Page 7 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

He said yes. That son of a bitch agreed to marry me.

It wasn’t like I was completely surprised. I mean, he was the same person who completely disregarded my feelings at the hospital, making it look as though I were overreacting to my own father’s death.

He even tried to intimidate me, and now here he was, agreeing to marry me.

I despised everything about that man and the Bratva, even though I had only met him once in my entire life. That was how strong his first impression on me was.

And as if agreeing to marry me wasn’t bad enough, Oskar also told me he wanted us to meet—maybe to gawk at his prize, the woman he had earned after years of being a womanizer and a murderer.

So here I was, sitting all pretty at the Ritz-Carlton’s private lounge suite at 10 p.m. The backless, shimmering dress I wore clung to my curves and skin, prickling at it uncomfortably, and I resisted the urge to pull it off and change to something more breathable.

And worse, the room seemed to suffocate and restrict me, with its obsidian black walls trapping me in a cage. I was sitting on a lounge sofa, my back straight despite the overwhelming pain. Father never allowed me to slouch. Not only was it unladylike, but it also showed a lack of confidence.

“You have to let your enemy know you’re not afraid,” he would tell me while grabbing my chin tightly and staring me straight in the eye.

As an heiress, I had inherited enemies I wasn’t even aware of, and so I had to act accordingly.

Before me was a glass of champagne, its bluish hue turning purple thanks to the red LED lighting of the room. It wasn’t my first time at this lounge, but suddenly this room looked like something ripped out of a horror movie, as its brick walls seemed to darken with each passing second.

The rhythm of the music in the background was dark and bruised, bleeding red like a murder theme.

Time seemed to tick ever so slowly, and I couldn’t wait for that evil man to come in here and get this all over with. The sooner he came to relish his prize, the better it was for both of us.

Luckily for me, the lounge doors suddenly swung open, making my heart race as I sensed Rafael’s presence before I saw him.

Rafael Kamarov.

He exuded a quiet authority, not the fierce kind I once felt with Matvey. Matvey was crimson—dangerous the moment you saw him. But Rafael was different. He reminded me of the color purple—that of velvet nightshade. Handsome, dark, and mysterious in a way that made my skin crawl.

If anything, I could swear he was an even greater evil than Matvey.

I didn’t hear him walk in. His footsteps were almost ghost-like.

One minute, the door clanked open, and the next, I could see him from my peripheral vision before he appeared in front of me, taking a seat and man-spreading across the couch that dipped under his weight, his sculpted physique and toned muscles almost bulging out from his shirt.

And even though I didn’t quite like him, I had to admit that he was dangerously attractive.

The room’s lighting sharpened his already striking features.

His skin was unnaturally pale, and his curly dark hair was messily strewn over his face as if he hadn’t cared about his appearance.

His thick, carved eyebrows rose silently in scrutiny of me, while his dark brown eyes bore into mine, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

This man made me feel uneasy. Everything about him made me uncomfortable. It felt like his eyes were undressing me, and it made me feel…naked. My heart started pounding.

The sooner I left his sight… the better.

So I got straight to the point.

“You’re late,” I stated, my voice steady and clipped.

“Nice to meet you, too, kroshka ,” Rafael mused, as he took off his suit jacket and draped it over the couch.

I bit my bottom lip, holding back the snarky comments I had in store for him. I had to be calm. I had to be ladylike and pretend like I didn’t want to punch him in the face.

“Arlette,” I corrected him. “My name is Arlette, not kroshka .”

He smirked, slow and unsettling. “I know that, princess, but I prefer to call you that. After all, we’re going to get married.”

Then he took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled out one, and lit it, filling the room with a musty cloud.

“I don’t want to get married to you,” I said, making sure I stared right at him.

“You will,” he replied with an air of finality that made my eye twitch.

I scoffed, glaring holes into him as he looked back at me with cold, condescending indifference that made my insides churn.

“I would rather die than marry you,” I spat. I was fed up with being treated like a puppet. Yes, I had agreed to marry this man, but just being in his presence disgusted me.

A low, dark chuckle escaped Rafael’s lips at my words as the lit cigarette remained clenched between his lips. A sadistic glint flickered in his eyes as he said, “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”

It was hard to read him, but I knew for sure that he was truly sick in the head, and it was all his fault—and the Bratva’s fault—that Father had died.

I pushed myself off the sofa, locking eyes with him to show he couldn’t intimidate me.

“You disgust me. You and your filthy cult of men who think they have power. I don’t know what Father was thinking, getting lumped up with people like you, but I want none of it!” I yelled, my cheeks heating in anger.

Rafael leaned forward in his seat, took out the cigarette in his hands, and put it out in the ashtray on the table between us.

“You have a lot of learning to do. But I have a lot of patience, so I’ll tolerate your bullshit for now.”

I gawked at him in disbelief, wondering if he was deaf.

“What part of ‘I’d rather die than marry you’ didn’t you understand?” I seethed, now rising to my feet in defiance.

“Sit down,” he ordered me, his voice dangerously low and terrifyingly calm.

“No.”

“Sit down, Arlette.”

I could see a muscle in his jaw twitch, a quiet yet simmering rage building in the pools of his dark eyes, but I was stubborn. And I wanted him to hate me so badly he’d pull out of this cursed marriage, so no matter how intimidated I felt, I couldn’t back down.

“You’d have to kill me before I ever listened to any bullshit from—”

My words hung in the air as he rose from his seated position, pointing a gun directly at my head. A coldness filled my lungs as the metallic object stared me in the face. One click, and I would be gone—dead just like Father.

Rafael’s gaze had returned to its usual coldness, and looking into it, I knew there was a ninety percent chance he would pull the trigger if I pushed him further.

“Finish that sentence,” he dared me.

My hands shook at my sides as our heavy breathing filled the air like thick mist. This man wasn’t bluffing. He could kill me right now and just dismiss it as collateral damage. I knew he was silently unhinged, but to think he’d actually point a gun at my face….

“You’re threatening me now, just ’cause I don’t want to marry you?” My voice wavered as I tried to suppress my emotions.

“You said you’d rather die. So finish that fucking sentence so I can blow your head off.”

I swallowed back the words I wanted to tell him as I sank onto the sofa with a defeated plop, feeling my eyes sting.

God! I’d been so sure I was ready to die, but I was scared shitless having a gun actually pointed at me.

And this man…this man was no better than the devil himself.

Satisfied that he had frightened me enough, he slipped his Glock back into his suit jacket and sat down again, while I stared at my trembling fingers, unable to believe I might live with this monster until the day I took my last breath.

When I was engaged to Matvey, I hadn’t felt this kind of fear. I wasn’t happy either, sure, but there was no pressure tightening my chest or threatening my very existence.

I truly felt like I had lost my wings, reduced to nothing more than a mindless puppet.

“We’ll be holding the wedding in a week,” he told me, voice clipped. “And in a few days, we’ll check out estates here in Chicago, where we can settle in.”

I nodded, suddenly too tired to say anything else.

Was I really just going to leave my whole life behind? The reality of how fucked I was now truly dawned on me.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place when the time comes.”

And with that, he stood up, and I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my head, which was still hanging low as my eyes stayed on the floor.

It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he muttered a curse under his breath before walking out, slamming the door behind him and leaving me all alone in the lounge.

And all I could think about was how I would survive being married to that man and eventually be forced to carry his child.

My life had now officially become hell on earth.