Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

8. Ginny

8

GINNY

I stretch out on the lounge chair, soaking in the warm sun. Anya's infectious laughter rings out beside me, and I can't help but join in. It feels good to laugh, really laugh, for the first time since this whole mess began.

"Girl, you should've seen his face," Anya says, wiping tears from her eyes. "I thought steam was gonna come out of his ears!"

I snort, picturing my stoic husband's reaction. "I can't believe you did that! Weren't you scared he'd be furious?"

Anya shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nah, Ivan's all bark and no bite with me. Plus, he kinda deserved it after he ratted me out for sneaking out."

"You sneak out?" I ask, intrigued. I've never even thought about breaking the rules before.

"Rules are made to be broken, honey." Anya winks like she knows what I was just thinking. "Sometimes a girl's gotta live a little, you know?"

I nod, feeling a surge of admiration for Anya's boldness. "I wish I had your courage. I've always played it safe, done what Daddy told me to."

Anya sits up, fixing me with a serious look. "Listen, Ginny. This life... It's not easy. But you can't let it crush your spirit. You gotta find ways to be yourself, even in the craziest situations."

Her words hit home, and I feel something shift inside me. Maybe I don't have to be a passive player in my own life anymore.

"You're right," I say, sitting up too. "I can't just sit around feeling sorry for myself. I need to make the best of this situation."

Anya grins, holding up her bellini. "That's my girl! To new beginnings and breaking a few rules along the way!"

I clink my glass against hers, giggling. "To new beginnings!"

As we settle back into our chairs, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Anya's friendship is like a lifeline in this strange new world. For the first time since my wedding day, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can carve out a place for myself here after all.

As Anya and I lounge by the pool, our conversation drifts to childhood memories. I'm surprised by how easily we click, our laughter echoing across the water.

"So, tell me about growing up with Ivan," I say, curiosity getting the better of me. "Was he always so... intense?"

Anya snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "Oh, honey, you have no idea. That man came out of the womb with a furrowed brow."

I giggle, picturing a tiny, scowling Ivan. "No way!"

"That's what I hear! He was ten when I was adopted, but my earliest memories were of him scowling."

I shake my head. "I can't imagine having him as an older brother." Granted, I can't imagine having an older brother at all.

"But you know what? He's the most loyal person I know." Anya's voice softens. "When I was 12, some kids at school were giving me a hard time. Ivan found out and... let's just say those kids never bothered me again."

I raise an eyebrow, both impressed and a little intimidated. "Wow. I guess there's more to him than meets the eye."

"Don't get me wrong, he's still a pain in the ass," Anya says with a wink. "And yeah, he's Bratva. You don't fuck with him… But he's got a good heart under all that grumpiness."

I hum thoughtfully, filing away this new information. "What about you? What were you like as a kid?"

Anya grins mischievously. "Oh, I was a little terror. Always getting into trouble, driving Ivan crazy. But he never stayed mad for long." She chuckles. "My papa always said I was made for this life, that's why he adopted me. No one else would have ever been able to keep up with me."

As Anya regales me with tales of her childhood antics, I find myself sharing stories of my own upbringing.

"I was pretty sheltered," I admit. "Daddy's little princess, you know? But I had this secret obsession with spy movies. I'd sneak downstairs after bedtime to watch them."

Anya laughs. "Look at you, rebel! Did you ever get caught?"

I grin, remembering. "Once. I thought I was so slick, but I fell asleep on the couch. Daddy found me in the morning, curled up with a bowl of popcorn."

"What did he do?" Anya asks, leaning in.

"He just scooped me up, carried me to bed, and never mentioned it. But the next week, he got me my own TV for my room."

Anya's eyes widen. "Damn, girl! Talk about living the high life."

I shrug, a little embarrassed. "It wasn't all glamour, though. I once tried to dye my hair red with Kool-Aid." I look at the black curls wondering what I was even thinking. "Let's just say it didn't go as planned."

Anya howls with laughter. "Oh my God, I would've paid to see that! Please tell me there are pictures."

I groan, covering my face. "If there are, they're locked in a vault somewhere. I hope."

As we trade more stories, I feel myself relaxing. It's nice to just be silly and carefree, even if it's only for a little while.

And the more Anya shares more stories about Ivan, the more I find myself leaning in, eager to hear every detail. The man she describes is so different from the cold, distant husband I've come to know. I can't help but wonder about the person behind that icy exterior.

"So, spill," Anya says, breaking into my thoughts. "Is the marriage as bad as you thought it'd be?"

I pause, considering her question. "Honestly? It's not," I admit, surprising myself with the realization. "Ivan's hardly ever home, and when he is, he mostly keeps to himself. But I have free reign of this massive house, this gorgeous pool..." I gesture around us. "He might be an ass, but he doesn't hurt me or anything."

Anya nods, a knowing look in her eyes. "In the Bratva, you really couldn't have gotten it much better."

I hum in agreement, tracing patterns in the condensation on my glass. "You're right. I mean, it's not ideal, but it could be so much worse."

"Just wait until my brother gets his head out of his ass," Anya mutters, so quietly I'm not sure I've heard her correctly.

I furrow my brow, curious about what she means, but decide not to push it. Instead, I find myself thinking about Ivan again. There's clearly more to him than I initially thought. The way Anya talks about him, the loyalty and protectiveness she describes, it doesn't quite match up with the cold, detached man I married.

But then I think back to my reception, and I know there is more to him that I initially thought.

"You know," I say slowly, "I think I might have misjudged Ivan a bit. Don't get me wrong, he's still frustrating as hell, but... maybe there's more to him than I realized."

Anya grins, looking almost triumphant. "Trust me, there is. You just gotta give him a chance to show it."

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips. For the first time since this arranged marriage began, I feel a spark of curiosity about my husband. Maybe, just maybe, there's hope for us yet.

I spend the rest of the afternoon and into the late evening with Anya. It's only when I start to yawn that she hugs me goodbye, promising to be back in a few days. I think she knows I get lonely, and it's not like I can even blame it on Ivan. I've been so sheltered my whole life I have no one else to talk to.

But now I have a sister.

I lie in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of my room. Anya's stories about Ivan play on repeat in my mind, like a movie I can't turn off. I toss and turn, unable to shake the image of a young Ivan fiercely protecting his little sister.

"Dammit," I mutter, punching my pillow in frustration.

It was easier when I could just hate him. Cold, distant Ivan. Arrogant, controlling Ivan. But now? Now I'm seeing glimpses of a different man. A loyal brother. A protector.

I roll onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. The silk sheets whisper against my skin, a constant reminder of the luxurious cage I'm in. But is it really a cage if the door is open?

Ivan's rules flash through my mind. Don't leave without a guard. Attend events together. Act married in public. But he's never hurt me, never threatened me. He left me money, a phone, and a car. The worst thing about him is his verbal jabs, how infuriating he is.

And I'm even starting to miss that right now.

I groan, burying my face in the pillow. This is dangerous territory. Empathy is one thing, but actually caring? That's a whole other level of stupid in this world.

"Get it together, Ginny," I whisper to myself. "You can't afford to catch feelings for a man like Ivan."

But even as I say it, I know it's too late. The seed of curiosity has been planted. I want to know more about the man behind the icy facade. The Ivan that Anya knows.

I flip onto my back again, sighing heavily. The attraction I felt for Ivan, that I could handle. It was just physical, just my body betraying me. But this? This stirring of something deeper? It terrifies me.

In the Bratva, emotions are a weakness. Love is a liability. I've seen what happens to people who let their hearts rule their heads in this world. It never ends well.

Yet I can't stop the warmth that spreads through my chest when I think about Ivan standing up for Anya. Or the way he looked at me at the reception, that brief moment of understanding passing between us.

"This is insane," I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "You barely know him. He doesn't even like you."

But the traitorous voice in my head whispers back, "But what if he could?"