Mafia King’s Bride

7. Ana

SEVEN

ANA

“Mr. Benjamin,” I say, rising from my desk as the door opens. He walks in, all smiles and swagger. I know who he is immediately—one of those state-level politicians who once ran for governor and lost spectacularly. His opponent was just more conniving, more willing to play dirty.

“Mrs. Orlov,” he greets me, extending his hand with that politician’s grin. It’s wide, practiced. His shake is too firm, borderline painful. I pull away quickly and rub my hand against my skirt, sitting back down and reminding myself this is just another client.

“I’ve read through your case, Mr. Benjamin,” I start, trying to keep it professional. “I want to assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to?—”

“You’re married to Dmitri Orlov, aren’t you?” he interrupts, leaning in with that same grin.

I nod, my stomach tightening. I hate when people bring up my marriage, especially in the office. It’s like they don’t see me anymore—just his name, attached to mine.

“Nice,” he says, still smiling, like he’s just uncovered some hidden gem. He reaches out again, taking my hand, and I resist the urge to pull back. “I know your father. Nikolai Petrov—nice man. But it’s your husband I’ve been trying to meet. Dmitri Orlov. I need his help with something.”

His grip tightens on my hand, and I pull it back sharply this time, my irritation barely contained. What does this have to do with his case?

“He’s a busy man,” Benjamin continues, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “But I’m running for governor again, and I know he has influence. Could you set up a meeting? Tell him about me?”

And there it is. I should’ve known.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice even. “What does this have to do with your case, Mr. Benjamin?”

His grin widens, the kind of grin that tells me he thinks he’s being clever. “Oh, nothing, really. I just needed to see you. Figured you could help me with your husband.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just waste my time. “I didn’t mean to lie to your boss, but I wasn’t sure you’d see me otherwise.”

The nerve.

I clench my jaw, but keep my tone polite—too polite, considering how I feel. “If you don’t have business here, Mr. Benjamin, I suggest you leave. I have other clients to attend to.”

He leans in again, that same stupid smile on his face, as if he hasn’t understood a single word. “So, will you tell your husband? I’m free tomorrow, and the?—”

“No,” I snap, cutting him off. I’ve had enough. “I won’t be acting as a middleman between you and anyone, Mr. Benjamin. If you want to see Dmitri, go to his office, not mine.”

He frowns, finally moving out of my personal space, clearly not understanding why I’m angry. Of course, he doesn’t. Men like him never do.

“All you have to do is mention my name,” he says, as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “I can’t exactly make an appointment like everyone else, given my position.”

I rub my forehead, exasperated. I’d love nothing more than to wave a magic wand and banish him to some remote corner of the world.

“This is all the time I have for you, Mr. Benjamin,” I say, standing up. “If there’s anything else, my superiors will be more than capable of handling it.”

He finally gets the hint, standing slowly, as if I’ve somehow offended him. “I see. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” I mutter through gritted teeth, following him to the door and closing it firmly behind him.

I run my fingers through my hair, frustrated beyond belief. My office was supposed to be my safe space from all things Dmitri, but now even that’s tainted.

Dmitri Orlov is taking over my life, I think bitterly. And the worst part is, Benjamin probably won’t be the last person to come to me expecting access to Dmitri. He’s just the first one bold enough to ask directly.

I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands. Should I change my last name back to Petrov? At least that would make it clear I’m not some extension of Dmitri. But then again, wouldn’t that raise questions? Cause more drama?

“Who am I kidding?” I mumble, sinking back into my chair. “Changing my name now would just bring more attention.” And the last thing I need is more people poking around in my life.

I sigh heavily, deciding to focus on work. That’s all I can do, really. Maybe this whole thing with Benjamin was just an unfortunate incident. It’s regrettable, sure, but it won’t happen again.

At least, I hope it won’t.

Hours later, with the sun long set and exhaustion creeping into my bones, I pull into the driveway, immediately noticing the unusual number of cars parked outside. A strange sight, and one that sets off alarm bells in my head.

What the hell is going on?

Men in suits are standing around, and they’re not the usual guards. They’re on high alert, like something is about to go down. It reminds me of when my father would heighten security around the house when he expected trouble.

Dmitri wouldn’t be meeting Bratva associates here, would he?

I park the car with a growing sense of unease. Surely, he wouldn’t be that stupid. It’s not just his house anymore.

As I step out of the car, the front door opens, and a couple walks out hand in hand, dressed like they’re heading to a cocktail party. My frown deepens.

A Bratva meeting normally doesn’t involve sequins and black tie.

Another woman follows them, her long black gown shimmering in the faint light. She spots me and makes a beeline in my direction, a bright smile plastered on her face.

“Mrs. Orlov,” she greets me like we’re old friends, taking my hand before I can even react. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t show! Your husband told us how hard you work.”

Her grip is light, but her words make me want to pull my hand back and punch something. I stare at her, confused and increasingly irritated.

“But you don’t have to work,” she adds with a patronizing tone. “That’s why we marry these men—they have their guns, and we have their money.”

I blink, confused.

What in the world is this woman talking about?

“Sorry, I don’t know you,” I say, forcing a smile despite the bile rising in my throat.

“Oh, silly me!” She laughs breezily, completely unfazed. “I’m Freya. Igor’s wife.”

The name means nothing to me, but I smile anyway. “Nice to meet you,” I manage to say. “Is there a party going on?”

“Of course!” She beams. “It’s your wedding party, silly. Since we all couldn’t attend the wedding, your husband decided to celebrate with his friends here. He sent out the invitations last week.”

That bastard.

A kettle whistle of rage goes off in my head. How dare he throw a party in my name without telling me? Typical Dmitri. He’s a man who believes everyone should bend to his will, but he’s mistaken if he thinks I’m going to be his good little puppet.

“You should go change,” Freya says, completely oblivious to my seething anger. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Oh, they’re going to get something alright. But it’s not going to be what they expect.

Still in my office clothes, tired and annoyed, I storm through the front entrance. If Dmitri wants to make me play hostess, he’s about to regret that decision. I’ll show these guests exactly who I am—no fancy dress, no smiles, no playing the obedient wife.

But instead of finding a crowd in the living room, I run straight into my husband .

“What’s going on?” I snap, barely keeping my voice level. “Why did you invite people without telling me? I come home to strangers ogling me like I’m some prized possession.”

His expression is infuriatingly calm. “Does it matter?” he says, shrugging. “All you need to do is go upstairs, put on one of your pretty dresses, and play hostess.”

“Hostess? What am I, your trophy wife?”

His face hardens, and his next words cut deep. “Why do you think I married you? You’re here to make me look better, Anastasia Orlov. You’ll play your part, or we’ll have a problem.”

I snicker, unable to believe his audacity. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Janet took one of your dresses so we could give your measurements to a personal shopper. There are a few choices in your bedroom. You’ll find something appropriate.”

“I’m not going to wear a stupid gown,” I hiss, the anger rising in my chest.

He simply shrugs again, already walking away. “We’ll see about that.”

I stand there, mouth agape, watching him disappear further into the house. His arrogance is so overwhelming that, for a moment, I’m stunned into silence. But then, a dangerous idea starts to form. If he wants me to play the part, I’ll play it.

But I’ll play my way.

In my room, I find the gowns laid out on the bed, each one more beautiful than the last. One dress, in particular, catches my eye—a deep emerald green with a beaded bodice and a silken skirt that falls like liquid around the waist. It’s exquisite, and I can’t help but imagine the scene I’ll create in it.

I slip it on, and it fits like a glove, molding to my every curve. As much as I hate to admit it, the dress is perfect. I could almost feel like royalty if I didn’t loathe the man who arranged this whole charade.

But why play modest? Dmitri didn’t specify what kind of hostess he wanted, so I’ll be the kind he never saw coming.

With matching heels and a string of pearls, I make my way downstairs. As I approach the garden where the party is in full swing, I hear the hum of voices, laughter, and clinking glasses. The whole setup is extravagant—Dmitri spared no expense.

“Mrs. Orlov,” a man greets me as I step into the crowd. “You look stunning this evening.”

I smile sweetly, letting the compliment wash over me. “Thank you.”

Another man steps closer, his gaze immediately dropping to the neckline of my dress. “I didn’t think Dmitri could do any better than marrying Nikolai Petrov’s daughter. I was right.”

I chuckle, covering my mouth just enough to let him think I’m modest. “Oh, you’re exaggerating. It’s just the dress.”

His eyes linger a little too long on my cleavage, exactly as I expected. The dress emphasizes my curves just enough to leave little to the imagination. I may not seek attention, but tonight, I’m going to make sure I get plenty of it.

There are more people here than I imagined, some of them familiar faces from my father’s world, others complete strangers. And yet, they’re all here, smiling, mingling. I wonder how many of them are here because of me. Because I’m his wife , the shiny new accessory.

If they came for a show , I think darkly, then I’ll give them one.

Lifting my chin, I stride through the crowd, eyes following me, some with open admiration, others with envy. A man in a blue suit approaches, his importance evident in the way he carries himself.

“Mrs. Orlov,” he says, taking my hand and pressing his lips to it. “I’m Igor Pavlov. A close friend of Dmitri’s.”

Freya’s husband, I recall, remembering her earlier introduction. He oozes fake charm, just like the others.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pavlov. Are you enjoying your evening?”

“Igor,” he corrects, his eyes straying to my cleavage, lingering too long. “Please, call me Igor.”

I give him a coy smile, letting his gaze roam where it pleases. “Of course, Igor.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Dmitri. He’s standing with a woman who’s talking animatedly, but his eyes are trained on me—and on Igor. The way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes narrow… It’s not just annoyance.

It’s jealousy.

I stifle a laugh, letting the thrill of it wash over me. Dmitri Orlov is jealous, and it’s delicious.

“Well, Igor,” I say, batting my lashes. “I’m not very familiar with these people. Could you introduce me to everyone?”

Igor beams, eager to please. “Of course! I know everyone here. Let me show you around.”

As I take his arm, I glance back at Dmitri, meeting his furious gaze head on. If looks could kill, I’d be dead on the spot. But instead, I smile at him—a slow, Cheshire Cat smile.

I win.