Mafia King’s Bride

31. Ana

THIRTY-ONE

ANA

Seeing my father twice in one week? It feels strange after months of radio silence. We’re suddenly doing the whole father-daughter bonding thing.

Color me surprised.

“ Dochka ,” Papa says, arms open wide. I hug him back, but it feels about as natural as a fish riding a bicycle. How exactly does one hug the father who’s been MIA for months?

He plants a kiss on my cheek, all misty-eyed. “I didn’t know how much I missed you until you left that day.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you call then?” I ask, channeling my inner Yelena. “You could’ve asked me over for dinner, you know.”

Papa sighs like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. “I wasn’t sure if you’d forgiven me. I wanted to give you time. Be less overbearing.”

Right, because ghosting your daughter is the epitome of being overbearing. “I see,” I say, biting my tongue. “So why the summons now? And please stop using Viktor as your messenger pigeon. I have a phone, remember?”

He offers an apologetic smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sorry. I won’t lie, I use Viktor because it’s the only time he’ll come around to see me.”

Well, that’s news to me. “I thought Viktor started working for you?” I prod. “He told me a few weeks ago he was joining the family business.”

Papa strokes his cheeks, looking every bit the troubled Bratva boss. “He is, but we only talk about work. I’ve tried inviting him for dinner, but he always declines. You’ll help me talk to him, won’t you?”

Great, now I’m the family therapist. But I can’t help wondering why Viktor’s keeping Papa at arm’s length. If it’s because of me, well, that’s a whole other can of worms.

Time to change the subject. “I heard you met with Dmitri the other day,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Something about uniting our families?”

I don’t mention forgiveness. Papa’s pride is as fragile as a house of cards, and I’m not in the mood to deal with it.

But instead of elaborating on this supposed deal, Papa’s face darkens faster than a storm cloud.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach doing somersaults.

He pushes back from his desk, chair scraping across the floor like nails on a chalkboard. His shoulders are so tense, I’m half expecting them to snap.

“Papa,” I say, worry creeping into my voice, “what’s going on?”

He fixes me with a look that could freeze hell over. “He told you about it? Do you think he bought the idea of a partnership? Did he look like he believed it when I asked for forgiveness?”

I blink, feeling like I’ve missed a crucial page in the script. “Uh, I guess? He seemed fine. We didn’t really discuss it much. We were kind of busy having dinner, you know?”

Papa exhales, settling back into his seat. He leans forward, hands on the desk, and I mirror his posture, bracing myself for whatever bomb he’s about to drop.

“Everything I said to him was a lie.”

Well, there it is. The other shoe, dropped with all the subtlety of a piano in a cartoon.

He smiles, and it’s the most chilling thing I’ve ever seen. “To make Dmitri Orlov think I’m weak. A pakhan like me, apologizing? I might as well hand over my tough guy card. But I did it because I have a plan.”

Alarm bells are going off in my head like it’s New Year’s Eve in Times Square. “What kind of plan?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“I never forgave him for taking you from me,” Papa hisses, his voice cold as ice. “You were the one person who mattered most to me, Anastasia, and he knew it. I would’ve let it go if he took some territory or seized my business, but you?” He laughs, and it’s not a pleasant sound. “I’m going for revenge.”

Oh, God. This is not happening. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to start a war,” I plead. “You know how the last one ended. You know how these Bratva wars turn out.”

He shrugs like we’re discussing the weather, not potential bloodshed. “This isn’t some hasty plan, Anastasia. It’s why I haven’t contacted you for months. I’ve been planning, gathering my people, waiting for the right moment. And I’ve found it. You,” he reaches for my hands, but I pull away, “only need to ensure he’s at the right place at the agreed upon time.”

I stand up so fast my chair nearly topples over. “You aren’t going to use me as a pawn anymore. I did that once, paying for your mistake by marrying a man I didn’t love.” I fold my arms, trying to look braver than I feel. “You need to fight your own battles.”

Papa approaches me, but I hold up a hand to stop him. I’m the only one who knows what I went through, and I won’t do it again.

“I’m sorry, dochka ,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I promise you, this time, I’m putting that bastard down for good.”

The realization hits me like a freight train. “You’re planning to kill my husband?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t torment our family again,” he replies, like he’s suggesting we try a new restaurant. “You know it, Ana. I wouldn’t do this if I had other options.”

I grit my teeth, anger bubbling up inside me. “Dmitri will end you. You don’t know what he’s done to people who’ve tried to stab him in the back. Plus, you’re planning to kill the man I fell in love with.”

“You don’t love him,” Papa snaps. “At best, you have Stockholm syndrome, and that’s my fault. Let me make things right, darling. I’ll even give you what you’ve always been asking for,” his voice softens, “a real position in the family business.”

But I can see that Papa’s rage has blinded him. It’s doubtful Dmitri will fall for his ruse, whether I play a part or not. If Papa tries to kill him, Dmitri won’t spare his life. And if there’s even a small chance Papa succeeds, I could lose the man I love. I’ll lose Papa too because Dmitri’s people will come after him.

Either way, I’m caught in the middle of a war I never wanted to fight. A war that will never end.

Some days, I really wish I’d just become a librarian or something. At least then, the only thing I’d have to worry about is late fees.

I take a deep breath, trying to appeal to whatever shred of fatherly love might be left in him. “I’m happy,” I plead, feeling like I’m talking to a brick wall. “Can’t you see that I’m happy with how things have turned out? Why can’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?”

But the look in his eyes is pure venom. If hatred could be bottled, his would be top shelf. “I was insulted,” he spits. “My dignity and self-esteem were stripped from me. I’m not going to take that lying down.”

I gulp hard, feeling like I’m trying to swallow a golf ball. “It’s me asking you to back off. What if you had me back? Wouldn’t that make everything whole again?”

He scoffs. “He’s never going to give you up.”

“I’ll run away,” I blurt out, grasping at straws.

His brows furrow like I’ve just suggested we all become circus clowns. “What good will that do?”

I throw my hands in the air, feeling like I’m in some twisted version of a negotiation show. I don’t know what running away will actually accomplish, but I’m desperate for a solution that doesn’t end with either of them six feet under.

If only Papa could let go of his pride, we could all move on. But no, his ego’s in the driver’s seat, just like before.

An idea pops into my head. It’s not great, but it’s all I’ve got. “I want you to know that I’m not doing this because of you,” I say, my voice firm. “I don’t think I can summon any love for you right now. Or anytime soon, for that matter.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says.

Yeah, I’ll thank him the same day pigs fly and hell freezes over. “When Dmitri and I married, he used it to gain respect and expand his territory. People thought our families were working together. It benefited him.”

Papa sniggers. “Well, that makes one of us.”

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “As you’ve said, he won’t let me go. But if I run away, you can blame him for it. Act like he’s committed some unforgivable sin. Spread rumors that a rival kidnapped me. But for heaven’s sake, let it end there.”

He purses his lips, considering. My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m surprised it hasn’t burst out of my chest. The thought of life without Dmitri—the man I’ve grown to love, who’d set the world on fire to keep me safe—it’s almost unbearable.

“Fine,” he says finally, reluctantly. “It’ll keep him distracted. While he’s occupied, I’ll take what I want.”

I feel sick to my stomach. This isn’t my father anymore. This is a stranger wearing his face. “I’m not doing this so you can finish what you started months ago,” I say, my voice hard. “If you go back on your word, I’ll go straight back to Dmitri.”

His eyes darken. “Never. I won’t see you married to that bastard.”

“Then stop going after him,” I counter. “My disappearance and the enemies he’ll make looking for me, that’s enough to weaken him.”

The grin that spreads across his face makes me want to shower for a week. I can barely stand to be in the same room with him anymore.

“We have a deal?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“When are you leaving?”

“One week,” I say, already feeling the weight of what I’m about to do. “I need time to act normal so he doesn’t suspect anything.”

“You’ve got one week,” he agrees.

As I walk out of his office, my legs feel like lead. One week. Seven days to dismantle the life I’ve pieced together, to say goodbye to the man who’s become my world. All to save two stubborn men hell-bent on destroying each other. If this were a soap opera, I’d be the tragic heroine, sacrificing everything for love. But this is real life, and I’m just me, caught in a tug-of-war between the family I was born into and the one I’ve chosen.

But hey, who needs a boring nine-to-five when you can play human shield in the world’s most dysfunctional game of Bratva chess?

As soon as I close the door, I let the tears flow. They rain down my cheeks, carrying my grief and spreading it to other parts of my body.

“Anastasia?” Daria hurries over when she notices me, pulling my trembling body into her arms. “What’s going on?”

I can’t tell her. The words stick in my throat like I’ve swallowed a fistful of sand.

Instead, I crumble into Daria’s arms, sobbing. The deal I made with Papa already feels like a noose around my neck. The thought of life without Dmitri—his stubble scratching my chin when he kisses me, his warm hands making me feel safe—it’s like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my soul.

And Yelena. Oh God, Yelena. My partner in retail crime, my unexpected bestie. What am I supposed to do without our therapy sessions at Bloomingdale’s? She was the first person in forever to make me feel like I belonged somewhere.

What’s she going to think when I leave?

“I don’t know what else to do, Daria,” I choke out, trying to muffle a sob that threatens to shake the whole building. “I can’t...I can’t think of any other way to stop my father from going full Rambo.”

“Oh, Anastasia,” Daria croons, probably wishing she’d called in sick today. “You don’t have to be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You can let go. It’s not going to be your fault.”

But it will be, won’t it? If I call Papa’s bluff, he’ll go after Dmitri, guns blazing. I’ll have to live knowing I could’ve prevented a bloodbath.

Some choice, huh? It’s like being asked if I’d rather lose an arm or a leg.

I cry for what feels like centuries. Daria, bless her heart, lets me turn her shirt into a Kleenex. When I finally pull myself together, I feel like I’ve been through a human car wash.

“Thank you, Daria,” I manage to croak out.

She nods, clearly holding back from saying more. “If you ever need help, you can come to me, okay? I promise I’ll be here.”

I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. “Thanks.”

I shuffle out of the building, feeling about as lively as a deflated balloon. The waterworks start up again as soon as I’m in my car. I sit there for an hour, crying until I’m pretty sure I’ve single-handedly solved California’s drought problem.

But I can’t go home yet. Dmitri will take one look at me and know something’s up. He’s like a human lie detector, and right now, I’m a walking, talking fib.

So, I do what any sensible person would do when their life is falling apart—I head to a bar. Tucked away in a corner, nursing a glass of Chardonnay, I try to figure out how the hell I’m going to pull this off.

By the time I crawl back to my car, I feel like I’ve aged a decade. Is this what it feels like to be caught between a rock and a hard place? Because if so, I’d like to file a complaint with whoever’s in charge of metaphors.

“Ana?”

Dmitri’s voice catches me off guard. He’s awake, sitting on the sofa in our room when I walk in.

“Hey,” I say, trying to smile. It’s forced, and I pray he doesn’t see right through me.

His brows furrow, and I can feel my facade crumbling. “What’s wrong?” he asks, taking my hands and gently pulling me to the bed. We sit on the edge, his arm around me, holding me close. “What happened?”

Tears well up in my eyes again, and I blink rapidly, willing them away. I can’t fall apart. Not now.

“Make love to me,” I whisper.

It’s the only thing I can think of to ease the ache in my heart, to distract myself from the weight of what I’m about to do.

Dmitri looks confused, but he nods. His lips meet mine in the gentlest, sweetest kiss he’s ever given me. He lays me down on the bed as if I might shatter at any moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I wrap my arms around him and kiss him firmly. I try to memorize every touch, every sensation, knowing that soon, it will all be just a memory.

But even as I lose myself in Dmitri’s embrace, a single tear escapes, rolling down to my ear. It’s a quiet reminder of the countdown that’s begun, of the heartbreak that’s waiting just around the corner.

I hold onto Dmitri tighter, wishing I could freeze time and stay in this moment forever. But I know I can’t.

So, I close my eyes, willing every second of this night to imprint in my memory.