The Reluctant Mafia Bride

Episode 19

I opened my mouth to respond, to deflect, but nothing came out. The words I wanted to say got lost somewhere between my brain and my lips. I sat there, mute, my heart pounding so loudly I swore he could hear it.

And then, with the ease of someone discussing the weather, Kirill dropped a bombshell that left me utterly speechless.

“You’re going to marry me.”

The words hung in the air, so absurd and out of place I thought I’d misheard him. I blinked, certain I must have misunderstood. “Excuse me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“You heard me,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “You’re going to be my wife.”

A nervous laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re joking, right?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. “This is some kind of sick joke.”

But his face didn’t move, not even a flicker of humor or mischief in his piercing gray eyes. “Do I look like a man who jokes?”

My stomach churned as his words settled in, cold and unyielding. “You can’t be serious,” I said, shaking my head, willing this moment to dissolve into nothingness. “You don’t even know me.”

Kirill leaned back in his chair, his expression one of practiced indifference, though his eyes held a glint of something sharp, dangerous. “I know enough,” he replied coolly. “And more importantly, I know what I need.”

“Which is?” I demanded, my voice rising as panic bubbled in my chest.

“Spouses,” he said, his tone as smooth as ever, “cannot testify against one another in court.”

The air seemed to leave my lungs in a rush. I stared at him, completely floored by the sheer audacity of his statement. “That’s why you want to marry me?” I asked, incredulous. “So I can’t testify against you?”

Kirill tilted his head, studying me like I was an equation he’d already solved. “Among other reasons,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

The casual way he spoke, as if he was discussing something as trivial as a business deal, sent a shiver down my spine. “This is insane,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You can’t just… decide something like this.”

Kirill’s eyes sharpened, cutting through my disbelief like a blade. “I can,” he said, his voice dangerously calm, “and I have.”

My pulse raced as the weight of his words settled in. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t exaggerating. This man truly believed he could dictate my life with a single statement.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I argued, my voice trembling but louder now, fueled by desperation. “We’ve spoken all of two times. You don’t know what I like, what I hate, who I am.”

Kirill leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. The motion was subtle but deliberate, making the space between us feel smaller, more suffocating. “You’re Dahlia Sinclair,” he began, his tone so coldly factual it made my stomach drop. “Twenty-three years old. You work as an assistant at Alistair Enterprises, a company I now own. You’re an only child, living with your mother, who runs a small café. You visit the shooting range once a week, and you read dark romance novels in your spare time.”

My breath caught in my throat as he rattled off details about my life like he’d been studying me for years.

He smirked at my stunned silence. “I know enough, Malyshka. More than enough.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting together beneath the table. “That’s not knowing me,” I countered, though my voice lacked the strength I wanted it to have. “That’s stalking.”

Kirill chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Call it what you want,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “But I get what I want, and I don’t waste time.”

“And what happens if I say no?” I asked, though the words felt weak as they left my mouth. I already knew the answer.

Kirill’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of quiet menace. “You won’t.”

I felt the room grow colder, the weight of his presence pressing down on me. But I wasn’t ready to give in—not yet. “You can’t control me,” I said, though my voice wavered under the intensity of his gaze. “You don’t own me.”

He straightened in his seat, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket like this conversation was just another transaction. “Don’t I?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

I frowned, confused by his words, but then he dropped the second bombshell. “Alistair Enterprises. I own it now. Which means I own your job, your paycheck, your future.”

My heart sank as realization hit. “You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I would,” he interrupted smoothly, his lips curving into a cold smile. “But let’s not make this about your job, Malyshka. Let’s talk about your mother’s café instead. Such a charming little place.”

My blood ran cold. The threat was unspoken but crystal clear. He wouldn’t just ruin me; he’d go after the one person I loved most in this world.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking.

“Then don’t make me,” he replied, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that belied the iron grip he had on my life. “Agree to marry me, and your mother’s café remains untouched. Refuse, and…” He trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I couldn’t show weakness—not to him. My hands clenched into fists under the table as I forced myself to nod. “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll marry you.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me like a vice, and I realized, with sickening clarity, that I had no choice. My hands clenched into fists on my lap as I struggled to keep my voice steady.

“Fine,” I said, the word barely audible. “I’ll marry you.”

The victory in his eyes was subtle, but it was there, gleaming like a predator’s in the dark. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and something else I couldn’t quite name. There was a dangerous edge to those two words, as if he had already won a battle I hadn’t even realized I was fighting.

I averted my gaze, unable to meet the intensity of his stare any longer. My chest felt heavy, my breaths shallow, as the weight of my decision settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, to fight back, to do anything but sit there and accept this madness. But my mother’s face flashed in my mind—her warm smile, her hands dusted with flour from hours spent baking, her unwavering support when I needed it most.

She was everything to me. And if protecting her meant tying my life to Kirill Petrova’s, so be it. Even if it cost me my freedom.

I was still reeling from that realization when he dropped another bombshell. “We’ll be getting married in three weeks,” he said, his tone calm, as though he were discussing the weather and not upending my life all over again.

My head snapped up, my eyes widening in shock. “Three weeks?” The words escaped my lips before I could stop them.

Kirill’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his smirk deepened. “Three weeks,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair with an air of absolute authority. “Everything will be arranged. All you need to do is show up.”

I stared at him, my thoughts racing like a runaway train. Three weeks. That was barely enough time to process this nightmare, let alone prepare for a wedding. My wedding. To a man I barely knew but was quickly realizing held the reins to my entire life.

“How—how am I supposed to explain this to my mother?” I stammered, my voice shaking. “She’s going to think I’ve lost my mind. She’ll never believe…” I trailed off, unable to even finish the thought.

“That it’s love at first sight?” he finished for me, his tone dripping with amusement.

The mocking glint in his eyes made my cheeks burn with anger and humiliation. “It’s not funny,” I snapped, my hands clenching into fists on my lap.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he replied smoothly. “You’ll tell her whatever you need to. That’s not my concern.”

My jaw tightened as frustration and helplessness warred within me. He spoke with such cold detachment, as though my life was nothing more than another chess piece in his grand game. And maybe to him, it was.

“I—” My voice cracked, and I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “You can’t just expect me to lie to her. She’s my mother.”

Kirill’s gaze softened, ever so slightly, but the sharpness never fully left his expression. “Do what you must to protect her, Malyshka. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

His words struck a nerve, silencing any further protests I might have had. He wasn’t wrong. Every decision I’d made tonight—agreeing to marry him, sacrificing my freedom—was for her.

But it didn’t make the bitterness in my chest any easier to swallow.

Kirill seemed to take my silence as compliance, and he rose gracefully from his seat, towering over me with an air of quiet authority. “Good,” he said, his tone as final as a slammed door.