I WATCH her.
Her face drains of all warmth, her once rosy-pink lips now pale and trembling with fear. I can’t help but feel a surge of pleasure at the sight, knowing that this is just how I like it.
Blyad, I want to taste those quivering lips, to savor her fear and make it my own.
“Brat…va?” she stutters out, those lips of hers parting slightly in shock.
“Yes. Bratva,” I confirm, letting go of her face finally.
She squints. “As in, mafia and gangster, like… the Godfather? Scarface?” Attempting to hold back tears, she ends up sniffling, her breath hitching with each stifled sob.
“Exactly like that. But we’re the real deal. Not some Hollywood fantasy.” I let the words sink in, watching her process it.
Nervously, she runs her tongue over her lips and struggles to swallow the growing lump in her throat. “This has got to be a joke. It just has to be,” she whispers, confusion etched across her pretty face.
I let her process my words for a moment, watching as her eyes widen in disbelief and realization. “It’s not just a simple con, Laura,” I say sharply, making sure she grasps the gravity of the situation. “Dave Jankowski was deep in debt with us, the Morozov Bratva. He owed us a fortune.”
Laura’s gaze sharpens, something clicking behind those eyes. She’s got that look, the one where she’s connecting dots, her lips press into a thin line, holding back a storm of words or maybe just a flood of questions.
Her voice trembles as she speaks. “David… he was involved with the mafia, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I confirm coldly. “And he owed us two million dollars. And when he couldn’t pay up, he used you as collateral.”
“What?” She gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Wha-what does that mean?”
I can’t help but feel a thrill watching her fear slowly mount.
“It means,” I say, my voice low and steady, “he sold you to us, Laura.” My eyes fix on hers, not missing a single flicker of emotion that crosses her face. “Your life now belongs to the Morozov Bratva.”
Watching her fear grow is a perverse pleasure; it’s the kind of control I’m used to.
“He… sold me?” Her voice cracks a bit, disbelief written all over her face.
“That’s what he did.” I lean in, making sure she gets every word. “To him, you were just a way to clear his debts. Nothing personal.”
“Are you fucking insane?” She’s almost yelling now, her face a mix of shock and anger. “How is it my responsibility to pay off David’s debts? This doesn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t be the one paying for his mistakes,” Laura snaps. “You can’t just claim someone’s life like it’s yours to take,” she fires, her eyes darting around, from me to Andrew, then to Misha.
I stride back to my leather chair, the reality of our world versus hers needing clarification.
“In our world, little firecracker, the normal rules don’t apply. The legal world you cling to, it’s not here. In the Morozov Bratva, debts are not just numbers. They bind families, fates, and, yes, even the innocent. David’s debts, they’re yours now. That’s how our world works.”
Laura’s jaw tightens, a telltale sign of the storm brewing within her.
Andrew steps forward, sliding the contract toward Laura. “Ms. Thompson, it’s in your best interest to sign these now.” She tries to shove it away, putting some real force behind it.
But Andrew, unfazed, quickly catches the contract before it falls. With a steady hand, he places it right back in front of her. “This isn’t about bullying. It’s your way out.”
“You can’t just force someone to marry you!” She’s got her fists balled up tight, breathing like she’s run a mile. Her eyes are all fired up, staring me down.
God, she’s sexy when she’s angry. But it’s time to remind her who’s in control here.
“Listen,” I whisper fiercely, “this isn’t a fairy tale, and I’m not the prince coming to rescue you. But I am the man who can make all your problems disappear. Poof.” I snap my fingers, a sharp crack in the silence of the room.
She looks down at the contract again, the numbers probably dancing in her head. Renovated bookstore, debt-free life… It’s a hell of a golden carrot to dangle.
“You can’t just buy everything, Victor,” she murmurs.
“You really think so?” The corner of my mouth twitches upward in a smirk.
“I… yes.” She pauses, chewing on her lip, clearly wrestling with the decision, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
“You really don’t have a choice.” I take a slow drag of my cigar. “Sign the contract, or things get much worse. You have no choice.”
“No choice? Watch me.” She’s moving toward the door with a newfound determination.
But Misha simply steps in front of her, blocking her path completely. “Run, and your friend Serena and her family will pay the price.” His gaze never wavers from hers as he moves closer, forcing Laura to take steps backward.
“You!” She spins around to face me, anger and fear mixing on her tear-stained cheeks. “Leave Serena alone!” she shouts.
Ah, there it is—the fear I want to see.
“Sign the papers, Laura,” I state coldly, holding out the contract for her to take.
She bristles at my words, her body tensed like a cornered animal. “You’re a monster!” she growls.
“Perhaps.” I shrug indifferently. “But I’m a monster who keeps his word.”
The glint of fear in her eyes only fuels my satisfaction. I turn to Misha with a cold command, “Bring her back here.”
Laura’s body trembles as Misha grips her arm tightly and leads her back to where Andrew sits. “Who the hell are you?!” she barks, her eyes filled with resentful defiance and fear.
“You can call me a wolf, a beast, or anything else you desire,” he snarls. “But now you need to sign the fucking contract like the boss asked you to.” He pushes her toward the sofa where Andrew sits, his hand firm on her arm.
Laura hesitates, her eyes flitting between the contract and Andrew’s stoic face, then back to me.
“Ms. Thompson,” Andrew starts, clearing his throat for emphasis, “by signing this contract, you’re agreeing to all our terms and conditions.”
“I never agreed to any of this!” She’s boiling with rage, her anger sharp, fear trembling through her.
“It’s your best bet,” I say, flicking a glance her way.
“I fucking HATE you,” she spits out, her eyes blazing with anger. She knows she’s cornered, no way out, and it’s all directed at me.
I shrug, playing it cool. But fuck, hearing her say she hates me? It’s like a goddamn knife to the gut.
What the fuck? Why do I even care?
Trembling, she carefully turns to the contract’s final page, signing her name on the dotted line, a single tear sliding down her cheek.
But she knows there is nothing else she can do.
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