Page 3 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I can’t believe my luck as I stare at the Sokolov princess trembling before me. God, she puts on a good act. I watch her pale and gasp, her eyes darting from me to the priest behind.

Unbelievable, this luck that has been showered upon me tonight. My brothers won’t believe it. I had been so furious when I went to The Dirty Good tonight. And now, instead of bringing back information on the Sokolovs, I get to bring back a Sokolov herself.

I can already imagine the treasure trove of information she must be sitting on. No matter what happens, I’m not letting her go until I have my revenge against her family.

And she’s going to help me get it.

I take one step toward her and she whelps, scrambles back with arms outstretched as though that’s enough to keep me at bay. “Please…Ilariy…” she says, softly. “This has to be some kind of joke. Did someone put you up to this?”

Her voice shakes, quivers. She looks like a frightened little thing, but I’m guessing she has been trained for situations like this.

“This is not a joke,” I say calmly and watch her eyes widen. “We’re getting married. Tonight.”

“What?” she screeches now, looking at the priest. “Please, Sir,” she begs him now. “You can’t let this happen.”

When the priest says nothing, she freezes. She looks back at me, and I see tears well in her eyes as she begs. “Please.”

“Please isn’t enough, is it now?” I ask, reaching closer until I tower over her. “Not after what your family did to mine.”

“M…my brothers?” she whimpers, meeting my eyes.

“Yes. Who else?”

She throws her hands up in the air. “But, I don’t even know who you are! Nothing about your family! Please, I just want to go home to my brothers. I swear you’ve got this all wrong. My brothers run restaurants. Whoever you’re looking for…it’s not them!”

Is she seriously going on about restaurants? She’s really quite the actress. I might move to force her to the priest if I have to, but she scrambles back again, looking around her wildly.

I don’t want to scare her any further, but God, I can’t help but bellow, “Your brothers hurt my family. Horribly!”

Her face pales further. “N-No!” she stutters. “There must be some mistake. My brothers wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“Viktor Sokolov, your cousin, was killed because—”

“Killed?” she screeches, clutching the wall behind her in shock. I notice her hands tremble. “Viktor died of a heart attack two months ago,” she whispers, shaking her head.

“A heart attack? Come on. Even you don’t believe that. You can’t be putting on such a dull story!” He was in the Bratva, princess.

“Bratva?” she repeats, looking genuinely perplexed. “What’s that?”

I shuffle impatiently. Time’s running out, I know. I need to get this marriage over with quickly and have her out of here before someone tracks us down. Before her brothers hear what happened and find us.

I take her arm and pull her toward the desk. “Russian mafia,” I say as she struggles against me, and suddenly, she stills, walks with me like a puppet.

Only a very terrified person would do that. This doesn’t make any sense. Why keep up this act…even now?

“M…mafia?” she whispers. “My brothers have taken over Viktor’s restaurants. They… if you had problems with Viktor, we don’t know about it.”

This is an act I’ve seen before—the innocent girl routine. But I have to admit, she’s convincing.

“We don’t have time for games,” I say finally. “Your brothers have disappeared underground since Viktor died. Finding you was pure luck, and I’ll take any Sokolov I can get my hands on.”

“Please,” she trembles. “Just let me call them. They’ll help you understand that there’s been a terrible mistake.”

“You can call them, after the ceremony,” I say and give the priest a nod. The priest says one word— one —before she screeches.

“I’m not marrying you! You can’t force me to do this!”

God, she’s really getting on my nerves.

She struggles, trying to pull away from me, but I hold tight. “This isn’t legal!” she screams like a shrieky little thing. “You have no right. I don’t agree to this!”

“Continue, please.” I ignore her—she’s starting to give me a headache.

The priest nods nervously and opens his book.

“We are gathered here today...” he starts, his voice echoing.

Arina struggles against my grip, but I hold her firmly beside me.

“I won’t say the vows,” she hisses at me. “You can’t make me.”

“You don’t have to,” I inform her. “It’ll still count. I’ll answer for you. Clearly,” I turn to the priest, “she’s overwhelmed.”

He nods, and her face crumples. For a brief moment, I feel guilty at how shattered she looks, but her name is enough to make that guilt feel meaningless.

Where was the guilt when her brothers allowed Viktor to torture Lilibeth? This, by the treatment my sister-in-law suffered, is five-star service.

The priest rushes through the ceremony, eager to be done with this marriage. When he pronounces us husband and wife, I slide the marriage certificate toward her.

“Wish I had a ring, princess. But you can sign for now.”

“No.” She crosses her arms defiantly. “And stop calling me princess!”

I sigh. “Fine , Arina . If you don’t sign voluntarily, my men will force your hand. Literally.” I nod toward the witnesses, who step forward menacingly.

Her hand shakes as she takes the pen, tears now falling freely down her face. She scribbles her signature, then throws the pen across the room.

“Is this some sort of twisted prank?” she asks after the priest hurriedly packs up and leaves with the witnesses. “Are there hidden cameras? Did Alexey put you up to this?”

I frown at her. “You’re really committing to this act, aren’t you?”

“What act?” she nearly screams. “I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Let’s go,” I say, ignoring her outburst as I tighten my grip on her elbow.

I steer her through the warehouse, but she struggles against me the whole time. By the time we reach the car, she’s dragging her feet, and I’m tired of tugging her along.

“Get in.” I open the passenger side door.

“No,” she says, yanking her arm back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes, you are.” I shove her into the seat with some force. Before she can escape, I pull a pair of handcuffs from my pocket.

Her eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t do something stupid.” I snap one cuff around her wrist and lock the other to the door handle.

That’s when she truly lashes out. She scratches at me, and her nails slice across my cheek.

“Fuck!” I shout, recoiling. “Cut it out!”

“Let me go!” she yells, now kicking wildly.

I grab her legs and pin them down. “Stop fighting, Arina. It won’t do you any good!”

“You’re insane!” she screams, still struggling. “I don’t even know what the Bratva is! I don’t know why you think my family hurt yours! My brothers run restaurants, you lunatic!”

I seize her free wrist. “Drop the act. It’s getting old.”

“It’s not an act!” she sobs, breath ragged. “Why won’t you believe me?”

Something in her voice stops me cold. The way she trembles, the raw panic—all of it has me second-guessing myself, something I’ve literally never done.

“How is that possible?” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “How could you not know?”

“Know what?” she demands, wiping at her tears with her free hand.

I step back and slam the door shut, needing to put some distance between us. Could the Sokolovs really have kept their baby sister completely in the dark about their criminal empire? Protected her from the ugly truth?

It seems impossible, yet looking at her now, I’m starting to believe it might be true.

I shake my head, stop myself from falling for her nonsense. If I do, I’ll fail at what I have to do. Instead, I get into the car and begin to drive.

Beside me, Arina continues to sob. She turns to me, trying to move her body to face me. “Please…if you just take me home, we can sort this out. You must think my family is someone else.”

“Your family is criminals,” I say quietly, surely. “Stop acting otherwise.”

She shakes her head in denial. “No. That’s not true. It can’t be.”

I don’t say anything. She gives me some time to drive in silence, thank god.

Then, she asks where I’m taking her with a trembling voice.

“Home. My home.”

She whimpers in fear.

We drive in some more silence for a while. I glance at her occasionally, watching as she stares out the window, her face contorted with fear and confusion.

“My brothers will find me,” she says finally. “And when they do—”

“That’s the plan,” I interrupt. “I want them to find you. That’s the whole point.”

She turns to look at me, fresh horror on her face. “You’re using me to get to them.”

“Like your brothers didn’t do the same to my family?”

“I don’t even know your family!” she screams, a fresh wave of tears falling down her face.

We soon reach the outskirts where my house is. We approach the large iron gates of my driveway, and her eyes widen at the sight of the armed men stationed along the perimeter.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispers, as the house comes into view, with all its majestic beauty. “This can’t be real.”

But it is real. And I realize this night couldn’t get any better.