Mafia King’s Bride

5. Ana

FIVE

ANA

I hesitate to open my eyes, even though the sunlight has already flooded the room, casting long beams of warmth across my face. I’ve been lying here, awake, for what feels like hours, but it’s probably only been fifteen minutes. Still, I don’t want to move. There’s no reason to.

In my old life, weekends meant something. I would’ve called my father, maybe spent the day at his house helping him with the legal tedium of his business. Or I’d have gone grocery shopping and stocked up on things I enjoyed. My weekends had a purpose back then.

But none of that matters here. Not in this empty, echoing house. Not in this cold, new life where the rooms are too big, silent, and suffocating.

I sigh, throwing the covers off and rolling out of bed with the grace of a sloth, letting myself collapse onto the floor with a dull thud. The pain is minimal, just enough to remind me I’m alive. I drag myself upright, rubbing the spot on my arm that hit the ground harder than intended.

“Why did I do this?” I mutter to the empty room, even though I already know the answer. It wasn’t a choice. Not really.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth like a robot going through the motions, then step into the shower. The water is too hot, scalding my skin, but I stay under it until I feel like I might start peeling away. I guess I’m hoping to scrub off the sense of regret that clings to me like a second skin. But it doesn’t work. It never does.

Afterward, I throw on soft cotton shorts and an oversized plaid shirt. Comfortable. Easy. And utterly devoid of any significance. I sit on the edge of my bed, running my fingers through my hair, staring at nothing.

I could go to the office. At least that would give me something to do. But my bosses have been insufferable ever since I got married. They’re convinced I should be using my time for some kind of romantic honeymoon bliss.

“Why don’t you go home? Enjoy this period while it lasts. Marriage becomes a chore after the first year—though I’m sure yours will be different.”

My boss said that to me just last night, not bothering to hide his confusion at why I was still in the office at nine p.m.

If only he knew.

My stomach growls, interrupting my thoughts. Great. Another reminder that I’ve been living on scraps for weeks.

Dragging my feet, I head downstairs, gripping the railing as if the steps might give out beneath me. The house is eerily quiet. Dmitri has been AWOL for almost three weeks now, and while I should probably be worried—or at least curious—I’m not. If anything, his absence is a blessing. The less I see of him, the fewer chances there are for my blood pressure to spike dangerously.

In the kitchen, I open the pantry and pull out a loaf of bread and some eggs. I make myself toast and an omelet. I eat in silence at the kitchen island, and then clean up after myself. The monotony is numbing.

And then it hits me. What now?

I can’t just go back upstairs and stare at the ceiling. I need something to occupy my time, to fill the hollow hours that stretch endlessly ahead of me.

Shopping.

The idea pops into my head out of nowhere. I’ve never been one for retail therapy, but it’ll kill a few hours. I change into a summer dress, throw on a knitted sweater, slip into some flats, and grab my bag. Before I leave, I scribble a note for Janet, letting her know where I’m headed. Not that it matters. Not that anyone cares.

Bloomingdale’s. The one place that has everything I could possibly need, though I hardly need anything. Clothes, shoes, cosmetics—they’re all distractions, but at least they’re distractions that don’t talk back or expect anything from me.

I wander aimlessly through the aisles, stopping at the cosmetics section. Perfumes. I need something that will soothe my mind, something to help me forget that I share a house with a man who makes my skin crawl.

As I browse, one of the sales associates recognizes me and approaches with a smile. “Good morning, ma’am. Welcome back. Looking for something specific today?”

I tap my chin, pretending to consider. “I need something that puts me in a Zen mood. You know, the kind of Zen where no one, not even the most insufferable person in your life, can bother you.”

The woman’s smile falters slightly, her confusion evident. I quickly realize I’ve said too much.

“I’m joking,” I add with a forced laugh. “Just something new and fun will do.”

She nods, pointing out a few options—Spring, Agua, Chanel. I end up choosing Sol de Brazil and place it in my cart, eager to move on from the awkward exchange.

As I turn, I catch a glimpse of a man standing a few feet away, watching me. He’s dressed in a full suit, which seems wildly out of place on a Saturday. Our eyes meet, and he quickly looks away.

What the hell?

I frown, glancing around. What’s a guy like him doing here? It doesn’t make sense.

But then again, none of this makes sense. My life hasn’t made sense in weeks.

I shake my head, trying to brush it off. “None of my business,” I mumble to myself as I turn around, continuing down the aisle.

But something about the man lingers in my mind. Maybe it’s the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t, like there was some invisible string tethering him to me. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, which wouldn’t be surprising given the circumstances. After all, I’m living in a nightmare I didn’t choose.

I try to shake it off, losing myself in the racks of clothes. Ten minutes go by as I sift through Alice and Olivia pieces, trying to decide whether buying something new is even worth it. A dress catches my eye, and I’m almost certain it will fit, so I decide to grab it. I’ll need black heels to go with it, something simple.

But as I round the corner, there he is again. Same man, same uneasy feeling, but this time, he’s not alone. Another guy stands next to him, trying way too hard to look interested in the new Theory collection.

An alarm bell starts ringing in my head. It’s subtle, but years of watching my father’s associates—and the people who’ve shadowed him—have taught me how to spot an oddity. And these two? They stick out like sore thumbs.

I leave the dress on the counter and march straight toward them.

“What is it?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries.

The first man blinks, feigning ignorance. “What?”

“You’ve been following me,” I say, my voice firm. “The security cameras will prove it. So, you can tell me what you want from me, or I can call the cops. Your choice.”

The second man clears his throat, dropping the pretense. His dress shirt is too crisp, too pressed for someone casually browsing a women’s section. His posture screams alertness. I was right. They’re not here to shop.

The first man straightens his tie, a telltale sign of someone trying to regain control. “Ma’am, Mr. Orlov sent us to keep you safe.”

I blink, caught off guard.

Dmitri sent them?

“He sent you two,” I say, gesturing at them, “to keep me safe ? Bodyguards?”

They nod, serious as ever.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I shake my head, refusing to believe it. But they’re standing here, in front of me, and I can’t deny the physical evidence. “Why?”

The word slips out, but I already know the answer. Of course. This has to do with that conversation Dmitri and I had about my work habits. Clearly, he listened and sent these guys—who couldn’t be more conspicuous if they tried—to follow me around like I’m some kind of helpless damsel in distress.

“Since when?” I ask, irritation seeping into my tone.

“Two days ago,” the first man responds.

Two days? Two whole freaking days, and I didn’t notice?

My hands clench into fists as I try not to let my temper flare. How the hell did I not see them?

“You’ve been following me to work?” I ask.

They nod.

“And I didn’t spot you?”

They shake their heads.

Suit Man speaks again, calm and measured. “We decided it was best not to draw attention. Staying too close would’ve alerted the security team in your building.”

I run a hand through my hair, feeling a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. I should’ve seen them. I should’ve known . But the real kicker? Dmitri—who hasn’t even bothered to show his face in three weeks—didn’t tell me.

I square my shoulders. “I’m Anastasia Petrov. My father is Nikolai Petrov, which means I’m more than capable of looking after myself. I don’t need you two.”

Suit Man shakes his head, unfazed. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re under strict orders from Mr. Orlov to watch you at all times. We’ve determined that this location is vulnerable to potential threats.”

“Threats?” I hiss, furiously. “This is Bloomingdale’s ! Who’s going to harm me here?”

I see them exchange glances, clearly not swayed by my anger. They’re immovable, just like Dmitri.

“Stay away from me,” I snap, but even as I turn and walk away, I know they won’t listen. They cling to my shadow like I’m a target under siege.

The frustration builds inside me, bubbling until I can’t enjoy the shopping trip anymore. After a while, I decide to cut my excursion short, heading for the exit with an irritated sigh. Glancing over my shoulder, I see them still trailing me, always keeping their distance but never far enough to disappear. I turn back to the two men, who stand stoic and unmoving.

“Can you give me some space?” I hiss through clenched teeth. “You’re not helping.”

They don’t listen, of course. They’re just like their boss—impervious to reason, stubborn as hell. I toss my shopping bags to one of them, not in the mood to carry them myself. If they’re going to shadow me, they might as well make themselves useful.

“I’m done here,” I say. “Where are you parked?”

One of them opens the car door for me as if I’m some kind of royalty. I roll my eyes and slide into the backseat, settling in with a sigh.

As we pull away from Bloomingdale’s, a thought strikes me. “You know what?” I say, leaning forward. “I think I’d like lunch. There’s a place I know, it’s about twenty minutes from here.”

I rattle off an address, leaning back and closing my eyes. I don’t actually want to go there, but if they’re going to ruin my day, I might as well take them along for the ride.

After a full day of dragging these bodyguards around with me, enduring stares from every corner, I finally decide it’s time to head home. I slide into the car, exhausted, and scroll mindlessly through my phone, trying to speed up the journey back.

That’s when I remember my father.

I haven’t heard from him since the day after the wedding. I’ve been so caught up in surviving this mess of a life that I didn’t even realize how long it’s been. He hasn’t called either, but that’s not unusual for him. Which is why I spent most weekends at home, making up for it.

Sighing, I dial his number, thinking of the last time we spoke—his voice thick with emotion, something I’d rarely heard from him. The phone rings once, and then nothing. Not unusual. He probably left it somewhere. I wait a few minutes before trying again. No answer.

Five minutes go by. Then ten. Fifteen. An hour passes.

Still nothing.

In all the years I’ve lived away from him, this has never happened. He doesn’t always answer on the first try, but by the third or fourth ring, he picks up. Always.

Something isn’t right.

I try again, heart pounding. My calls continue going to voicemail, and my mind starts racing. What could’ve happened? What’s different now? The uneasy feeling in my chest intensifies, and then a chilling thought creeps into my head—Dmitri.

I remember what he said three weeks ago, how my father was banned from coming to the house, how I wasn’t allowed to see him anymore.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

I shake my head, chuckling bitterly. Dmitri didn’t make my father ignore my calls. Nikolai Petrov, despite all the twisted circumstances that landed me in this mess, would never let anyone— not even Dmitri —cut him off from his daughter.

But that thought lingers, gnawing at me. What if he did?

“No,” I mutter aloud, trying to convince myself. “Something else must’ve happened.”

I scroll through my contacts, finding Daria’s number—my father’s secretary. It’s the weekend, but I know she’ll help. She’s always been loyal, and if anyone can reach him, it’s her.

The moment she picks up, I don’t waste any time. “Daria, I’m sorry for calling you like this, but could you try reaching my father? I’ve been calling him, and I’m getting worried.”

She pauses. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice tight. “He wasn’t answering, and now I can’t even dial his number. Could you call him? Don’t tell him I asked you to.”

“Of course. I’ll do it right now.”

I hang up, and the wait feels like an eternity. Seconds turn into minutes, and I catch myself biting my cuticles—an old habit I’d kicked, which seems to resurface whenever Dmitri’s involved.

My phone rings. The moment I hear it, I snatch it up, pressing it to my ear. “Yes?”

“You were right, his phone’s still off,” Daria says, her voice careful. “But I called his second line, and he picked up. He told me to tell you he’s fine.”

I freeze, processing her words. His second line ? I didn’t even know he had another phone.

“Did he say anything else?” I ask, the knot in my stomach tightening.

“No, Ana. Just that he’s fine.”

My forehead wrinkles in confusion, and anger begins to simmer under my skin. “He didn’t say he’d call me back?”

She hesitates. “No.”

I’m about to say something, but I stop myself. I’m frustrated, but it’s not her fault. “Thank you, Daria,” I say softly. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome. And Ana, congratulations on your wedding. I couldn’t attend, but I heard all about it.”

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat. Who did she hear it from? The same father who’s refusing to speak to me?

I can feel the truth sinking in—Dmitri must have forced him into this. He must’ve done something, exerted some kind of pressure to make my father cut me off. It’s the only explanation. And the more I think about it, the angrier I get.

Dmitri acted on his threats. He actually did it. My fingers curl into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms. I can’t let this go. I can’t just sit back and take it. Dmitri needs to understand that I won’t be bullied, not by him or anyone else.

By the time the car pulls up to the house, I’m seething. I storm out, slamming the door behind me, and march up the steps, ready for a confrontation. The door opens just as I reach for the handle, and I nearly collide with Dmitri.

Perfect.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I say, stepping in front of him, blocking his path. He’s dressed like he’s about to leave, but there’s no way I’m letting him walk out now.

He frowns, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“What did you do?” I hiss, my voice low but filled with anger. “You threatened my father, didn’t you? You told him to stay away from me, to cut me off. And you have your minions following me around!”

Dmitri smooths his tie, seemingly unfazed. “We’ll talk about this when I return.”

I spread my arms, standing firm. “When you return? So you can disappear for another three weeks? No, Dmitri. You’re going to call off your henchmen, and you’re going to stop messing with my family. You already have me,” I add bitterly. “What more do you want?”

He glances past me at the guards standing outside, including the two who’ve been tailing me all day. “We’ll talk about this inside. I have ten minutes.”

I glare at him, unwilling to budge. “I’m going to say what I need to say no matter how long it takes, and then you can go off to whatever hole you’ve been hiding in.”

I storm into the house, not even waiting for him, but I don’t go further than the foyer. I stand my ground, arms crossed, glaring at him as he stops in the hallway.

“Call off your men,” I demand. “Now.”

He turns, his expression unreadable. “I won’t. They’re there to protect you. I told you before, there are people who might harm you to get to me.”

I scoff, not buying his excuse for a second. “Call them off, or I’ll leave and never come back.”

His eyes narrow, something cold flashing across his face. “I won’t let you.”

A humorless laugh escapes me. He still thinks I’ll obey him. He thinks his threats will keep me in line.

Not a chance.

I take a step forward. “Try me. You’ve already done more than enough. It’s time you realized I’m not someone to be toyed with.”

His eyes darken as he stares me down, but I don’t flinch.

“If you do manage to leave without my guards stopping you, your father will pay the price,” he says quietly, his voice dripping with cold arrogance.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but they don’t scare me. They don’t break me. My father’s already been lost to me since the day I walked down the aisle. If Dmitri wants to chip away at whatever’s left of me, he’ll have to try harder.

“I hate you,” I whisper, my voice steady, devoid of emotion. “I regret the day I married you.”

Before he can respond, I turn on my heel and walk out of the house. I don’t know where I’m going, but anywhere is better than here.

Anywhere is better than Dmitri Orlov.