Forced Marriage Vows

12. Mikhail

CHAPTER 12

Mikhail

T he wedding takes place in a cathedral.

Which is complete overkill and entirely unnecessary. But choosing the wedding venue was the only thing I let my father be involved in. He practically begged me to let him, so I did, and now we’re both standing quietly in one of the rooms provided for us in the cathedral while I wait to be called to the altar. If it were up to me, he wouldn’t be here at all.

The silence in the room is broken when he decides to speak. “Do you know why I chose this church?”

“No. And I don’t particularly care,” I murmur, my gaze fixed on my phone. He’s not deterred, however.

“I chose this cathedral because this is where I was married. Your grandfather as well. He’s the one who brought our family here—he’s the reason we’re a part of the Bratva. Why you have the chance to become Pakhan today.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What am I supposed to do with this information?”

“You and I have always had our differences, Mikhail. I understand you don’t care much for me, but I’m still your father. And I’m standing at your side on this momentous occasion. Surely that has to count for something.”

“It doesn’t,” I assure him, feeling my jaw tighten. “And do you really want to know my biggest problem with you, Father? It’s the way you consistently brush off why our relationship is like this. We don’t have ‘differences.’ You drove my mother to her death and I had to stand there and watch! I was a ten-year-old standing in a pool of his mother’s blood and you weren’t there. You didn’t give a fuck. So don’t fucking stand there and say that I don’t care much for you. I fucking despise you and I feel nothing towards you.”

My words are scathing but they have the intended effect. His expression shutters and after a couple of seconds of glaring at me, he leaves. Once he’s gone, I let out a sharp breath. One day, I’ll deal with my feelings about my father, but that day won’t be today.

Anthony takes my father’s place once he’s gone. “I may have heard some of that,” he says apologetically.

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Is everything ready?”

“Yes, all the preparations are in place and no one seems to be pulling out any guns or screaming bloody murder. But there’s time yet for that.” He smirks.

“You look good for a best man,” I tell him with a short nod.

He’s wearing a black three-piece suit. I’m in a similar one, except mine is white.

“Is this the part where I offer encouraging words of support and wish you a happy married life?” he asks. “Because I’m not going to do that. You’re getting your way now, Mikhail. But if you harm a single hair on her head, I’ll murder you. Do you understand?”

I have no doubt that he would. The only person who could drive Anthony to murder would be his sister.

“I’ll take care of her, brother,” I promise.

He seems to grow more at ease at that. “Well, come on then. Time to see the blushing bride.”

The blushing bride is, in fact, not blushing. I’d say she’s more of an angry bride. Anastasia hasn’t looked me in the eye since our kiss two days ago—a kiss I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Anthony walks her down the aisle and she looks like a vision in her dress.

But the frown on her face makes it clear to everyone that she would rather be anywhere else. As is customary in weddings like this, the entire Bratva have made it their business to attend, to watch and observe. Some members of the Cosa Nostra are here as well, including the Don.

“Smile, Anastasia,” I say to her when she’s in front of me.

If anything, her frown deepens even further. I tried to talk to her before the wedding but she made it clear she has no interest in speaking to me. She seems to be harboring a grudge. Which is beyond me because from what I remember, the kiss was consensual and she seemed to enjoy it. If the sounds she was making were any indication.

Those sounds… fuck. The way her body responded to mine. The way her nails raked across my skin. The woman is like my own personal torture device. And I would forever subject myself to her mercy if she’d only let me kiss her again.

I want to claim her as mine. But first I need to break down all the walls she seems intent on building to keep me out.

The ceremony goes by in a blur. When the priest announces that I may kiss the bride, Anastasia turns her cheek, letting me place a kiss there instead. I chuckle as I pull away. There’s no doubt in the mind of anyone present that she’s not a willing participant in the wedding. I wonder if that’s exactly what she’s trying to accomplish.

At the reception, she makes a point of avoiding me. I have to cut into a discussion between her and Ivan’s wife, Lucia, to get her to speak to me. She turns to me with a sigh once the other woman leaves.

“I know what you’re doing, solnyshko .”

“I doubt that,” she murmurs.

“This anger is an act. You don’t want your father to think you’re betraying him by allowing this marriage. That little show at the wedding was to make sure that he wouldn’t think you were on my side.”

She arches an eyebrow “What little show?”

I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You didn’t let me kiss you, Anastasia. When I know without a doubt that your body aches for my touch.”

To prove it, I place a hand on her waist. She shivers at the contact, making me smile.

“Be angry all you want, Anastasia. You and I both know you enjoyed the kiss.”

She pushes my hand away, glaring up at me. “I see we’re back to being delusional.”

The only person being delusional here is her. But I decide to let that go. For now.

“Back to your father,” I drawl. “I’m curious, exactly what has he done to inspire such blind loyalty?”

She makes a face like the question confuses her.

“He’s my father,” she answers simply, like the simple fact that he gave her DNA should be reason enough to excuse his behavior.

“You know he doesn’t really care about you, right?” I ask. “If he did, he would have tried to fight for you. I was expecting it. I thought he would at least show up at the church. But he didn’t. Has he even tried to contact you?”

She clenches her jaw and looks away, which is enough of an answer.

“He’s not who you think he is, Anastasia,” I say softly. “As soon as Anthony heard the news, he got on a plane and flew straight here. He pulled a gun on me. You and I both know your brother doesn’t like guns. But he pulled one on me.

“Anthony came here because he knew you wouldn’t kill him,” she says through gritted teeth. “My father can be accorded no such protection.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather he was safe anyway.”

He sighs, “Fine. Keep protecting him. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

I’m called away by one of the soldaty who wants to check in about the security at the event. Anastasia heads over to talk to her friends.

As far as weddings go, this one has been reasonably calm. Nothing too dramatic. But before we leave, Ivan requests an audience. By his side are Nicolas Ramirez and Adrian Rossi.

“Gentlemen,” I greet.

“Happy wedding, Morozova,” Adrian greets, smiling without teeth. “But I hope you haven’t forgotten our deal.”

“Like I could with you breathing down my neck,” I mutter. “So eager to shed some blood, Rossi?”

“Eager to have my revenge,” he corrects. “We’re watching you, Mikhail. If you don’t deliver Vasiliev to us, there?—”

Ramirez cuts him off before he can continue. Which is fortunate because I was about to do something we’d have all regretted.

“What Adrian means to say is that we understand that you’re doing your best to find Igor. It’s just incredibly frustrating because he never should have been able to escape in the first place. It would be a shame to ruin all the hard work that went into building this alliance over one man.”

I clench my jaw. “I’ll find him.”

“Good. And Mikhail? Congratulations on becoming Pakhan,” Nicolas tells me with a small smile.

It hits me in that moment what I’ve been able to achieve. My appointment as Pakhan isn’t official yet, but it might as well be. I offer the Don a nod of acknowledgment before walking away. Ivan walks at my side.

“They need to chill the fuck out,” I say once we’re out of earshot. “And Ramirez needs to control his dog.”

I’m trying very hard to be diplomatic because I know we have a lot on the line, but I only have so much patience.

“You have to understand where Adrian is coming from.”

“I understand it. That doesn’t give him an excuse to talk to me that way.”

Ivan assures me that things will get better once Igor is found. But it’s all so incredibly frustrating.

I do my best to stay calm, not wanting to fuel Anastasia’s bad mood, but she still picks up on my frustration and anger.

“Why the hell are you so angry?” Anastasia asks on the ride home.

We’re in the backseat of my car being driven home by Jerome while a guard sits in the passenger seat. Our car is in the middle of two other black vans filled with my men. I’m not taking any chances, just in case Igor does decide to show his face.

“No reason,” I reply, irritated.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not really nice that you’re stealing my thunder. I’m the only one that gets to be mad.”

My lips twitch and I finally look at her. “That’s very mature, solnyshko .”

“I’m being serious. If something’s bothering you, either tell me what it is or pretend like nothing’s wrong so I’m not worried.”

That has me arching an eyebrow. “Ah, so you’re worried about me?”

“I worry about everybody, Morozova. You’re not special,” she scoffs.

“I think it’s about time you started using my name. Don’t you think, sweetheart?”

“No, I don’t think. Using your name means I lose. I’m not a fan of losing,” she tells me.

“But I know how to make losing so much fun,” I point out, my eyebrows rising suggestively.

Her cheeks heat as she immediately understands my insinuation.

“Give in, Anastasia. You know you want to. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

She sucks in a sharp breath before looking away.

“Here’s what’s going to happen tonight. I’m going to go to my room and you’re going to yours, and neither of us are going to touch each other with a ten-foot pole.”

I laugh lightly. “Sounds like a challenge I can get behind. Alright, sweetheart. I won’t come near you.”

“Thank you,” she says, seemingly relieved.

“If you want something, you know where my door is.”

I reach for the side of her face, brushing some of her blonde hair away, my touch light and soft. When her breath hitches and I spot desire in her brown eyes, I know I’ve got her. There’s no way she lasts through the night.

Turns out I was talking out of my ass because by the time night falls, I’m pacing the length of my room, being driven crazy by the thought of her being so close to me. She’s a few rooms down the hall. I could have her in my arms in mere seconds.

This desperation is something I am entirely unaccustomed to. I have never felt like this toward any woman ever. But I manage to stop myself. I know if I went to her door now, she would let me in, but I’m not ready to accept defeat just yet.

An hour goes by, then two.

Just when I’m about to give in and go to her, there’s a knock on my door. I open it slowly, leaning against the doorway as I stare at the woman on the other side

“Hello, wife,” I drawl.

“This isn’t me admitting defeat,” she begins.

“Of course.” I nod in agreement.

“And it doesn’t mean I like you or anything,” she continues. “This is just two people who are attracted to each other. You said it yourself. You think I’m hot and I think you’re hot, too. We’re both simply scratching an itch.”

“An itch,” I repeat dryly. “So basically, you want to use me. Am I right, solnyshko ?”

She swallows softly. “Do you not want me to?”

“All I want is for you to come into this room so I can fuck you hard enough that you forget your own name.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s unlikely. But I’m always up for a challenge.”

Still, she doesn’t cross the precipice of my doorway. She seems almost hesitant.

“Anastasia,” I prompt.

She searches for something in my eyes, and the moment she finds it, she exhales deeply.

“Screw it,” she says as pulls my face down to hers.