Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

2. Ginny

2

GINNY

I stand in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by glittering chandeliers and extravagant floral arrangements. The champagne-colored silk of my designer gown hugs my curves, the plunging neckline and high slit offering tantalizing glimpses of my dark skin. My dark curls cascade down my back, adorned with delicate diamond pins.

I should feel like a princess. A gorgeous Black queen, at least tonight.

Instead, I feel like a sacrificial offering.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the mix of guests. There's Daddy's business associates, their wives dripping in jewels and faux smiles. And then there are the others. The ones with hard eyes and bulges under their jackets that aren't from overeating.

Bratva.

Daddy thinks I don't know. He's always treated me like I'm made of glass, too fragile to handle the truth. But I'm not stupid. I've seen the hushed conversations, the tense meetings behind closed doors. I've noticed the way some of these men look at me – not with lust, but with calculation.

And now, on my 21st birthday, I'm being gift-wrapped and handed over to one of them. Ivan Kozlov. My soon-to-be husband.

The thought makes my stomach churn. I've only met him a handful of times over the years, and each encounter left me cold. He looks at me like I'm a particularly annoying insect he'd love to squash under his shoe.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I might be scared, but I refuse to let it show. They all think I'm some airheaded princess, too sheltered to understand what's really going on. Let them. Maybe being underestimated will be my greatest weapon.

My eyes land on Daddy, laughing with a group of men across the room. Does he even care that he's selling his only daughter to the Russians? Or am I just another business transaction to him?

A charge permeates the air, and I know he's here before I even turn around. It's like his presence reaches out toward me, something I've felt since the first time I met him.

But I keep reminding myself that although the fire might seem inviting, it will burn if I get too close.

I spin slowly, my heart pounding so hard I swear the diamonds on my dress are vibrating. And there he is. Ivan Kozlov. My future husband. My beautiful nightmare.

He cuts through the crowd like a shark through water, all lean muscle and predatory grace. His tailored black suit fits him like a second skin, emphasizing broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Those piercing blue-gray eyes sweep the room, missing nothing.

I hate how my body reacts. My skin prickles with awareness, and there's a flutter low in my belly that has nothing to do with fear. He's devastatingly handsome, and it's so unfair. Shouldn't the devil have the decency to be ugly?

Ivan's gaze finally lands on me, and I feel pinned in place. His expression doesn't change, but something in those icy eyes shifts. Is it disgust? Annoyance? Or something... hungrier?

I lift my chin, refusing to cower. Let him see I'm not some simpering little girl. I'm Virginia Sullivan, and I won't break easily.

He stalks towards me, and I have to fight the urge to back away. Instead, I force a smile, all teeth and no warmth. "Ivan. How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

"Virginia." His voice is deep, with just a hint of a Russian accent. I shouldn't love it, but I do, even if he calls me by my full name like he knows I loathe it. "You look... acceptable."

Anger flares, hot and bright. How dare he? I open my mouth for a biting retort, but he's already moving past me, heading for my father and his associates.

I'm left standing there, cheeks burning with a mix of humiliation and unwanted arousal. This is the man I'm supposed to spend my life with? This cold, arrogant bastard who can't even be bothered with a proper greeting?

Part of me wants to scream, to throw my champagne in his face and tell him exactly where he can shove this arranged marriage. But I can't. There's too much at stake, too many things I don't fully understand.

So I take a deep breath, smooth my features into a mask of calm, and turn to mingle with the other guests. Let Ivan think he's rattled me. Let him underestimate me.

I'll show him soon enough that Ginny Sullivan is no one's "acceptable" little wife.

I watch Ivan from across the room, my fingers tightening around my champagne flute. Every time his gaze sweeps past me, I feel a jolt of electricity, equal parts anger and... something else I refuse to name. I think back to all our previous encounters, each one etched in my memory like acid on metal.

There was the time at my high school graduation party, where he looked at my valedictorian medal and muttered, "Congratulations on excelling at finger painting." Or last Christmas, when he "accidentally" knocked over my carefully wrapped gift, sneering, "Oops. Hope it wasn't breakable like your ego."

Each memory fuels the fire burning in my chest. I lift my chin, meeting his cold stare head-on.

I had hoped when I first met him that it wouldn't be so bad. He's always been jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and I thought we could find something amicable. Not love. Never love in this kind of business. But maybe something that wasn't a full blown feud.

Unfortunately, he's an arrogant asshole who seems out to make me miserable. I can't wait to marry him…

Yeah. My eyes can't roll any harder.

To my surprise, the next time his gaze darts over to me, Ivan starts making his way towards me. I brace myself, expecting another cutting remark. But as he reaches me, something in his expression shifts. It's not quite softness – I doubt Ivan Kozlov has a soft spot in his entire toned and muscular body – but it's... different.

Without a word, he pulls out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts it at me.

"Guess you better start wearing this," he grunts out, seeming just as put out as I feel.

With trembling fingers, I open the box. Inside lies the most exquisite ring I've ever seen. A large, flawless diamond is surrounded by smaller sapphires, all set in white gold. It's breathtaking. It's perfect.

And I hate it.

I hate that it's beautiful. I hate that it's exactly what I would have chosen for myself. Most of all, I hate the way my heart skips a beat as I slip it onto my finger.

I can't help the small, sad sigh that escapes my lips as I admire how it catches the light. It glows against my ebony skin, making it seem even more sparkling, and that makes the whole thing worse. This should be a moment of joy, not resignation.

Ivan's eyes flick from the ring to my face. For a moment, I swear I see something flicker in those icy depths. Uncertainty? Regret? But it's gone before I can be sure.

"It looks good," he says, his tone oddly lacking its usual bite. Before I can respond, he turns on his heel and stalks off towards Nikolai, leaving me alone with my conflicted emotions and a ring that weighs far more than its carats suggest.

But I should have known that Ivan not being an ass was just a fluke.

Throughout the night, I can't help but find my gaze drawn to Ivan throughout the evening, despite the loathing that burns in my chest. He moves through the crowd with an easy confidence that borders on arrogance.

Actually, scratch that - it's pure, unadulterated arrogance. The kind that's only grown more potent over the years, like a fine wine gone sour.

Every time our eyes meet across the room, I'm hit with a fresh wave of resentment. The memories of how he's always treated me flood back - like I'm nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of his ridiculously expensive Italian leather shoes. An annoyance to be scraped off and discarded.

I watch as he charms a group of older men, no doubt some of Daddy's business associates. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but they don't seem to notice. They're too busy laughing at whatever clever thing he's just said. I bet it wasn't even that funny.

Ivan turns, catching me staring. His eyebrow quirks up, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I quickly look away, grabbing a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter. My cheeks burn, and I silently curse myself for giving him the satisfaction.

But like a magnet, my eyes are drawn back to him moments later. He's talking to Nikolai now, his posture stiff and formal. Even from across the room, I can see the shift in his demeanor. The easy charm is gone, replaced by something colder, more dangerous.

It's a stark reminder of the world I'm being dragged into. A world where men like Ivan and Nikolai hold real power - the kind that has nothing to do with boardrooms and stock options.

I take a long sip of champagne, trying to quell the nervous flutter in my stomach. This is my life now. Whether I like it or not, I'm about to become Mrs. Ivan Kozlov. The thought makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Ivan's gaze finds mine once more. There's no smirk this time, just that penetrating stare that makes me feel like he can see right through me. I lift my chin, refusing to look away first. Let him see that I'm not intimidated.

But even as I stand my ground, I can't help but wonder - how am I supposed to survive a lifetime with a man who's made it clear he can barely stand the sight of me?