Page 11 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The curtains were drawn, and the air was thick with the scent of brandy and old paper.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked, my tone dripping with curiosity and anxiety.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said dismissively, reaching for the half-empty glass of brandy on his table.
“Don’t gimme that,” I snapped, my brows furrowing to form deep creases on my forehead. “I’m not a child anymore, you know—I can help.”
He gulped the drink all at once and set the glass down softly on the table. The man looked worried, dare I say... scared. He was spooked by something, and that scared the hell out of me because I’d never seen my father look so scared before.
I drew closer, my heart racing in my chest. “Dad, talk to me…please.”
He paused, holding my gaze for a second. “What do you wanna know?”
“The truth,” I answered. “I wanna know the truth. I wanna know what’s really going on.”
He wiped a palm across his face, then gestured at the visitor’s chair. “Sit down.”
My heart sank into my stomach because now I knew he was finally letting me in. I’d asked for the truth, but was I strong enough to handle it? Was I ready for what he was about to disclose?
Only one way to find out.
I sat down, hands on my lap, eyes pinned on him.
He sank into his chair, placed his elbows on the table between us, and said, “The family business is drowning in debt.”
Okay, I knew that. Tell me something I don’t know, I thought to myself.
He continued, “Every month, we sink deeper, but that’s not even the problem.”
I squinted my eyes, bracing myself for the bombshell.
“The problem is that those we owe debts to—the creditors—are not ordinary men. Not investors. Not bankers.”
Now he had me confused.
My eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly to the side. “What do you mean they’re not ordinary men?” I asked, my heart pounding like a drum.
He swallowed hard, and his single-word reply sent a shiver down my spine. Dad looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Mafia.”
My heart stopped for a moment, breath lodged in my throat as my eyes widened in despair. “Mafia?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. This is why I never wanted to tell you.” His low voice had a rough edge as he kept his eyes downcast.
“Excuse my shock, Dad,” I shot back, my chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “But did you expect—how’d you think I was going to take this?”
“I don’t know. With a little less condemnation, maybe.”
My scowl deepened, voice wavering with fear and fury. “Are you kidding me? You crawled into bed with the Mafia, Dad. The fuckin’ Mafia!”
He rubbed his eyes. “Saying it out loud doesn’t change anything.”
I drew a deep, long breath, trying to calm my nerves.
“Listen, I thought I could manage them, alright?” he began. “I thought I could keep them at bay. But they never stop. Once they have their claws in you….” His voice trailed off, his gaze masking the fear simmering beneath the surface.
I exhaled sharply, pulse running a marathon. “Now, what?”
“The Bratva will get back to me,” he answered.
