Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

20. Ginny

20

GINNY

I grip the door tightly, my heart pounding as Anya and I speed away from our captors. Freedom is so close I can taste it. But as we round a corner, my stomach drops. Three SUVs screech to a halt, blocking our escape route.

"Shit," Anya mutters beside me.

She slams on the brakes, tires squealing. My mind races, searching for another way out.

But there isn't one.

The car doors fly open. Men with guns emerge, their faces twisted in cruel smiles. My fingers find the knife hidden in my waistband. It's not much, but it's something.

"Get out of the car," one of them barks.

Anya's hand closes over mine. "We'll get out of this," she whispers.

I nod, drawing strength from her presence. We step out slowly, hands raised.

The men circle us like sharks. My skin crawls as their eyes rake over us.

"Thought you could get away, huh?" One of them sneers, stepping closer. "Stupid bitches."

Anya's hand darts out, snatching a wrench from the car. She brandishes it like a weapon.

"Stay back," she warns, her voice steady despite the fear I know she must feel.

They laugh, amused by our feeble attempts at defense. I pull out the knife I swiped earlier, holding it in front of me with shaking hands.

"Ooh, the little princess has teeth," another one taunts. He lunges forward, grabbing for my wrist.

I slash wildly, feeling the blade connect. He howls, stumbling back. Blood drips from a shallow cut on his arm.

His eyes narrow dangerously. "You'll pay for that, bitch."

They close in, toying with us. Anya swings the wrench, keeping them at bay for a moment. But we're outnumbered and outgunned.

A fist connects with my stomach. I double over, gasping. The knife clatters to the ground. Anya cries out beside me as they wrench the wrench from her grasp.

Rough hands grab me, hauling me upright. I struggle, kicking and clawing, but it's useless. They're too strong.

As they drag us back towards the warehouse, the fight drains out of me. The brief spark of hope flickers and dies.

We're never making it out of here.

Or I didn't think we were. But then three more black SUVs swing onto the scene, guys flooding out before they even stop, and I recognize them. They are Sokolov Bratva men.

I watch in stunned disbelief as Ivan bursts onto the scene, his eyes blazing with cold fury. He moves like a force of nature, unstoppable and devastating.

The first attacker doesn't even have time to raise his gun before Ivan's fist connects with his jaw. The crack of bone echoes in the air, and the man crumples to the ground. Ivan doesn't pause, pivoting smoothly to face the next threat.

Two men rush him at once. Ivan ducks under a wild swing, driving his elbow into one attacker's solar plexus. As the man gasps for air, Ivan grabs him by the shirt and hurls him into his companion. They go down in a tangle of limbs.

A glint of metal catches my eye. One of the fallen men reaches for his gun. My heart leaps into my throat, but before I can shout a warning, Ivan's foot comes down hard on the man's wrist. The sickening crunch makes me wince, but I can't look away.

Ivan snatches up the gun, his movements fluid and precise. Two shots ring out in rapid succession. Two more bodies hit the pavement, red blooming across their chests.

The last man standing raises his hands in surrender, terror etched across his face. Ivan doesn't hesitate. He closes the distance in three long strides, his fist connecting with the man's temple. The attacker drops like a stone.

As the echoes of violence fade, Ivan turns to me. His chest heaves with exertion, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. But his eyes... God, his eyes are alive with a fierce protectiveness that takes my breath away.

Pride swells in my chest. This deadly, ruthless man is my husband. And he came for me.

Ivan strides towards me, stepping over bodies without a second glance. His hand cups my face, surprisingly gentle given the carnage he just unleashed.

"Are you hurt?" he demands, his voice rough with concern.

I shake my head, leaning into his touch. "You came," I whisper, awe coloring my words.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I told you, malyshka," he says in a voice so rough with emotion I can barely believe it's his. "I will make sure you are always safe."

In this moment, surrounded by the aftermath of his lethal skill, I've never felt safer. Or more grateful to be Ivan Kozlov's wife.

I collapse into Ivan's arms, my whole body trembling as the adrenaline fades. His strong embrace anchors me, and I breathe in his familiar scent - sandalwood mixed with gunpowder. Tears I didn't know I was holding back start to fall.

"Shh, you're safe now," Ivan murmurs, his lips brushing my hair.

He pulls back slightly, his intense gaze roaming over me. I watch his jaw clench tighter with each mark he finds - a cut on my cheek, tender spots blooming on my arms. His fingers ghost over each injury, feather-light and achingly gentle.

God, he's going to be pissed later when he sees what they did to my ribs. But I'll wait to tell him. I'm too busy drinking in the sight of him.

It's only then that I notice the blood splattered across his shirt, hands, and face. Some of it is dried, practically caked on, while some of it is new. My heart lurches.

"Ivan, you're covered in blood," I gasp, my hands fluttering uselessly over his chest.

He barks out a harsh laugh, the sound at odds with the tenderness in his eyes. "I wasn't the one kidnapped, Virginia."

"No, but you were fighting," I insist, my voice small and worried.

Ivan's expression softens. "None of it's mine," he assures me, his thumb stroking my cheek. "I'm fine."

Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy. I sag against him, overwhelmed by how much I care about this man I once thought I hated.

Ivan stiffens slightly. "I... didn't expect you to care," he mutters, so soft that I don't think he meant to say it out loud.

My heart aches at his words. How long has it been since someone truly cared for him? I know Anya does, but it's clear he keeps himself really closed off.

I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. His stubble scratches my palms as I guide his lips to mine. The kiss is soft, a stark contrast to the violence surrounding us.

When I pull away, I whisper against his mouth, "Better?"

Ivan's eyes are molten as they meet mine. He nods once, his voice rough. "Better."

Anya walks up to us then, Dmitry on her heels. Ivan pulls her in for a side hug. "Are you alright?"

She nods, eyeing the blood all over him. "I'll be fine once I shower." She flicks her gaze over at Dmitry. "Think you can take me home?"

"Anya," I cut in. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with us?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. I'm alright." She shifts, betraying the slight nerves that I know must be running through her. "Though we might have to postpone any shopping trips."

I force a smile. "Text me when you get home."

She nods and Dmitry follows her as they walk away. Ivan watches them, and I can see he's trying to decipher her sister.

"I think she just needs some time alone," I tell him softly.

He sighs, tugging me closer. "I think so, too."

I cling to Ivan as we make our way to his car, my fingers curled tightly in the fabric of his shirt. My legs feel weak, and I'm not sure I could stand on my own even if I wanted to. But I don't want to. I want to stay right here, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

As he helps me into the passenger seat, I catch a glimpse of his face. The cold mask of the ruthless Bratva brigadier has slipped away, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. It makes my heart skip a beat.

Ivan slides into the driver's seat, and I immediately reach for his hand. He laces his fingers through mine without hesitation, and the simple gesture nearly undoes me.

We drive in silence, the city lights blurring past the window. But I can't take my eyes off Ivan. The way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the tightness around his eyes - I know he's still worried about me.

And suddenly, it hits me like a tidal wave. I've never felt more right, more safe than I am with him. I've never trusted anyone else like this. I've never wanted anyone. I want to give him all my time, I want him to come home when he's gone, I want to pull him to bed when he stays up late and feel him wrapped around me.

I love him.

I love Ivan fucking Kozlov.

The realization steals my breath away. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure Ivan must hear it. Love. It seems impossible, ridiculous even. This man who I was forced to marry, one who has a terrible temper and a cocky attitude - how could I possibly love him?

I guess because I finally saw the guy that Anya kept telling me was there. I finally learned that he is loyal and caring and thoughtful beneath the exterior he presents to everyone else. And after everything, how could I not fall for this man?

And I have. God help me, but I have.

I want to tell him. The words bubble up in my throat, desperate to spill out. But fear holds me back. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if this is all just duty to him?

I squeeze his hand tighter, and he glances over at me. The softness in his gaze makes my chest ache. How did I not see it before? How did I miss the depth of emotion hidden behind his cold exterior?

For now, I stay silent. I don't want to know if he's just protecting me because he has to. I don't want him to tell me that he said not to get any ideas about getting attached. Because I did, and I don't know I can stand to hear that he's just fulfilling a contract. That he's just making sure that everyone knows not to cross him because I'm his wife, not that he cares.

I let the warmth of his hand in mine and the steady rhythm of his breathing wash over me. And I hold this newfound love close to my chest, both terrified and exhilarated by its presence.