Page 3 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession (Vadim Bratva #12)

After months of watching Larissa cry over her brother's absence, I might have found a way to put a stop to this madness. I couldn’t believe my luck when Gastone suggested I might be right and we should talk somewhere quiet.

To be honest, I was feeling rather proud of myself.

Who knew one conversation was all it would take?

I followed Gastone to a quieter part of the club, all the while near giddy at the thought of bringing Larissa the good news. I was already daydreaming about the look on her face when I told her that Gastone finally listened, and to me, of all people.

“I'm so glad you're willing to talk about this,” I tried to scream at him over the music. “Larissa misses you so much. And the baby—she's beautiful, Gastone. She has your eyes, you know? The same shade of green. Have you seen her picture? You must have seen her picture.”

He didn't respond, but I chalked it off to the fact that it was really loud and he probably hadn’t heard me.

I noticed we were turning toward a staff corridor. A flutter of unease rippled through me as I glanced up at the lounges, but then again, I thought that he probably just wanted to be someplace we wouldn’t be interrupted.

The music grew fainter when we rounded a corner of the dimly lit corridor. It was much quieter here, and I stopped in my tracks and started to speak, eager to finally make peace.

“Look, I know how hard this has been for you. But Larissa didn't mean to hurt you. She just fell in love, and can we blame a girl for that? It happens to the best of us,” I added in a little giggle, for good measure.

To my horror, he suddenly grabbed my wrist with surprising strength and started to pull me toward the door behind him, a door I hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Gastone, what-?” I protested, wondering what the hell was going on, but he ignored me and pushed open the door, pulling me out with him. We ended up in an alley behind the club, which was dimly lit and deserted, except for a few cars parked around.

“Hey!” I screeched, pushing my heels into the ground, but he pulled me along, even though I was half-hanging off his arm.

When he turned to level me a glare filled with such ice, I instantly knew in my gut that I was in trouble.

I knew that the night would not end well if I didn’t find a way back then and there.

“Gastone, stop this right now.” I tried to wrench my arm away and threw a look over my shoulder back at the door, praying that someone might exit. “My security will be looking for me any minute.”

He stopped for a moment, and the look in his eyes made my blood run cold. Reconciliation, I knew, was the last thing on his mind.

“Your security,” he laughed meanly. “Two idiots who let you walk right out the back door on my arm? Trust me, they won't be looking for you anytime soon.”

My stomach dropped. “I only wanted to help you and Larissa,” I said, my voice trembling with fear now. “To help your family heal.”

“And you will,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Just not the way you thought.”

He pulled me toward the car. I fought against his grip, digging my heels into the pavement again, but he was too strong.

When I opened my mouth to scream, he turned me around and pulled me flush against his body, one arm clenched around my waist and the other hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound.

“Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Elena,” he growled into my ear.

I bit down hard on his palm. He cursed, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench away. I turned to run, but made it only two steps before he grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off my feet.

“Let me go!” I shouted, kicking my legs and clawing at his arms. “You can't do this!”

“Watch me.” He carried me the last few feet to the car.

I fought with everything I had—scratching, hitting, twisting my body.

My elbow connected with his jaw, and he grunted in pain, but his grip didn't loosen.

With a final heave, he shoved me into the backseat of the car, following quickly behind me.

Before I could scramble out the other door, he pulled out zip ties from his pocket. Who the hell carried zip ties in their pocket? My eyes widened in horror.

“Don't you dare,” I warned, but my voice shook from cold, pure fear.

He made fast work of grabbing both my wrists and binding them together.

“This isn't you,” I tried, changing tactics. “You're drunk. You're angry. But you're not this person, Gastone. Do you really want to do this? Your sister would be ashamed of you right now.”

His hand froze for a moment, and I thought I might have gotten through to him. Then his eyes hardened again.

“My sister made her choice,” he said coldly. “Now I'm making mine.”

***

Gastone was driving us now, towards where God only knew. I had tried sneaking out to the door handle, but it wouldn’t unlock, and I knew removing my binds would be impossible without a knife or something sharp. I was utterly stuck.

And now, I was furious .

“You won't get away with this,” I hissed from the backseat. “Do you have any idea what my family will do when they find out you've taken me?”

“By the time they find out, it will be too late,” he said in a tone so even, so calm that it made me feel even angrier. It was like he was stating a fact about the weather, not hinting at some cryptic future he had planned out for me.

“Too late for what?” I shrieked, but he didn’t answer.

I tried to keep track of where we were going, but soon got confused by all the turns. My mind raced with possibilities, each worse than the last. Was he going to hold me for ransom? Use me as leverage against my family? The worst possibilities made my stomach turn.

I needed to stay calm and think clearly. My brothers would notice I was missing soon. They'd look for me, and then, it would all be okay.

After we'd been driving for about ten minutes, Gastone pulled out his phone. He was speaking in low tones, but I was straining to hear. I could only hear Gastone and nothing from the other end.

“Is everything ready?”

“Good. We'll be there in ten. Have the paperwork prepared.”

“No, no witnesses. Just you.”

He hung up.

Paperwork? What paperwork? Witnesses? He had said something about how he was returning the favor to my family, and suddenly, the realization hit me like a slap.

I didn't like where this was going when I thought of why he was furious with Gio and Larissa. I gulped.

“Y…You can’t do this,” I whelped. “Please don’t do this. Are you out of your mind?”

“It's quite simple, really,” he said, his eyes flickering to meet mine in the back mirror. “Your brother took my sister. Now I'm taking his. An eye for an eye.”

“This is insane,” I said, my voice rising. “You can't force someone to marry you!”

“Watch me,” he shrugged, taking a turn.

“I won't sign anything,” I insisted. “You can't make me.”

“We'll see about that.”

My mind whirled. This couldn't be happening. Not in this century, not in this country. But then I remembered who we were, what our families were, similar stories like the ones unravelling, and suddenly, my fear became terror.

“Please, please, please,” I begged, trying to hold back tears. “It will only make things worse. Think about what this will do to Larissa, to your relationship with her. If you ever want to see your niece—”

“Don't,” he cut me off. “Don't use her against me.”

“I'm not using her,” I said, softening my voice and trying to force myself to remain calm. “You're angry at Giovanni. I understand that. But this? Taking me? Forcing me to marry you? That won't hurt him as much as it will hurt your sister.”

For a moment, he was silent, and I thought perhaps I'd gotten through to him. Then he shook his head.

“Nice try,” he said. “But it's too late for that.”

The car slowed, turning down a narrow street lined with old buildings. We pulled up in front of a small, nondescript Brownstone.

“Where are we?” I asked, though I already had a sinking feeling I knew.

“To meet someone,” he said. “Well, a former clerk. He still has the authority to perform marriages, and he owes me a favor.”

My heart pounded as he got out of the car and came around to my door. When he opened it, I tried to kick at him despite my bound ankles, but he easily caught my legs.

“Stop fighting,” he said, reaching in to cut the zip tie around my ankles with a pocket knife. “You'll only hurt yourself.”

“I'll scream,” I threatened as he pulled me from the car, my hands still bound.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the empty street. “No one will hear you.”

He was right, and I knew it. This part of the city belonged to the Ajellos. Anyone who saw us would turn a blind eye.

Still, as he half-dragged me toward the building, I fought him every step of the way, though it was futile. My hair was falling around my face in wild tangles.

“You can't do this,” I kept saying, even as he pushed open the door to the brownstone.

Inside, a single man waited, an older gentleman with thinning gray hair and glasses. He stood behind a small desk covered with papers, looking anything but nervous, which told me all I needed to know: There was no help here.

“Don Ajello,” he nodded at Gastone, his eyes then flickering to me and then quickly away, as if he couldn't be bothered by the sight of my bound hands or the terror in my eyes. As if he couldn’t care. It was as if he’d already seen situations like this play out a million times.

“Let's make this quick,” Gastone said, dragging me toward the desk.

I renewed my struggles, twisting violently in his grip, trying to jerk away from him with all my might. “I won't sign anything! You can't make me!”

My sudden movement caught him off guard, and I managed to pull free.

But with my hands still bound, I stumbled, crashing into the corner of the desk.

Pain shot through my thumb as it slammed against the hardwood.

I cried out, clenching my fists to ease the pain, desperate for the ability to cradle my hurt thumb.

Something shifted in Gastone's expression. He rushed over. “Let me see,” he insisted.

“Don't touch me,” I hissed, backing away until I hit the wall.

He ignored my protest, reaching for my hands with surprising gentleness. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”

I was so shocked by the change in his demeanor that I didn't resist when he carefully took my bound hands in his. His fingers were warm and surprisingly gentle as he examined my thumb, which was already beginning to swell.

“It's just bruised,” he said, his voice almost kind. “Not broken.”

I stared at him, confused by this glimpse of tenderness from the man who had just kidnapped me. His green eyes met mine, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw concern.

Needless to say, it confused the hell out of me.

“I didn't want to hurt you,” he said quietly, his thumb running softly over the injured spot.

I was just about to tell him that if he really didn't want to hurt me, he would untie me and take me home, when he reached for the pocket knife again. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to threaten me with it, but instead, he carefully cut the zip tie binding my wrists.

The relief of having my hands free was immediate. I rubbed my wrists, wincing at the red marks left behind.

“Thank you,” I said cautiously, still not understanding this strange shift.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, his eyes now fixed on mine as he took my hands in his own and gently caressed them in his palms. He slid his fingers over mine, curled into the crevices, gently flicked his thumb down the back of my hand, and as I drowned in the depths of those gorgeous green eyes, I swear, time stood still.

“A little,” I whispered, feeling a shiver go down my spine at how he looked at me.

“Come,” he tugged gently, walking me back toward the desk, his back to it, me moving forward. I should have protested, should have stood my ground, but there was something so gentle about him, so very concerned that my mind started to believe he was finally seeing sense.

He made me sit on the chair and turned to the older gentleman. “Bring her some ice, will you?” he asked.

The man nodded and went out back through a door while Gastone turned to face me, his back to the desk, my hands still in his. His eyes flickered to where we touched, and then he tilted his head back at me.

“Perhaps… I was too harsh,” he declared.

I sighed with relief. “You’d be doing the right thing,” I whispered softly. “By letting me go.”

He nodded. “Yes. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he groaned. “It was the anger, the unexpectedness of it all.”

“I get it,” I said, feeling lighter.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded.

“So, you’ll let me go?” I asked, wide-eyed, in utter disbelief over the luck I was having.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded again.

The man returned with the ice, and to my surprise, he insisted on wrapping it in a cloth and tying it around my injured hand.

I watched the gentleman work on my injured thumb while Gastone still held my other, drawing slow circles to comfort me.

I closed my eyes, allowed myself a few deep breaths.

Finally, this horror would be behind me.

I knew Gastone was just drunk. I was happy he came around in time, before it got too late.

So when I felt something wet touch the fingers of my other hand, I turned with a jerk, but it all happened so fast. The old gentleman still had my hand in his grip, and Gastone had inked my fingers and now grabbed my palm and planted it face down on a sheet of paper.

I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me when I saw the ink transfer from my fingers onto the document, forming a signature of sorts.

I tried to pull away, and he let me, only because it was too late. Suddenly, I had two free hands, and neither was of any good to fight my way out of this.

Horror washed over me as I realized what I'd done.

“You tricked me,” I whispered, looking up at him in stunned disbelief.

The older man quickly gathered the papers, his hands shaking slightly. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Ajello,” he said. “The marriage is official.”

Gastone's face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes.

“This isn't legal,” I said, my eyes locked with Gastone’s, my voice shaking with rage. “It was done under duress. I'll have it annulled. My family will—”

“Your family,” Gastone interrupted me, “will have to accept that you're an Ajello now just as my sister is a Lebedev.” He took my arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Now come along. It's time to go home.”