Ruthless Mafia King: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance

Even before I open my eyes, I know something’s terribly wrong.

My head is throbbing and there’s an acidic taste on my tongue.

I lie for a long moment, trying to remember. Images of the nightclub come to me, but the evening is one big blur.

When I finally open my eyes, it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m not at home. The walls are bare and painted white. An expensive Persian rug adorns the floor, which besides the king-sized bed, is the only other thing in the room. That and the dim LED lights along the ceiling.

There are two doors. One is cracked open, allowing me a glimpse of a bathroom. The other is closed, probably locked. There are no windows to give me an idea of what time it is or where I am.

Panicking is my first reaction. I jump up and cry out in frustration when no one answers my banging on the door. After a few hits, my fist burns, but I don’t stop, screaming.

Nothing.

Strands of my hair get caught on my sticky face as I try to look for a way out. But there are no hooks to pull out or spots to damage.

Everything is made of solid oak. There’s no mistaking this luxury for anything but the inside of someone’s home.

Oh my god, was I kidnapped?

I recall being at the club with Mila, flirting with a blond man. And then everything turned dark. He slipped something in my drink, that son of a bitch.

But why? I would’ve gone home with him willingly.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like throwing up. It’s not just because of the memory. I’m also feeling hot.

I start to pant and strip off the clothes sticking to my heated body. My stomach twists, heat burning me on the inside.

It feels like someone set my blood on fire.

I run to the bathroom, relieved to find a shower stall. With shaking fingers, I adjust the settings and get inside. Cold water helps to wake me up.

As the flow calms my racing heart and gives me a reprieve from the heat, another wave of memories hits me.

The blond guy was Yakov Gargarin.

It wouldn’t have been enough for him to take me home and fuck me.

He wants to hurt me as revenge for his sister.

The new, still-unfamiliar feeling seeps into me like poison.

Fear.

I look down at my naked body and notice a lot of things at once. First, I don’t see any signs of struggle on my skin. There are no traces of bruises or cuts or marks that would speak of the worst kind of violation.

A wave of relief floods me, bringing forth salty tears. A loud sob forces its way past my lips. My legs buckle. I reach out to keep my balance, sliding against the cold shower tiles.

After a few seconds, I put on a slightly warmer setting, hoping it will reignite my temper. I’m going to need it to get out of here.

I wrap myself in a clean towel, marveling at its softness. I look around the luxuriously decorated bathroom, hoping to find something to wear, but come up empty.

Yakov didn’t think that far ahead.

My throat is dry, but not enough for me to give up on fighting this. I put on my old clothes and go back to the bedroom. With time, the effect of the drug he put in my drink will start to weaken. I simply need to take a few more minutes of rest. The headache remains, but I need to push through.

Even though I’m not expecting miracles, I still go ahead and try to open the door. Disappointment turns my face to stone. I’m locked in.

With nothing else to do, I sit on the edge of the bed and lie back. My eyes start to grow heavy again. Instead of attempting to fight sleep, I allow it to take over. It’s too much effort to resist.

I blink and wake up again. The headache is gone.

A smell of food is wafting into the room. Fresh energy causes me to fling myself out of bed. My gaze zeros in on the fully stocked food trolley. It wasn’t there before I fell asleep.

I wheel it to the bed and sit down. My mouth waters at the thought of devouring the soup and chicken cutlets. I don’t hesitate to take the first spoonful and moan.

There’s a bottle of water, but I prefer to enjoy the flavor of the soup before I dig into anything else.

The rumbling in my belly stops only when all the soup has been cleaned from the bowl. Only then do I pick up the bagel and rip a huge bite from it. My satisfaction skyrockets when my tongue welcomes the taste of jelly and crunchy peanut butter. I pour myself some water and enjoy the meal.

I won’t bother going on a hunger strike. If I want a chance of getting out of here, I’m going to need my strength. Not to mention the fact that I’ll eventually get out.

Though Yakov didn’t think about clothing when he set me up in this room, it’s clear that he doesn’t want me dead.

I don’t wish to make any wild speculations or paranoid fantasies, but it seems that he put me in here so he could have his way with me whenever he felt like it. There’s no other reason why he would drug and kidnap me. No man does that without the intention of following through with his dark fantasies.

I lie back and stare at the white ceiling, trying to remember something.

Footsteps approach the door, and my pulse flies into a sprint. I hold my breath, listening for a clue, trying to identify the person coming my way.

I exhale in frustration when the footsteps don’t stop but continue walking past my door.

Is this how I’ll spend the rest of my life? Alone with a belly full of food and no sun to kiss my skin?

It’s not fair.

I haven’t lived.

And why am I again the one paying for my brother’s stupidity?

Surely Yakov could be convinced to let me go. I just need to find a way to appeal to him. Perhaps then, he’ll understand that his hatred of me is unjustified. If anyone should suffer, it should be Igor.

Damn my brother’s recklessness.

I close my eyes, willing myself to relax. But without a clock or a schedule, I can’t track time.

My father will find me.

He must.

If not for me, then for the hit his reputation will take when people find out that his daughter was kidnapped. It would be disastrous for his position.

“Katarina.”

The voice comes from somewhere outside.

I sit up, looking around. A moment ago, it was as if the door was calling to me.

“Hello?” I try to get a response.

“I’m going to come in now.”

It’s the same voice. One word after another. Soft and quiet, as if the speaker is afraid of someone overhearing us.

The beeping that comes from the other side tells me that the door is more secure than just being locked with a key.

Once the beeping stops, the door opens. The dim lights come to life instantly.

I wince at the brightness.

As my eyes adjust to it, I see a shadow stepping through the door and closing it behind him.

Instinct has me scurrying back on the bed. I draw my knees up to my chest and hug my shins, already anticipating the worst-case scenario.

If he wants to hurt me, I won’t be giving him a clear shot at me.

The intruder snorts, and I recognize him right away.

Nikolai Volkov.

The desire to look at him longer is greater than the need to be a good captive and avoid his wrath.

He’s dressed in a light gray suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Despite the obvious polish he puts into making sure he looks presentable, there’s a look of exhaustion dragging him down. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess Nikolai spent a good part of the day pacing.

He doesn’t have his men with him, and he didn’t bring me a new set of clothes. I can’t help but feel a sliver of disappointment even though I know better than to expect it. I stay where I am, avoiding his gaze. Even with anger seeping out of him, his confidence is somehow still inviting.

“Where’s Yakov?” I ask, finally getting over my surprise. My gaze goes back to the wall behind me.

A moment passes before he finally answers. “I made sure he won’t touch you again.”

“What do you want from me?” I question, my voice turning bitter. “Why are you keeping me here?”

Nikolai’s gray eyes lock on mine. “Because I won’t be disrespected. No one betrays me without repercussions.”

I hate that his words hurt me.

Tears spring to my eyes.

No matter how I try to hold it in, it isn’t possible. I’d tell him to stop, but I’m at his mercy.

“The time has come,” he continues, “for you to become my wife.”