Forced Marriage Vows

17. Anastasia

CHAPTER 17

Anastasia

I wake up to weak morning light shining through the windows of the bedroom. My first thought is that I feel safe. Not just safe, protected. I’m enveloped in warmth. Because of him.

And it feels so wrong and yet so right at the same time.

Mikhail’s on my right side, curled behind me, his arm under my neck. His left arm is snaked over my hip, his hand gripping my thigh through the thin silk of the night gown I insisted on wearing to bed. I slowly turn to face him, carefully so he doesn’t wake up. I’m shocked when he doesn’t so much as stir. I thought he had insomnia. My brother mentioned it once. But when I finally get a good look at his face, he’s the picture of calm—at ease, peaceful.

The urge to run a hand through his hair hits me. I hold my fingers an inch away from his mouth, tracing the curve in the air. I could stare at him for hours. He’s painfully good looking, and in this moment, he looks downright innocent.

But of course my mind chooses this moment to remind me that he’s not. Mikhail’s the furthest thing from innocent, and while I want more than anything to forget, I can’t.

FIVE YEARS AGO

The bell above the door jingles as I step out of the diner, the sound fading into the quiet night. The familiar smell of greasy food and cheap coffee still lingers on my clothes, but for some reason, it’s comforting. It’s why I come here after bad days—the run-down booths, the flickering neon signs outside, and the friendly waitresses who always make sure my plate is full.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as I step onto the sidewalk, the air cooler than it was earlier. I could call for a cab, but I decide to walk. It’s only a few blocks to my off-campus accommodation and I need the fresh air to clear my head.

The streets are mostly empty, just the occasional hum of a car passing by. As I walk, my eyes drift to the dark alleyways between the buildings, the shadows stretching and shifting under the dim streetlights.

I hear it just as I’m about to pass the next alley—the sound of a low, desperate voice. Someone begging. My steps falter and I freeze, instinctively stepping back to hide behind the wall. The sound is unmistakable now, clearer. Whoever it is, they’re pleading, terrified.

“Please…. I’ll do anything…”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands grip the edges of my jacket, trying to steady myself as I peek around the corner, just enough to see what’s happening. At first, all I see is a man on his knees, his face covered in blood. He’s shaking, hands raised in front of him like they’ll shield him from what’s coming. There are two men standing in front of him. My stomach twists at the sight.

I’m about to turn away when I get a better look at one of the men standing over him.

Mikhail.

I suck in a breath, my entire body going cold. There’s no mistaking him—the tall, broad frame, the way he holds himself, and that terrifying calm that radiates off him. He’s holding a gun in his right hand. I don’t recognize the other man who stands behind him. But he looks Russian. If I had to guess, he’s probably a soldat .

What the hell is going on?

The man keeps begging, his voice breaking, but Mikhail doesn’t even flinch. He’s staring down at him, expression unreadable, almost bored. He looks at him like he’s gum beneath his shoe, like the man’s life doesn’t matter.

I want to do something, to help the man who seems to be desperately clinging to life. But my body feels frozen, glued to the spot as I watch. Horror fills me when Mikhail raises the gun. He pulls the trigger without a word.

The sound rings out, sharp and final, echoing down the alley. The man crumples to the ground, blood pooling around him. Mikhail doesn’t even blink. He just lowers the gun and turns around.

“Let’s go,” he says to the other man.

They both leave. I press my back against the wall, my breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. I don’t know how long I stand there, trying to process what I saw. I wonder if I should call the cops.

Mikhail’s my brother’s best friend. He’s just as involved in the Bratva as any of us. On some level, I can understand that these things happen. It’s the Russian mafia; of course they kill people. But something about the way he killed that man rubs me the wrong way. It makes me feel sick.

He was defenseless, unarmed. And Mikhail killed him in cold blood. I force myself to move, to leave, my legs shaky. My mind races as I try to come to terms with what I’ve just witnessed. Before then, I’d never really cared about Mikhail. He was always with my brother.

My perspective of him changed from that day on. I’d seen a monster. A monster that terrified me.

I close the fridge, grabbing the tray of brownies I popped inside of it earlier. Anthony’s like a bloodhound, immediately appearing at my side and snatching one.

“This is why I love you, little sister,” he says, biting into it, his eyes fluttering closed.

I roll my eyes, placing the tray on the counter before turning around to face him. He finishes the brownie in under five minutes and is reaching for another when I slap his hand away.

“Ow, Anastasia,” he complains, rubbing the top of his fingers.

“No, grubby. I didn’t make these for you,” I state.

I know what he’s about to say before he even says it.

“Who’d you make them for, then? Your husband?” he questions with a teasing smirk.

I groan softly, “No, I made them for myself to enjoy. Mikhail can have some if he wants.”

That’s a total lie. Before he left the house, I specifically told him I’d be making brownies and he asked me to set some aside for him. After which he gave me a heart-pounding kiss goodbye. Safe to say, our dynamic has completely changed since last night.

I’m more open toward him now, which is scary.

“Yeah, right,” Anthony says sarcastically. “So how’s it going with him? I’m guessing not well if you’re stress baking.”

I peer at him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Obviously I don’t care about the disgusting bits. I just want to know if you’ve managed to stop hating him.”

I sigh. “I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t think I actually ever did.”

“I distinctly remember a few hate speeches calling him a jerk and an asshole. Especially considering he forced you into this marriage. No one would blame you for hating him.”

“I never hated him. It’s just… he scared me,” I say tentatively.

“Why? I know he’s got this big bad wolf thing going, but it’s mostly an act. I promise he’s not that bad.”

I scoff. “Need I remind you I watched him kill someone?”

Anthony pauses, the expression on his face thoughtful. “Do you want to know how many people Mikhail’s killed?” he asks after a couple of moments.

“Hundreds?” I mutter.

“Ten.”

“Bullshit,” I immediately counter. “There’s no way in hell he’s only killed ten people. And how would you know that?”

“I asked him. You think he’s some kind of monster, little sister, but he would never kill anyone unless there was a good reason for it. He’s not the cold-blooded murderer you think he is.”

“But I saw?—”

“Ask him about what you saw if it’ll put your mind at ease, Anastasia. He’ll tell you whatever you need to know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the man’s a saint. He might have only killed ten people, but he’s very well versed in torture. What I’m trying to say is that Mikhail is exactly what our world made him. You and I were lucky enough to grow up with our humanity intact. He wasn’t.”

I let out a soft breath. It’s not like I don’t already know everything my brother is telling me. I guess a part of me is still trying to find that last shred I can hold on to. Before I let myself fall irretrievably.

“You like him, Ana. And that’s okay. I promise he’ll take care of you. You know I wouldn’t say that lightly. And I’m sure you already know this, but he likes you, too. If you’d asked me a couple weeks ago how he felt about you, I’d have said he didn’t give a fuck. And now he’s married to you and looking at you in this sappy, disgusting way. It came out of nowhere, but the two of you make sense in an opposites-attract kind of way.”

That makes me smile. We do mirror each other in some ways. Mikhail somehow manages to balance me out.

“I never thought I’d see you psychoanalyzing my relationship.”

“Yeah, it’s weird as hell. But you know me, I can’t help being wise,” he says seriously.

My lips twitch. “You’re a dumbass.”

When he looks at me, I know he’s about to say the real reason he came here. And I can already guess what it is.

“If it were up to me, I’d get you the hell out of this city without hesitation,” Anthony starts. “But I can’t do that. And I hate having to leave you behind.”

My chest tightens. “You’re leaving?”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. He works in L.A.; his entire life is there, and Anthony has never liked staying in Chicago for too long. Still, this isn’t over. My feelings for Mikhail aside, everything is still such a huge mess.

“What about Dad?” I blurt out, immediately regretting it when his expression tightens.

“What about him?”

My jaw clenches. “He needs our help, Ant.”

“And you want me to… what?”

“Ask your best friend to stop hunting him, for instance. I know he’s in hiding but he could very well be found—and if that happens, he could die.”

“So let him die,” Anthony says easily.

My lips part. “What is wrong with you? I understand you’ve never agreed with the things he’s done, but he’s still your father.”

“He’s not. I know you don’t understand it, Anastasia, but Igor’s not my father. He hasn’t been my father for a long time and I honestly couldn’t care less if he lived or died. The only family members I have left are you and our mother.”

“Of course, your mother,” I say bitterly. “Where is she right now? Sledding in Antarctica?”

His lips thin. “She’s in Mexico, actually. I spoke to her last week. She, uh… heard about the wedding.”

He means she heard her daughter was being forced into a marriage and she didn’t even care enough to call and ask if she’s okay. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling to release the pressure building up in my chest.

“She asked how you were. And she’s sorry she missed the wedding.”

I laugh. “Did she also hear that her husband’s on the run?”

“Yep, but she doesn’t give a fuck about that.”

“Is she planning on coming back anytime soon?” I question.

He shakes his head, an apology swimming in his eyes. I don’t need it, though. I’ve always known my mother doesn’t care about me, and I made peace with it a long time ago. I just wish I knew why.

“This family’s messed up,” I murmur, leaning against the counter.

“Tell me about it.” Anthony sighs. He steps toward me and pulls me in for a hug. “I’ll always love you, little sister,” he says in Russian. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will. And I love you, too,” I say against his chest. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“When have I ever?” he asks in English, making me snort. “Take care of Mikhail for me, too. He acts like a tough guy, but he’s been through so much shit. And now that he’s Pakhan, anything could happen. I need you two to be safe. And if you ever decide to give him your heart, don’t take it back. Mikhail doesn’t do well with being abandoned.”

“I would never abandon him,” I promise.

“Good. If he hurts you, call me immediately. I’ll be on the next flight to take care of it.”

I hold onto him tightly for a couple more seconds, my eyes feeling heavy.

“We’re being incredibly dramatic right now, aren’t we?” Anthony murmurs over the top of my head. “I’m not dying.”

I laugh, pulling away from him. “Good point. And it’s not like I’m going to miss your goofy ass.”

“Bullshit,” he returns, his gaze landing on the tray of brownies. “You are going to give me some of those to go, right?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “No.”

He shoots me a hurt look. “That’s a really mean thing to say to your favorite brother.”

“You’re my only brother, Anthony.”

He ends up leaving with half the tray. It doesn’t matter, though, I’m already baking another batch as soon as he’s gone, trying to get over how alone I suddenly feel.

Somehow, Mikhail’s able to tell as soon as he walks through the door.

“Hey, baby,” he greets, walking in and taking in the sight of me curled up on the couch. “I bought some takeout. You like Chinese, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, sitting up and feeling a swell of gratitude. “How was work?”

He places the food on the table, passing me some of the fried rice and pork.

“Pretty good. I had a meeting with some of the Bratva’s commanders. Zakharov nearly pissed his pants when I started interrogating him about some missing finances,” he says on a grin.

I gesture at him with a fork. “A good day to you includes intimidating and scaring people?”

“And it ends with me coming home to my wife and having a quiet night in,” he says without missing a beat.

“Romantic,” I mutter before taking a bite of some pork.

I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t skip a beat at that, though. But I need to be careful with Mikhail. I like him, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to show just how much. It makes me feel like I’d be losing, which I know is irrational.

He chuckles. “Your brother’s only a call away, Anastasia. And you can always go see him whenever you want.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you’re grumpy. It’s cute.”

“Everything I do is cute,” I state.

“Even the cockiness,” he agrees with a grin. “Come on, cheer up. We can watch a movie, anything you want.”

That manages to rouse a measure of excitement from me. “A horror movie sounds nice right now.”

Mikhail raises a dark brow.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. You just never struck me as a girl who would enjoy horror movies.”

“I absolutely do not. But I figure being scared out of my mind will take my mind off everything,” I tell him.

“Sounds like a solid plan. And if you get too scared, you can always climb into my lap. And then you’ll have something even better to take your mind off things.”

“Pervert,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He chuckles before leaning in closer and kissing my cheek. “I’ll go take a shower and change while you pick out the movie.”

My eyes are fixed on him as he leaves the living room. When he returns, I curl into his side as the movie starts to play. And I don’t feel alone anymore, not even a little bit.

Everyone keeps telling me it’s okay to give him my heart. But he already has so much of it, which is terrifying. We’re in this big bubble now where the rest of the world can’t reach us. What happens when that bubble pops?

I get my answer a week later. Lucia and I are leaving our yoga studio after a particularly grueling session. Despite that, my chest feels light and I’m in a really good mood, listening to Lucia tell me all about her plans for the magazine. I already told her I was in a couple of days ago.

She’s telling me about her plans to work with a popular designer that incorporates nature into their work when a woman suddenly approaches us.

“Excuse me,” she says, standing in our path.

I stare up at her. She looks to be in her late twenties with curly blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a model-esque figure. I have never seen her before in my life, but her eyes are fixed on me determinedly and I can’t help but wonder why.

“Hi,” I say simply, waiting for her to tell us what she wants.

“You’re Mikhail Morozova’s wife, right?”

I nod slowly, a spike of fear in my chest. Lucia and I parked only a couple feet away with our bodyguards not too far off. If anything happened, they’d be here in a matter of seconds. But she doesn’t feel exactly threatening. Honestly, she seems scared, jumpy.

“I’m Sierra Colby. You don’t know me, but I really need your help.”

“With what?” I question, mildly uncomfortable.

Sierra glances at Lucia, who is standing at my side, looking just as confused as I feel. She exhales a quick breath before saying the words that shake me to my very core.

“Mikhail and I were in a relationship four years ago. And he doesn’t know this, but I was pregnant when we broke up. He and I have a son.”