave instead of staying to fight me like a man.”

“Fight you?” I echo, the pieces slowly falling into place. “You’re challenging him for his position.”

“Challenging is a strong word. I’m taking the position. You can’t exactly challenge a person who’s too much of a coward to even defend himself.”

“Stop calling him a coward,” I grit out.

“No,” he says, almost like a petulant child.

“Okay, fine. So you want to be the next Pakhan. Fine. It was time for my father to retire anyway. Just let him go.”

Mikhail laughs. It’s a small sound that lights up his face, and my heart jumps at the sight of it.

“You know, your brother always used to tell me that you could be a little too na?ve for your own good. Especially for a mafia princess.”

I stiffen at that. “It’s not naivety. I’m just choosing to see the good in people.”

“Like your father?” he hedges.

I don’t reply.

“It’s funny. Anthony chose to leave because he couldn’t see any good, while you stayed because you desperately wanted to believe it was there. So what, sweetheart—do you see any good in me?”

I consider that question. Five years ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But now there’s a part of me that believes he’s nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.

“In you, no,” I reply quietly.

“Smart girl,” he says, sounding almost impressed.

The car stops in front of an apartment building. Mikhail steps out immediately, handing his keys to a valet. I’m considering my options, the possibility of running away, when he opens my door and offers his hand. I glare at him until he sighs before reaching for my arm and pulling me out of the car.

“Stop fighting, Anastasia. I like it rough, but now’s not the time to play,” he whispers in my ear as he leads me into the building.

I shiver at his dark tone, a hollow feeling sliding through my gut. There is something seriously, fundamentally wrong with me.

No one pays us any attention as he walks me toward the elevator.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you to my house.”

How in the world is that supposed to be obvious?

We step into the elevator and he presses the button for his floor, which is of course the penthouse. We make the short ride in silence, nerves blossoming in my gut at the thought of being in his house alone with him.

The doors of the elevator open and we walk out into the house. It’s the height of elegance and wealth. Motion-activated lights come on as we walk in, illuminating the high ceilings, hardwood floors, and walls lined with abstract artwork in colors that match the deep brown and black leather of the furniture in the living room.

Mikhail leads us there, sitting me down on the plush couch.

“There we are, home sweet home,” he announces with a smirk, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets.

“Why am I here, Morozova?” I question.

He pauses, placing a hand on his jaw as he observes me, eyes locked on mine. Tension simmers between us, impossible to ignore.

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

“I’m not promising you anything. The fuck?”

“You Vasilievs and your unyielding stubbornness,” he says, shaking his head.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I press.

He takes a breath, his eyes boring into mine. When he speaks, the words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“You’re going to be my wife, Anastasia.”

My heart stops and I can’t breathe for a second. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.” His voice is steady. There’s no room for doubt.

I stare at him, shock and disbelief flooding my senses. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can assure you, Anastasia, I am,” he murmurs.

But I refuse to believe that. I lean into the couch, running a hand through my hair as my mind whirs, trying to come up with a believable explanation for what’s going on. I look up at Mikhail sharply. His eyes are still fixed on me.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke? A prank? Is my brother in on this?”

That would make sense. It’s exactly the kind of joke Anthony would play on me.

“Your brother’s not involved, no. He has no idea what’s going on, actually,” he informs me.

I suck in a sharp breath. “Exactly what is going on, Mikhail?” I ask quietly. “I don’t understand.”

Maybe it’s my use of his name or the stark confusion on my face, but his expression softens. He lets out a quick breath before taking a seat on the couch directly opposite me.

“You’ve already figured it out, Anastasia. I’m taking over as Pakhan. But it’s not that simple. Positions like that require some form of legitimacy.”

“Your father’s one of the most powerful commanders in the Bratva. Doesn’t that lend you enough legitimacy?”

“Not exactly. If I tried to take over as Pakhan right now, there would be too much dissent from the members of the Bratva. And I can’t very well kill every single person who has something negative to say about my rise to power.”

He speaks about murder so easily. Like taking a walk through the park.

“Okay.” I nod slowly, trying to see his point. “So you need legitimacy. But there has to be another way to achieve that because I’m not marrying you. That’s insane. I barely even know you.”

“You can get to know me,” he replies. “Starting now, in fact. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Although there’s not much. I’m a pretty open book.”

“You’re being way too blasé about this situation,” I say accusingly.

He’s acting like it’s not a big deal, and somehow that’s piercing through my defenses enough to me relax. Which is pissing me off. The man kidnapped me; I should be screaming my head off. Although I doubt anyone would hear me.

“What would you like me to do, Anastasia?”

“I want you to let me go! There’s no way in hell I’m getting married to you.”

“You will,” he says like it’s a foregone conclusion. “It’s up to you to choose if I’ll be dragging you to the aisle or if you’ll walk up it yourself.”

My fists clench while my pulse races. “Does Anthony know about this?”

Finally, I spot a chink in his carefully crafted armor. An uneasy shift in his expression—one he covers up far too quickly.

“He’ll find out about it eventually. If he hasn’t already,” Mikhail replies simply.

Hope blossoms in my chest at that. My brother doesn’t know. My brother didn’t agree to this. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to get me out of this fucked up situation.