Page 4 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

The cathedral was eerily cold, like the body of Father’s corpse.

It rested raised on a rectangular platform directly in front of the pulpit.

The choir echoed a mournful requie m— slow and painfu l— as a solemn atmosphere filled the room, which was dimly lit, reflecting the darkness I felt inside my heart.

A hollowness filled me, a feeling of emptiness I couldn’t quite put into words.

Father’s casket was beautifully crafted with detailed markings and made from expensive oak wood, just as he would’ve liked. He always seemed to carry himself with dignity, regardless of the situation, so I figured he was at least smiling down at his casket from wherever he was.

He had also always said he wanted to be remembered for his legacy and wealth. He was confident he had made a significant mark on the world, but if only he knew just how mistaken he was.

The cathedral was sparsely filled, and I could count how many of us were there, seated on the wooden benches.

Alice, my stepmother, whom he married after my mother’s death years ago, was dressed in a black turtleneck dress and covered with a veil that hid her stone-cold features as she sat beside me, barely shedding a tear.

I wasn’t surprised. She had always been more passive, and in some ways, I thought she was rather relieved at Dad’s death.

My adopted brother, Jacob, on the other hand, was seated behind us, bawling his eyes out, and if things weren’t so serious, I probably would’ve laughed in amusement. He had flown all the way from New Jersey, and if Father hadn’t passed, I was sure I wouldn’t have seen him for the next few years.

Though they were my family, I was the only one left with Dad’s blood. His heir.

Besides us, the only other people here were Eleanor and Lara, my friends who sat on my right. Eleanor’s hands were clasped around mine as she stared straight ahead, occasionally turning to check if I was okay.

But I hid my pain well—or so I liked to believe. Thinking about Dad almost made me scoff out loud. Maybe if he weren’t so obsessed with the Bratva, he would’ve made more friends instead of enemies. They didn’t even respect him enough to attend his funeral.

Thunder rumbled outside, snapping me back to the reality that Father was gone. When I left the waiting room, the doctor told me Father was looking for me. He was dying, but it seemed like he couldn’t leave until he told me what he needed to.

And he did.

“Trust…Bratva…only,” he had coughed out, face ashen and almost ghost-like. I barely recognized him.

Immediately after he had said those words, his body went limp and cold.

I stared at his lifeless body for minutes, unable to accept that I had just watched my father die.

And now, I still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he was dead, but I couldn’t cry.

Not now, and not ever. I wasn’t raised like that.

Time raced by as if in a marathon. One moment we were all sitting in the cathedral, and the next we found ourselves at the cemetery, his casket now dropped into the mouth of the six-foot grave that seemed eager to swallow him whole.

The sound of dirt hitting the wooden box echoed like gunshots, making me flinch and rushing me back to the explosion that had echoed in my ears during our call. Its thunderous boom had sunk into my flesh and bones, causing me to grow pale.

A hand suddenly tugged at my sleeves, and I turned to see Jacob, his brown eyes filled with worry as he pulled me closer to him, dressed in a long black coat.

“You can leave if you’re not feeling okay,” his deep voice whispered in my ear, but I shook my head, pretending to smile.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

His eyes searched mine for a moment before he nodded in understanding. But instead of letting me go as I expected, he kept holding me, the warmth of his body and the fresh scent of his cologne soothing my nerves.

After Father was properly buried, the small crowd that had gathered at his grave began to disperse. Alice, without looking at Jacob and me, headed straight to her car parked outside the cemetery, while Jacob, Eleanor, Lara, and I kept staring at his tombstone.

“If you want, I could stay in Chicago for a few days,” Jacob said, gently ruffling my hair like I was a child.

His eyes were red with tears and kind, but beyond that, I could tell he was uncomfortable even being here. Like me, he was good at masking his true feelings.

I shook my head, glancing at my friends who patiently waited for me, then looked back at him with a small smile forming on my lips.

“Thank you, Jacob,” I found myself saying, like we were parting ways forever. With Father gone, Jacob wasn’t bound to ever return home—like he’d always secretly wished. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

He drew in a sharp breath but said nothing.

But now that Father was gone…would I truly be okay? Or had I become the Bratva’s next pawn?

And was my family, though broken, even safe?

***

A week had passed since Father’s death, and it seemed as if the world never paused to notice his absence.

Death is a funny thing; the world, even funnier.

Ever since Dad’s burial, I’d been cooped up in bed at his mansion, only leaving to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the table—all courtesy of Alice’s demands.

My room was freezing, even with the heat on and the velvet-shaded duvet covering me. A storm was outside, pounding against the large windows, with lightning flashing through the dark, stormy clouds and lighting up my room slightly from the bedside lamp.

It wasn’t that I was depressed. Dad wasn’t the best father in the world, after all. He had kept me trapped in a cage with my wings cut off for as long as I could remember. It was just a foreboding feeling of dread that kept me rooted in one place.

I was scared that if I stepped outside the house, I’d be blown to bits or shot dead right then.

Whoever had killed Dad was still out there.

I sighed, tossing around on the grand queen bed, whose soft silk sheets made me feel trapped. I felt so lonely inside, even though I was surrounded by opulence. My room alone could fit three offices with its length, yet I felt suffocated by everything.

Maybe being killed wasn’t so bad after all.

A polite knock on my door echoed through the room, and from its rhythm, I could tell it was Agnes, my personal server. I assumed she was here to tell me it was lunchtime, but hell, I hadn’t had an appetite in days. Still, I was sure Alice wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.

“I’ll be down in a moment, Agnes,” I yelled at the door, but her soft voice replied almost immediately.

“There’s someone here to see you, Miss. Someone important.”

A cold chill ran through me as fear gripped my heart. Agnes wouldn’t just call anyone important. And besides lawyers and some of Father’s colleagues, no one had come to the mansion.

I forced myself off the bed, hugging the robe I was wearing tightly against my frame as I slowly made my way towards the door, the carpet tickling my bare feet.

Once close to it, I leaned my head against the door and heard a familiar rhythmic tapping of a cane. It was a sound I had grown used to over the years.

And it came from none other than Oskar. Oskar Kamarov.

He and my father were somewhat close, but as far as I was concerned, it only ever involved business deals.

Is he finally here to share his condolences on behalf of the Bratva? I wondered, a frown gracing my features. I didn’t want to see any of them either way. They were a group of violent, blood-frenzied demons that sucked the life out of people in different ways.

I even felt disgusted knowing my father had been affiliated with their kind. A Russian Mafioso.

I didn’t want to have to face him, but knowing Oskar, I was certain he wouldn’t leave until I did.

After taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and was met with Agnes’s face—a trained, polite smile on her delicate Asian features.

“Where is he?” I asked, my voice raspy, and a look of surprise flashed across her face for a moment until it dawned on her that I had figured out who the important person was.

“At your father’s study, Miss. He just arrived a moment ago and asked to see you.”

I nodded, taking in her words. Whatever he wanted to discuss with me, he probably didn’t want Alice to know about it.

Perhaps he finally found out who was behind Father’s death.

But knowing the Bratva, they probably didn’t even care who killed him, considering they didn’t see him as part of their little cult.

Oskar was probably just here to seal a deal my father had left hanging.

My lips curled in strong distaste for the lot of them.

“Thank you, Agnes. I’ll see him now. You can go.”

Agnes smiled and bowed politely before walking down the hall in the opposite direction from my father’s study.

I briefly closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself for my talk with Oskar before fully stepping out of my room and into the halls.

The mansion was quiet and empty as usual, since only Alice and I remained here, with a few workers coming and going daily.

Immediately after Father’s burial, Jacob flew off to New Jersey, saying he had business to handle, and I was sure I wouldn’t see him for a long time.

I reached Father’s study in a matter of seconds, seeing as it was a few turns from my room and right beside his room. He mostly used the study for private meetings with shady people, such as the Bratva, or whenever he was too sick to leave the house.

The door was already wide open, giving me a clear view inside.

Everything was in place, almost as if frozen in time.

A bookshelf sat in the corner of the room, filled with documents that Father always considered too important.

There were also two lounge chairs in the center of the room with a glass coffee table between them, which held a transparent glass of sparkling wine.

Father’s desk and grand leather chair were located at the top of the room, just overlooking the large arched windows he would always stare out at while sipping from a glass and playing classical music on his vinyl records.

It all looked alive. Almost like he’d walk in at any moment right now.

But he was long gone.

“He’s dead, child. You have to learn to accept that.”

Oskar’s voice showed no emotion, so it was hard to tell if he really cared. And if it weren’t for how tired he sounded, the visible wrinkles on his skin, and his slicked-back gray hair, I’d have thought he were immortal.

Oskar sat upright in the lounge chair, his cane—something I always found odd—tucked between his legs. He wore a stylish coat that swept the ground majestically, and in his mouth was a cigar whose smoke billowed into the air, filling the room with the sharp smell of tobacco.

I shook my head in disbelief at his comment as I settled down across from him, my lips set in a thin line.

They all had no pity whatsoever to share. Typical .

“Why are you here?” I asked, cutting straight to the point as I gazed into his greyish eyes that looked at me critically. Then he removed the cigar from his mouth, placing it on the coffee table as he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact.

And then he dropped the bomb with a bang .

“You’re next.”

I blinked, taken aback by what he said. “What?”

“The men who took your father’s life are coming after yours,” he explained, his voice low, as if we were being watched. “They were very strategic, child, and followed your father all the way to the Kamarov mansion. If they killed him, you can bet you’re next on the hit list as his heir.”

The walls around me appeared to close in as my breathing became irregular. I couldn’t breathe properly.

“But why me? Why Dad? He never hurt anyone.”

Oskar wasn’t affected by my fear. If anything, he looked at me like I was a painting he was trying to figure out—like he was trying to understand me.

“Don’t worry, Arlette,” Oskar took a drag from his cigar. “Your father made necessary arrangements for your protection in the case of a tragedy like this.”

My brows furrowed at his words.

“The Bratva has been tasked with protecting you, but we can only do so when you become a part of us. And the only way for that is for you to get married into our family.”

My eyes widened as I began shaking my head adamantly.

No!

No!

“I have a nephew,” he said. “You must’ve heard of him. Rafael Kamarov. He’s—”

“No!” I slammed my hands onto the table in between us, my face flushed in anger.

Rafael Kamarov? The same bastard who stared down at me like I was some insect he was wasting his time talking to?

I would rather die than marry him.

“Do you hear yourself, Oskar?” I sneered with a dry laugh. “Not only is he decades older than me, but he’s also literally known all over New York as a manwhore. There is no way I’m forcing myself into a marriage like that.”

That man was a snake. A greater evil than I had once considered Matvey.

But Oskar simply chuckled at me in amusement.

“Alright, Arlette. I’ll make sure to let the Bratva know to prepare a casket in case of your death. At least I can honor your father’s wishes in some way.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, arms crossed. My life was already filled with emptiness either way. I’d rather be shot dead than forced to marry that man.

But Oskar wasn’t finished yet, because his voice now carried an air of menace as his grey eyes glinted sadistically.

“And when they’re done with you, they’ll track down that brother of yours in New Jersey and send his skinned body back here to Chicago, where no one would be alive to bury him.”

My face paled at Oskar’s threat.

I couldn’t let anyone hurt Jacob. He was innocent, just as much as I was.

I hated this. I hated the Bratva. I hated that my father entrusted my safety and our family to them.

Trust the Bratva , he’d said.

Right, and that was why he thought marrying me off to another of them for the second time was a good idea. I was lucky when things with Matvey didn’t work out, but I didn’t see myself pulling out of this one.

I bit my lip while Oskar simply kept staring at me, his cane tapping impatiently as he waited for my answer.

I had no choice. This wasn’t about me anymore. Jacob’s safety was on the line, and I knew I’d do anything to protect him, even if it meant delving deeper into another cage and ripping myself off all my freedom.

I gulped as I looked into Oskar’s eyes and nodded.

“Alright, Oskar,” I said, defeated. “I’ll marry your nephew.”

I could only hope that Rafael wouldn’t want to trade his lifestyle for me.