Page 8

I feel like I’ve lost control of my body. One day has passed since my disastrous wedding night, and I’m still furious at myself for surrendering to Grigor the way I did. That man made me crumble, turned my anger into something ravenous, and then walked away without a single glance back. Now I’m left replaying every second of that moment, disgusted that I allowed him to strip away my resolve so easily.

I’m holed up in what’s supposed to be “our” bedroom, though I’ve barricaded myself inside. The walls are painted in neutral tones, and the furniture is all polished wood and luxury. It doesn’t feel like my space at all; it belongs to someone else. Each time I look around, I remember how little say I had in coming here. When I think back on last night, I clench my fists so hard my nails bite into my palms. He made me want him, and then he left me at the peak of that wanting.

I want to hate him. Maybe I do. But there’s a flicker in me, a shameful part that craves more, and I despise that feeling more than anything else. I clutch a cushion and bury my face against it, trying to block out my own thoughts. It doesn’t help.

A knock at the door interrupts my brooding. I lift my head, scowling, and say nothing. Another knock. Still, I remain silent, hoping whoever is out there gives up and leaves me alone.

“Mrs. Barkov?” a soft voice calls. “Mr. Barkov said to tell you dinner will be served in thirty minutes.”

I grimace at the title: Mrs. Barkov. How nauseating. The invitation is the last thing I want. “I’m not hungry,” I snap. “Go away.”

A muffled pause, and then the maid responds, “But your presence is requested, Ma’am.”

“Tell him I’m not coming.”

I hear a quiet shuffle from the hallway but no more words. I wait, half expecting some pushy response. None comes. Perhaps that’s the end of it.

I lean back against the bed’s headboard, trying to calm the storm in my mind. Does he think I’ll just glide downstairs, all smiles and courtesy, after what he did to me? He humiliated me—brought me to the brink of satisfaction and left me quivering. The memory heats my cheeks, and I force myself to focus on other things: my father’s threat to my sister, the uncertain future I face in this household, and the fact that I have to spy on Grigor for my father. None of it lifts my mood, but at least it keeps me from thinking about last night’s betrayal of my own body.

Minutes pass, and I sink into a swirl of resentment. Just when I think I can relax, the door slams open with a bang, hitting the wall. I jerk upright to find Grigor standing in the doorway, with his gaze fixed on me and a grim set to his mouth.

“You were told dinner is ready.”

“Get out,” I retort with a cold rush flooding through me. “I’m not going.”

He stalks forward and shuts the door behind him. There’s a tension in his posture that makes every alarm in my head ring. “You’re going whether you like it or not.”

I scoff and cross my arms. “You can’t force me—”

He’s across the room in an instant. Before I can scramble off the bed or even finish my sentence, he lunges to snatch my arm. I lash out with my free hand, aiming for his face, but he easily dodges. The next moment, he lifts me off my feet and flings me over his shoulder like a sack of produce.

“Put me down, you bastard!” I shout, twisting and kicking.

He secures an arm around my thighs, pinning me in place. “Stop fighting. You’ll only make this harder.”

“Let me go!” I pound at his back, mortified by the position he’s put me in. He’s hoisting me around like I weigh nothing, marching out the door.

“Please, carry on,” I mock in a bitter tone. “I love being manhandled by my psycho husband.”

The hallway stretches ahead, and I catch flashes of the staff’s shocked faces. My cheeks burn. I try to hide behind my hair, but there’s no hiding from this humiliation. If I weren’t so busy kicking and snarling, I might burst into tears of rage.

He storms down a grand staircase, and each step jolts me until we reach the main floor. I hear voices from somewhere, conversations that abruptly stop when we enter the room. He heads toward a large dining room, complete with a massive table and more than a dozen chairs.

My fury only grows when I see new faces: men who have a strong resemblance to Grigor, plus a few others. They look up, startled, as Grigor strides in with me dangling over his shoulder. My heart drops to my stomach. I recognize his brothers from the wedding, though we were never formally introduced. There’s also a woman and three small children peeking from behind her. My humiliation soars to staggering heights.

He finally puts me down, gripping my shoulders to steady me. I stagger on wobbly feet. My hair’s a tangled mess, and I can’t bring myself to look at these strangers, but I sense them watching.

“This is Seraphina,” Grigor announces, a little breathless, whether from carrying me or from his anger, I’m not sure. “My wife.”

One of the men rises from his seat. “I’m Aleksei,” he says. There’s an air of authority about him that reminds me of a king addressing his court. “Grigor’s brother. You’ve already made quite the entrance.”

I can’t tell if that’s amusement or irritation in his tone. Maybe both. I lift my chin, refusing to appear cowed. “Not my choice.”

Something passes across Aleksei’s face, and I get the feeling he’s used to controlling situations. He’s probably not sure what to make of me yet. Two more men stand as well: one with a more reckless vibe in his eyes, the other with a quieter demeanor. Grigor gestures to them in turn.

“That’s Akim,” he says, nodding to the one who looks like trouble in a suit. “And that’s Dmitri.” The reserved man merely inclines his head, not speaking.

A third brother remains seated, swirling a glass of what looks like liquor. He casts me a sidelong glance, then returns his focus to the drink in his hand. This must be Maksim, I realize. The one rumored to vanish on drunken benders. He doesn’t bother introducing himself, and neither does Grigor, so I guess that’s as much as I’ll get.

Then there’s the woman with the children at her side. She steps forward with her hand extended. “Bianca,” she offers. “Aleksei’s wife. And these are our triplets.” She motions to the three little girls, each clinging to her skirt and peeking out with wide eyes.

For a moment, I soften. The girls look so young, each with big, curious gazes. One of them actually waves a tiny hand at me before burying her face against Bianca’s leg.

“Welcome,” Bianca continues, though she glances at Grigor with a questioning look, probably trying to figure out why I needed to be hauled in like a rebellious child.

“Thanks,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my wrinkled t-shirt. I want to vanish. Or maybe lash out at Grigor in front of everyone. But I hold my tongue, mindful that I’m already in hot water for my open defiance. My father’s threat of hurting my sister if I don’t play my role rings in my mind, pushing me to keep my temper somewhat in check.

“Let’s eat,” Grigor suggests with a note of impatience in his voice. He points to a seat near the middle of the table, presumably for me. “Sit.”

I glare, but I do as I am told—if only to avoid another humiliating scene. The tension in the room is thick enough to taste. I can’t see what expression Grigor’s wearing, and I don’t want to. I focus on the polished tabletop, ignoring the plates of steaming food placed by the waiting staff.

Aleksei sits at the head of the table, with Bianca and the triplets seated next to him. Dmitri, Akim, and Maksim settle themselves. Grigor claims the seat beside me, and I shift away an inch. My pride still stings from the way he carried me in here.

The conversation starts up—mostly about Bratva business or local matters. It’s more formal than I expected, with each brother contributing a piece of the puzzle. Akim cracks a few jokes, earning mild snorts from Dmitri. Maksim says little between sips from his glass. Aleksei steers the discussion, occasionally glancing my way as though assessing me.

I stay silent. Eating feels impossible. My appetite left me the moment Grigor manhandled me into this seat. I poke at a piece of roasted meat, not really seeing it. The triplets giggle at their own conversation, unaffected by the undercurrents among the adults.

“So, Seraphina,” Bianca says, “I understand you only recently married Grigor. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend the wedding. Must be quite an adjustment for you?”

Her tone is gentle, maybe even sympathetic. I sense kindness in her eyes. If she’s Aleksei’s wife, she might understand what it’s like marrying into this family.

“Yeah,” I manage to say, forcing a tight smile. “It’s… different.”

“It was the same for me when I first joined Aleksei. The Bratva world can be overwhelming.”

I chance a glance at Grigor, but he’s ignoring me, cutting into his food with a single-minded focus. Good. Let him pretend I’m not here. I address Bianca again, “I’m not sure ‘overwhelming’ is the word I’d use.”

Bianca’s lips twitch in a sympathetic grin. “I remember feeling resentful, maybe even hostile, toward my husband. That changed over time, once I realized he wasn’t the monster I imagined.”

“It’s not the same. I’m here because…” I stop myself. I was about to say I’m here because I was forced, but I sense that might ignite another fight or, worse, put me under scrutiny I don’t want. Instead, I shrug. “Let’s just say I never asked for this, and I plan on letting him know that every chance I get.”

The triplets burst into giggles over something one of them said, and Bianca gives them a fond look, patting one on the head. Then she glances back at me. “I won’t pretend to know your circumstances, but I can tell you Grigor isn’t as bad as he seems. He tends to be… guarded, that’s all.”

A bark of laughter escapes me, and I nearly choke on my water. “Guarded? That man is a raging brute who thinks carrying me over his shoulder is a reasonable way to have me attend dinner.”

Bianca’s eyes flick to Grigor, who’s still ignoring us. “He’s rough around the edges, sure. But he’s loyal to his family, and once he cares about someone, he’ll do anything for them.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, because nothing says ‘caring’ like hauling me down a flight of stairs in front of his entire clan.”

Aleksei casts a glance our way, lips pursed, but says nothing. There’s tension in his posture, as though he’s listening even while conversing with Dmitri.

Bianca leans closer, lowering her voice. “He might surprise you in time. He’s capable of kindness, though he doesn’t trust easily. It was that way with Aleksei when I first married him. This family has lost a lot, and they keep their walls high.”

I swallow a spike of bitterness. “I don’t care about kindness or trust. I feel like a glorified prisoner.” My voice trembles a bit, betraying the depth of my frustration. “I’m only here because it suited everyone else’s plans. I married him to secure some alliance. And in exchange, I lost my freedom.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I know we haven’t met before today, but if there’s anything I can do to ease this transition, let me know.”

I don’t answer. My face burns with anger, shame, and a hint of gratitude I don’t want to admit. Grigor’s presence beside me is like a black hole, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I sneak a peek at him—still silent, still carved from stone. No sign of remorse for humiliating me. Why should he care? He got what he wanted: a bride who could barely keep her anger in check.

I push my plate away and press my lips together. Bianca, sensing my mood, shifts the topic to her children, coaxing them to share about their day. Akim chimes in with a story about someone trying to cheat a deal. Dmitri mentions new shipments arriving next week. Maksim just swirls his drink, lost in his own thoughts. Grigor doesn’t speak unless prompted.

I’m an outsider in this circle. A woman forcibly inserted into the Bratva’s stronghold, with no real allies except maybe Bianca, who at least shows some compassion. Despite that hint of warmth, the entire situation feels suffocating. This dinner can’t end soon enough.