Page 2 of Scarred Bratva King

Marco leans back on the door. “You’re going to marry me, Veronica.” His tone is tender, with an edge of steel. “Or you’re going to die, and I’m going to send those photos to everyone you ever met.

“Think of it like a gameshow, the jackpot round. You can have the cash and the vacations, everything you women want. Or I can tuck you up nice and snug in a body bag.”

He yawns like he’s bored. “Just put the ring on your finger, and we’ll walk out of here together, but you better believe I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

His sheer entitlement shatters something inside me, and my instinct for self-preservation evaporates, replaced by a frantic, impotent rage.

“You’re delusional,” I snap, pointing at my arm as fury overpowers my fear. “Or did you forget how you gave me this scar?”

He grabs his crotch. “You’re playing hard to get. You know I like that.”

I shake my head, an idea forming. “You’ve been following me, taking pictures of me, tracking my movements. What next, Marco? An artistic scrapbook of every time I take a piss?”

I stare at him as I talk, trying to slide my phone out of my pocket. My fingers curl around it, and I pray he doesn’t notice, hoping he’s too busy being amused. He always enjoyed it when I fought back; he’s sick that way.

“You think I’ll walk down the aisle?” I say, trying to keep his eyes fixed on my face. “Here’s my counter-offer. You let me go now, and I won’t press charges. How’s that sound?”

“Like you’re trying to distract me.” He’s on me in a flash, snatching the phone from my hand and slamming it onto the table with a sickening crack.

He punches it over and over, his knuckles turning bloody. “You thought that would work? I notice everything.”

Each thud of his fist reminds me of a time when he blacked an eye or bust a lip.

Keep it together, Vee. You’re not that girl anymore.

“You’re insane,” I manage. “You know Elena married Dimitri Chekov, right? You heard of him?

“He is one evil motherfucking Bratva boss who’d chew you up in an instant and spit you out. You hurt me, and you’re in a world of pain, Marco.”

His eyes flash fear for a brief moment, but then he shakes his head again. “Still such a shitty liar.”

“I’m serious. You let me go right now, or you’re a dead man.”

“Have you any idea who my uncle is?” He groans. “That’s right. I never told you, did I? No matter, you’ll meet him soon enough.

“I’m bored of this back-and-forth,honey. You’re afraid of your feelings, and I get that, but it’s time to put on your big girl pants and that goddamn ring. I love you and you love me. That’s all there is to it.”

“You don’t love me. You never did.”

“You’re mine.” He grabs a bunch of hair, yanking it backward. “I watched you going on those dates for the last few months. Scared them all off.” He grins. “Didn’t you wonder why they all fucked off pretty fucking fast? Put the ring on. Now.”

“Marco, this isn’t love,” I say, wincing as he holds me in place. “You just don’t want anyone else to have me.”

His face hardens, the last vestiges of charm evaporating. He slaps me, setting off a ringing sound in my ear, then shakes his head as he staggers back.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you. You just upset me. You shouldn’t do that.”

How many times did he say that to me before?

This time, I’m going to die. Somehow, I know. This is my last stand, a eulogy to myself. I refuse to go out begging.

“You better shoot me because I am done with your bullshit.”

He waves the pistol my way. “You always have to make it so hard, don’t you, Veronica? Always playing the smartass.”

I swallow hard. “Well, one of us has to be smart.”

His eyes darken, and his knuckles tighten around the gun. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

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