Arranged Bratva Love

Aurora

Tonight was going to be a disaster.

I don’t know why Slavik had agreed to this dinner, but I was terrified. It was the first dinner as a married couple. Nearly five months into marriage, and he finally decided it was time to host a dinner. A private family dinner.

My parents were coming.

Only mine.

He didn’t have any parents.

This was going to be a nightmare, but for the past three days, I’d been planning it. Slavik had insisted on a cook. He wouldn’t eat anything I cooked for him. Not that it hurt or offended me.

It really did, but I tried not to let it show.

Along with reading, I also liked to cook. What Slavik didn’t know was that I’d put myself on a very strict diet. Years of name calling and abuse, and I was done. I wanted to be happy with myself, but I couldn’t handle it anymore. That day back in the restaurant had sealed the deal. Those words the women had laughed about. They hurt.

I worked out at the gym every single day. I swam every day. I counted calories, being sure not to go over my limit.

So far, I’d lost a couple of pounds, not that anyone noticed.

I did.

I’d even started to use the scales in the bathroom. They’d been placed in one of the storage cupboards. Now every single morning and each night, I weighed myself. It was difficult, but I tried to keep the weight the same morning and night. I ate little. Drank water, and in all honesty, prayed.

This evening was going to be difficult. In the past, my family had even mocked my attempts to lose weight, which had set me on a spiral of overeating.

I’d be in control. I was a married woman, planning my first dinner party. It would all go well. I was determined for it to work out.

Even as I thought the words, I couldn’t help but doubt myself.

Slavik had already returned home. We hadn’t talked since he’d come home at lunch and demanded sex.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

I had no idea why women enjoyed sex. It was … boring, slightly painful. Whatever he’d put on me before he’d entered me had made it comfortable, but still, I didn’t understand why so many women were into it. Why there was even a porn industry.

Dressed in a simple black dress, I looked into the mirror. Was it slimming enough?

Slavik entered. “We’re not conducting a funeral. Change.”

He went to the bathroom.

Staring at my reflection, I thought I looked okay, but black was for funerals. I wished I had the balls to defy him.

I changed out of the black dress and opted for a white one, instead. This one clung to my curves.

I was about to change when Slavik came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his impressive waist.

Attraction was still new to me, and even though I hated my husband, I did believe I … fancied him, at least a little bit. He was heaven to look at.

The bad boy.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

Shaking out of my thoughts, I saw Slavik was still looking at me. “Wear that,” he said.

I looked down at myself.

The dress went to the knee, and the front of the dress plunged to the top of my breasts. It covered everything but it felt so … sexy, and this was a family dinner.

Rather than argue, I changed the black shoes for a pair of white heels. They stung the backs of my ankles, but I ignored the pain.

Just as I was about to leave, Slavik ordered me to stop.

I turned as he came toward me.

He reached behind my head and I had to give myself a pat on the back for not flinching away from his touch. He released the clip that bound up my hair.

Staring up at him, I waited.

He didn’t give me permission to leave as he walked toward his jacket and came back with a velvet box.

He opened it up, showing off a pair of diamond earrings and a matching necklace. They were both beautiful, delicate.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Wear them tonight.”

“It’s only dinner with my parents.”

“I don’t care. I want them on you tonight.”

I took the box from him, but he stopped me, taking out the necklace. Turning my back to him, he placed it over my head so it lay against my chest, and secured the clasp. Staring in the mirror with him to my back, it seemed intimate. I’d read many scenes where the hero had now kissed the heroine’s neck and drawn her back, where she’d be able to feel his arousal. But he stepped away, leaving me cold and feeling a little stupid.

“Go,” he said.

My master had finally released me.

I took the box, and in another room, I put the earrings in. They were very pretty.

After closing the box, I placed it in a cupboard and then made my way to check on the table. Everything was set perfectly. Candles had been lit. Wine sat cooling, ready for the right moment to pour.

The house had been cleaned. Slavik had insisted on a cleaner to come in. There was so much he wouldn’t have me do. To be honest, I didn’t even know why I was here half the time. It wasn’t like he had any use for me. It was very embarrassing.

I checked into the kitchen and the chef who had been hired gave me a wink and promised it would be the best food imaginable. It looked like he was cooking seafood. I hated seafood, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him for a fifth time.

The scents alone were making me feel queasy. I wondered if I was pregnant and wasn’t entirely sure if I was happy or sad about that.

Bringing a baby into this world seemed cruel. A boy would be forced to train and kill. A girl would grow up to be a bride. Either happy or abused by her husband. This was our life. Did I want to risk bringing either child into the world? Possibly hating one while also dreading the life of another? It made absolutely no sense to me to do either.

I left the chef to his own devices and instead went toward the corridor where Sergei stood, waiting for instructions.

He always lingered. I hoped one day he’d come to see me as a friend and not as a job or obligation.

The smile he offered me was welcome.

I spent all my time with him. What I didn’t like was how often he was around me. A constant shadow.

“You’re going to do great,” he said.

“Thanks.”

The truth was I knew this night was going to be a disaster.

“Relax.” Sergei reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder. It was the first time he’d touched me since I’d been married to his boss. On instinct, I jerked back. No one else was supposed to touch me or even be allowed near me. Those were the rules. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t have time to completely process the thought as the doorbell rang. I should have waited for Slavik, but my nerves were getting the better of me. Against my better judgment, I opened the door to welcome my father, Franco. My mother, Gianna. My sister, Isabella, and one of my brothers, Cole.

Offering a smile, I stepped back to allow them entry. My hands grew clammy and my heart raced.

“You shouldn’t be answering the door,” my father said. “Can’t the Bratva pay for help? Are they that hard up for cash?”

Before I got a chance to answer, Slavik was there. “We allow our women to have their own minds and know they can answer the door without the need for assistance.” He came to stand beside me.

I had no idea how much I needed the comfort, but the moment he was there, I didn’t want him to leave.

Our marriage wasn’t a happy one, nor pleasant, but clearly something had been going right in the past five months for me to prefer his company to my parents. The idea of Slavik coming home every night didn’t make me sick to my stomach.

“What if I’d been your enemy? Your wife would be dead now.”

My father had clearly washed his hands of me. No reference to me being his daughter or a member of his family. I was Slavik’s now.

“I have Sergei,” I said, speaking up, breaking all the rules. My dad couldn’t punish me now. I was no longer his responsibility.

In fact, realizing that, it kind of sent a shiver of pleasure rushing down my spine. They were in Slavik’s home now. I belonged to him. His property.

“Please, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

Slavik took my hand, not allowing me to go far.

“They can find the table. Sergei, make them sit,” he said.

I heard the outrage coming from my mother, but I ignored it as Slavik held my hand, stopping me from going anywhere. “What seems to be the problem?” I asked.

“Why are we having fish?”

His question caught me off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Fish. It’s being served.”

“It’s what the chef decided.”

“You hate fish.”

For a split second, I was speechless. How did he know that? Why did he even care? Licking my dry lips, I looked over his shoulder, but he snapped his fingers. This made me feel like a child.

“You wanted a chef, and he wouldn’t listen to me. No, I don’t like fish, but he wouldn’t allow me to have any choice.”

“What will you eat?”

“Bread, or whatever else is around. I won’t starve.” I had to wonder how many calories were in bread. I hadn’t eaten a whole lot today. The moment Slavik told me he’d invited my family to dinner, eating had been the last thing on my mind. The idea of sitting with my family and hearing their judgmental comments was enough to stop me from eating. If he’d told me this at the beginning of the week, I’d have lost a great deal of weight already.

“I don’t like this.”

“Next time, don’t organize a chef and have a little trust in me.”

“Why should I trust you?” he asked.

I didn’t know what came over me. Hurt? Anger. Irritation that I should trust him, but he can’t trust me.

“And why should I trust you?” I glared at him and tugged my wrist from out of his hold, marching into the dining room. The moment I crossed the threshold, the mask was firmly in place.

Dinner hadn’t even started, and it was already a disaster. My father had taken my place setting at the head of the table. This was an instant sign of disrespect. I clenched my hands together, twisting them, trying to figure out what the hell to do.

Slavik entered and paused. “I’m not married to you, Fredo. Get out of her seat,” he said.

I’d never heard anyone speak to my father like that. I looked at my husband, whose gaze was on my father.

“Pardon me?”

“Are you going deaf as well as being stupid? Get the fuck out of my wife’s seat now.”

“This sign of disrespect-”

I cried out as Slavik grabbed my father, dragging him out of his seat and placing him firmly in his own. “My house! My fucking rules. Live by them, or I will cut your throat, treaty or not.”

Silence rang out and was only interrupted by the chef bringing out the first course. The scent of fish was too much for me, and with a hand on my stomach, I threw up all over Isabella’s designer dress.