Page 3 of Sold to the Bratva
He sighs and gestures to the couch with more force. “Sit.”
I sit only because my knees threaten to give out and I refuse to let them see me stumble. Heat and confusion prickle under my skin, cold sweat gathering at the nape of my neck.
Viktor lowers himself into the armchair across from me.
“Now that Oleg ispakhan,” he begins, his voice measured, “it’s time to end the bad blood between our family and the Kozlovs.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” I wonder aloud, narrowing my eyes at them.
Oleg’s sickening grin widens. “Everything.”
My father continues as though he hasn’t heard him. “We have a very important meeting tomorrow to make an offer,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You will marry Isaac Kozlov.”
The world stops moving. I hear the words, and in theory I know what they mean, but my brain refuses to process them.
“You’re not serious,” I breathe.
He nods once, signaling that he’s done talking about it. “You made an agreement,” I repeat numbly. “To marry me off? Without even asking me?”
“This is bigger than you, Katya.”
I stare at him like he’s grown another head.
“Bigger than me?” I breathe. “I’m the one being manipulated like a pawn on a chessboard.”
“You were raised for this,” he says simply. “You knew this day would come.”
“I thought I would at least get a heads up. Maybe even the option to refuse.”
“This is your heads-up,” he responds calmly. “As for the option to refuse, I’m sorry you were under such a presumption. I assure you, that was never on the table.”
“So I just get sacrificed to a man twice my age so you two can toast and pat yourselves on the back for brokering peace?”
Papa’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays even. “This marriage will secure peace between the Kozlovs and Grinkovs for generations. It’s a strong move. A smart one.”
“Then you do it. You marry Isaac.”
He doesn’t blink. “I don’t think I’m really his type.”
“No, because you’re not a twenty-two-year-old virgin groomed to be traded like livestock.”
Oleg chuckles. “Isaac will be good to you. He’s a powerful man. You’ll be taken care of.”
“I don’t want to be ‘taken care of,’” I spit.“I want to choose who I marry. I want to marry someone I love.”
My father leans forward, eyes like honed steel. “Love is a luxury, and it won’t protect you when this world turns on you. What we’re offering is protection, security. You’ll wield more power as Isaac’s wife than you ever will chasing some fairy tale. You’ve had a good life so far, and you’ll find his way of living meets your standards.”
Good life? Try caged life. I remember slipping out with Evie, short skirts hidden under long coats, pretending to be anyone but myself. I remember every time a boy flirted with me and one of Papa’s guards materialized like a ghost to shut it down. I have no idea what it feels like to love a man, and be loved back, because I was raised to be a prize for some mobster.
I try to argue again with my father, but he puts his hand up to stop me.
“I’m tired of this argument, Katya,” he says in a dismissive tone. “This is happening, so I suggest you get used to the idea.”
That’s all I’ll get from him, and we both know it. Without another word, I rise, pivot on my heel and storm toward my room. Every fiber of my being is thrumming with anger.
When I reach my room, I slam the door and throw myself onto the bed. I want to cry, to scream, to smash something, anything to keep this nightmare from feeling real. But lashing out would only prove to my father that I’m a child that needs to be handled.
A thought sparks bright inside me. Risky, yes, but it might be my only exit. If I’m unbearable, the worst bride imaginable, Isaac will have to call off the wedding and send me packing. Then Papa will have no choice but to accept that this marriage isn’t happening.
