Mafia King’s Bride

3. Ana

THREE

ANA

The house feels too quiet as I step out of my room; an oppressive silence seems to press against my ears, making the vastness of this mansion even more suffocating. It’s been less than two weeks since I married Dmitri Orlov, yet it feels like a lifetime, each day stretching endlessly in this cavernous prison. I walk down the long hallway, my footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the empty space, a reminder that despite the grandness of this house, there’s nothing for me here.

I head downstairs, desperate for a small moment of normalcy—a cup of coffee to start my day. But even that feels hollow, a ritual that no longer brings comfort. As I enter the kitchen, I find Janet busy at the stove. She notices me immediately, turning with a polite nod.

“Good morning, ma’am. What would you like for breakfast?” she asks, her voice as warm as ever, but I can see the concern flickering behind her eyes.

It’s the same concern she’s shown every morning since I moved in, every time I’ve turned down a meal. “Nothing, thank you, Janet. I’ll just make myself some coffee.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t push. She never does, and I feel a pang of guilt. She’s only doing her job, and yet here I am, punishing her with my cold indifference because I’m trapped in this house—this life—against my will.

“Okay,” she says softly, turning back to the stove.

I brew the coffee in silence, focusing on the task as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. The machine is state-of-the-art, of course. Dmitri doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s the one thing I can stand in this place—the only semblance of control I have left. I take a sip, letting the bitterness roll over my tongue, but even that can’t shake the heaviness sitting in my chest.

After finishing the cup, I drop it in the sink and make my way back upstairs, eager to retreat to the one space that feels remotely safe: my room. As I climb the stairs, I hear the faint creak of a door opening on the third floor. My heartbeat spikes, my legs moving faster without conscious thought. Dmitri. I don’t even need to look to know it’s him.

I quicken my pace, hurrying back to my room and closing the door behind me with a soft click. My pulse is still racing, and I press my back against the wood, forcing myself to breathe. I shouldn’t be afraid of him. Dmitri Orlov might be a monster to others, but to me, he’s just… indifferent. Cold. And yet, I find myself avoiding him at every turn, not out of fear, but out of sheer revulsion for the man I’m now tied to.

Every interaction with him feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into a dark abyss. It’s not fear that makes me retreat—it’s the weight of knowing I married him not for love, but because one man’s hatred for my father outmatched even his thirst for revenge.

I sigh heavily, peeling myself away from the door and heading to the bathroom. Today, at least, I have work to keep me occupied. It’s the only thing I have left to cling to, the one thing that reminds me I had a life before all of this. A purpose.

“Mrs. Orlov.”

The sound of the name stops me in my tracks. I turn, realizing with a jolt that the senior partner calling out is addressing me.

Mrs. Orlov.

The name feels like sandpaper in my mouth, rough and unwelcome.

Anastasia Orlov. I mentally repeat it, trying to make sense of the new identity forced upon me. The more I say it, the more it feels like a bad joke. But the man walking toward me doesn’t know the truth. He sees me as Dmitri’s wife, and that means I have to play the part.

“Good morning, sir,” I say, forcing a smile that barely touches my eyes.

He catches up to me, his expression warm. “For a moment, I thought I had the wrong person. Welcome back!” He extends his hand, and I shake it mechanically. “How was your honeymoon?”

Honeymoon.

I almost laugh. The week I spent locked in my room, pretending that none of this was happening? I raise an eyebrow, but he continues, oblivious.

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” he adds as we walk toward the elevator. “But I’m glad you are. We have some cases that are right up your alley. Of course, take your time easing back in. I’m sure you’ll want to leave early these first few months to enjoy married life.”

Married life. Another bitter laugh sits on the edge of my tongue, but I swallow it down, keeping my voice neutral. “Don’t worry about me. Work comes first.”

He gives me a curious look, no doubt wondering why I’m choosing to immerse myself in work instead of spending time with my husband. But I don’t explain. I don’t owe him—or anyone—an explanation.

The elevator doors open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the tenth floor. “I’ll have Steve bring you an urgent case,” the partner says as the doors begin to close. “Welcome back, Anastasia.”

The elevator ride is silent, and as soon as I reach my floor, I exhale, stepping out into the familiar space of my office. It looks exactly as I left it, everything in its place as if nothing in my life has changed. But it has.

I walk to my desk, running my fingers over the smooth wood before sitting down. This is where I belong—where I’ve always belonged. Not in Dmitri’s mansion. Not playing the role of a dutiful wife. Here, surrounded by folders and paperwork, with nothing but my cases to occupy my mind.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Steve walks in, holding a thick folder and a bouquet of roses. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Orlov,” he says, placing the flowers and the folder on my desk and sitting down in front of me. “How does it feel to be married?”

Like my life is over. Like I’m trapped in a cage I can’t escape. Like I’ve lost every part of myself that ever mattered.

I force another smile, my jaw tight with tension. “It’s… amazing,” I lie, the words tasting like ash.

Steve grins, oblivious. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe it when I heard you were getting married. You never mentioned a boyfriend, and now you’re Mrs. Orlov? Wow. And why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?”

I laugh lightly, keeping up the charade. “It was a surprise,” I say, the lie slipping out easily. “We wanted to keep it small.”

He nods, buying it without question, but his eyes linger on me, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “Well, I’m happy for you. But you know, if you ever get tired of the married life, I’m still available.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.

“That ship has sailed, Steve,” I say lightly. “Now tell me about the case.”

He hands me the folder, and I flip it open, skimming the details. Money laundering and fraud. It’s a typical case for me—defending someone whose hands are dirty but not as dirty as the people they stole from. It’s the kind of work I’ve grown numb to.

As I read through the file, I can feel the familiar pull of focus returning. Work is my refuge. It’s the only thing that keeps me from drowning in the reality of my life.

Steve stands to leave, and I nod, already diving into the case.

The door closes behind him, and I exhale a long, deep sigh.

Despite my new name, I don’t feel like Mrs. Orlov here. I’m still Anastasia Petrov. And in this office, I can almost pretend that nothing has changed. But the moment I step outside these walls, I’ll be reminded of the truth: that my life is no longer my own.

My phone beeps as I pull into the garage, breaking the silence. It’s a reminder about the case I’ve been assigned to, but the glowing screen also shows the time. Ten-thirty p.m. I had no idea it was so late, but then again, time has lost all meaning lately. The office is the only place that feels like it hasn’t shifted into something unrecognizable. The only reason I’m here at all is because the bed in this mansion is softer than my chair at work, and that’s hardly a selling point.

I grab my bag and step out of the car, moving toward the front door. When the handle doesn’t budge, I knock, and within seconds, Janet opens the door, still in her apron, her rubber gloves covered in soap suds.

“Welcome, ma’am,” she says politely, her voice calm and predictable.

Does this woman ever sleep?

I nod, feeling an unexpected wave of exhaustion hit me.

“Would you like some dinner?” Janet offers, pausing with the hesitancy of someone who already knows the answer. “There’s still some risotto left. I made it for Mr. Orlov.”

Risotto. The idea of it might have been appealing if it hadn’t come with the added detail of being “for Mr. Orlov.” The very thought of eating what he was meant to enjoy makes my stomach churn.

“No, thank you,” I say, trying to sound polite despite the gnawing hunger making itself known. My stomach growls in protest, a reminder that the only thing I’ve eaten all day is a half-stale sandwich at lunch.

Janet doesn’t press further, and I’m grateful for it. “I’ll go to my room. Goodnight.”

I yank my bag higher on my shoulder and head for the stairs, hoping to make it to my room before?—

Shit.

Dmitri.

He appears at the top of the stairs, stepping out of the shadows of the second floor. The gray T-shirt he’s wearing stretches across his chest, showing off the hard muscles beneath, and the black sweatpants hang just low enough to hint at the strong lines of his body. It should be illegal for a man like him to look this good. It’s almost comical, really, how the universe saw fit to give him both power and the body of a Greek god.

“Ana,” his deep voice cuts through my thoughts as he approaches, and I freeze on the stairs.

I take my time replying, dreading what this encounter will bring. “Yes?”

He’s standing just a few steps away, too close for comfort, and I can’t help but notice how the air seems heavier when he’s nearby. “Do you have a moment?”

It is a question, but it’s more of a command, really.

And what could we possibly have to talk about?

I shake my head. “No. And I doubt there’s anything we need to discuss unless it involves making my life more miserable.”

Without waiting for his response, I move around him and head up the stairs, trying to escape. I hear his footsteps behind me. I bolt to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I mutter, flopping onto my bed. My body feels like dead weight, drained from the day, from this —all of this. The migraine that’s been brewing at the edge of my skull throbs, and I rub my temples, trying to push away the exhaustion and frustration.

How the hell have I created this shit in my life? And how do I uncreate it?

There’s a knock on my door.

Seriously?

“Ana?” Dmitri’s voice is on the other side of the door. “I waited for you all evening. Why didn’t you call and tell me you’d be late?”

What now?

I sit up, frowning, disbelief etching across my face. He waited for me? That can’t be right. But before I can process the thought, he keeps talking.

“You should know better than to stay out late like that.”

I storm across the room and throw the door open, glaring up at him. “Why are you butting into my business?”

Dmitri’s eyes darken with annoyance. “Your business? Your safety is my business. There are people out there who wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get to me.”

“And whose fault is that?” I snap, taking a step forward, fury bubbling inside me. “I didn’t ask to be included in your life, Dmitri. Before you, I never had to worry about being snatched up on the way home. So, don’t put that on me. If you think I’m at risk, find a way to protect me. Without me noticing. ”

I turn to walk away, but his hand closes around my wrist, and before I can pull free, he yanks me into the hallway. His other hand presses against the wall beside my head, caging me in, his body towering over mine.

His eyes meet mine, and they burn with something intense, something I can’t name but feel in the pit of my stomach. It makes my pulse race.

“You like to play games, don’t you, kotyonok ?” His voice is a rumble, washing over my skin like a warm shower at the end of a long day.

“Don’t call me that,” I spit, lifting my chin in defiance. “I’m not your kitten. I’m nothing to you but the girl you bullied into taking your last name.”

He lets out a dark laugh, the sound causing goosebumps to pop over my arms. His hand, large and warm, brushes over my cheek, and I hate that my body reacts, a flutter of something unwelcome blooming in my chest.

“Bullied?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the edge of my lip. “I gave your father a choice. Marriage or death. He chose to give you to me rather than pay the price himself.”

The rage that fills me is sudden and blinding. How dare he speak about my father like that?

“So, what’s in it for you?” I hiss, glaring up at him. “What do you get out of this?”

“Influence. Power. Revenge.” His smirk is cold, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“My father is a better man than you’ll ever be.”

His smirk only deepens. “Is that why you bend the law for him?”

“None of your business.”

“But it is,” he says, voice soft but menacing. “You’re mine now, Ana, and everything you do reflects on me. That’s why I want you to stop working.”

The words slam into me like a punch, and I blink, not sure I heard him right. “You what ?”

“You heard me. Quit your job.”

I laugh bitterly, stepping away from him, folding my arms. “You have some nerve. What’s next? Are you going to lock me in this mansion and parade me around like a trophy at your parties?”

He doesn’t flinch. “I might.”

I could burn a hole through his head with the look I give him. “I’m not quitting my job, Dmitri. Do your worst.”

“You will,” he says, his voice lowering, “or you’ll work for me. Exclusively.”

I stare at him, incredulous. His arrogance is truly astounding. He actually believes the world revolves around him.

Mirthless laughter bubbles out of me, and I shake my head. “You’re delusional, Dmitri. I’m Anastasia Petrov, and I don’t give a damn what you want. Go ahead and try to make me quit. I dare you.”

For a moment, he just stands there, staring at me like he’s assessing whether or not I’m serious. Then, without a word, he steps back. I take the opportunity to wrench open the door and slip back inside, slamming it behind me.

As I press my back against the door, the adrenaline starts to fade, and my heart pounds like I’ve just run a marathon.

“Holy mackerel,” I breathe, trying to steady myself.

I’m not usually one for confrontation, but there’s something about Dmitri that makes my blood boil. The words I hurled at him felt good. They weren’t rehearsed, they weren’t planned—they just came out, and in that moment, I felt powerful.

I smile to myself as I head for the bathroom. The image of Dmitri’s face when I stormed off is burned into my mind, and I know it’ll be a long time before he forgets it.

Feeling victorious, I soak in the bath, letting the tension drain from my body. But as I finally crawl into bed, Dmitri’s words from our first argument creep into my mind. His threat. His promise to make my father pay if I cross him.

If he ever touches my father, I’ll never forgive him.

And I’ll make sure Dmitri pays for it in ways he never sees coming.