The Don and His Russian Bride

Chapter 1

The chains rattled with each blow I took to the punching bag. The leather bag was brand new, causing crisp sounds to break through the quiet gym with every contact. Since I was used to the worn out bag I had practiced on back at home, I was still trying to adjust to the firmness of the new one. When I expected a soft spot to cave in from the impact of my fist, the stiff leather did not budge and rather sent a jolt of force up my arm.

The muscles of my arms burned from the amount of rapid punches and my core tightened to strengthen my hits. Loose tendrils of hair stuck to the sweaty skin of my forehead and the back of my neck. The efforts that I had been giving at the gym for the past half hour made my breath laborious. Though I was panting, my actions did not slow. The heavy bag would have been swinging from my assaults if Dimitri weren’t holding it in place for me.

My father had never understood why I enjoyed spending so much time at the gym. He had once told me that fighting wouldn’t be necessary when he had men to protect me. What he didn’t realize was that fighting did the same thing for me that having a gun did for him. It made me feel powerful. Hiding behind Russian men with guns could never replace the rush of adrenaline that came from hitting something. In front of that punching bag, it seemed that no one could take away my strength.

“Katerina.” I let my arms fall to my sides and I blew a streak of brown hair away from my face as I turned to look at the speaker. Standing in the doorway to the gym was Max, one of my father’s closest men. “Your father has requested to meet with you in his study.

“If you couldn’t already see, I’m a little busy right now.”

“It would be best if you did not keep him waiting.”

I rolled my eyes. My father had chronic impatience. It simply came with his title. As a leader to Bratva, an expansive and influential segment of the Russian mafia, he had grown accustomed to the people under him dropping everything to listen to his orders and follow them through without complaint. No one would dare challenge his authority by putting their priorities before his own, except me.

“You can tell him that I am in the middle of something. I will go see him when I am finished.” Whenever my dad needed to talk to me, it had to be done according to his time. I was tired of it.

Dimitri stepped away from behind the punching bag. Dimitri towered over me since he was nearly six and a half feet tall. Despite his height and brooding strength, Dimitri didn’t fit the persona of the mafia. He could handle a gun as well as anyone in the building, but he was kind and often unsure of himself. Many times I concluded that this wasn’t the life meant for him.

“Rina, I understand if you need to go. We can always finish training later.” With Max’s presence, Dimitri hunched over as if he was trying to make himself smaller. He was of a lower rank and could not afford a wrong move if he wanted to move up positions. My father had already made it clear that he didn’t trust Dimitri’s intentions for befriending me. There would be major consequences for him if Max claimed that I refused to see my father because I was with him.

“Dimitri is right. It’s better that you hear the news sooner rather than later.”

“Fine.” I pulled off my boxing gloves and unwrapped my hands. For Dimitri’s sake there was no point in arguing further. I could kick and scream all I wanted, but my father would always get his way.

I could hardly imagine what my father planned on telling me. It wasn’t every week that we had a heart to heart conversation. I could tell that it would be bad news because of Max’s urgency. In the past, my father ran the same procedure when he told me I would go to boarding school or that there were bullet holes in my brand new car. Each time one of his men led me to his study so he could deliver the news.

I matched my pace to Max’s by quickening my strides. I was aware that I was about to find out something I didn’t like, but I refused to let it show. The best way to handle the situation was to walk into the office with the confidence that no amount of bad news could take me down.

"Do you know what this is about?"

"Yes."

If I were to wait for him to elaborate, I'd be wasting my time. Because of Max’s position, he was informed about every single decision my father made. This, however, did not mean he was inclined to fill me in as well. The men within the household were very serious about their jobs, which meant they liked to engage in as little conversation with me as possible. No matter how hard I tried, it was rare for me to get more than one word responses from them.

"Am I going to like what he has to say?"

"No,” he said.

My suspicion was confirmed. It was bad news.

I offered a simple thanks to Max as he opened the door to my father's study.

My father was sitting behind his grand mahogany desk when I entered. Against the tan walls were several large, empty bookshelves. He didn’t bring along any books when he moved into the new office space because he wasn’t a big reader. His office was mostly bare and furnished only with his desk and plush chairs by the fireplace. There were a couple of scenic pictures framed in pure gold that hung on the wall.

The most personal item on his desk was a photo of me on the beach. I was laughing as the waves rolled in against my calves. It had been taken when we first arrived in Sicily, and I had thought of our time here as more of a vacation. My father had never been great at showing his emotions. If people had to guess, they most likely wouldn’t realize that I was his daughter. Little gestures though, like a picture on his desk, reminded me that he did love me.

The first thing I did was give my father a kiss on the cheek. It was my signature greeting that showed him respect. He moved from his seat and gestured for me to follow him across the room. We sat down in the chairs that were placed before the fireplace.

My father’s watchful gaze was aimed at the fireplace. In the moment of silence I was almost desperate for him to turn to me. In my head I was begging for him to rip off the band-aid. Get it over with already. Just tell me the bad news.

When I couldn’t hold back my curiosity any longer, the words spilled out. “Why did you want to see me?”

“The Italians haven’t quite been seeing eye to eye with us since we came to Sicily. One family in particular is very displeased with our presence here.” He paused and took a deep breath. “That’s about to change. I’ve been working with this family to form an alliance of sorts. They’ve made it clear that they don’t want us here, but I found a way that they will allow us to stay and we can have some semblance of peace.”

"An alliance? You can't be serious. From what I understand, you have hated a majority of the Italians ever since we arrived. If they have tried forcing you to leave already, what makes you think that the hate for each other will change all of a sudden?”

“You make a fair point, Rina. An alliance seems to be the most beneficial option for both parties at the moment, however. Our situation isn’t ideal here, but we must do everything we can to ensure the business has success here.”

“Why?” My father furrowed his brows and rested his chin on his hands in careful consideration. When he didn’t answer me, I continued to release my stream of questions. “Why is it so important for you to be here? Why are you working so hard to create alliances with people you don’t even like when you wouldn’t have to deal with them back home? What is so bad about Russia that we can’t just go back?”

“Business in Russia has been decreasing at extreme rates while Sicily has been more active than ever. This is the best place for us and we have started to build a foundation here. It would be weak to run now.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” There had to be more to this alliance. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“I need your help in securing this alliance with the Martelli family.”

It was like a blanket of heat fell down on me. He never asked me to get involved when it came to matters of the mafia. I feared my voice would be uneven under this weighted hotness. My response was limited to one word. “How?”

"Tomorrow you will be married to Luciano Martelli." That was it. No asking for consent. No discussion. No sugarcoating. He made it seem like a simple order, as if he merely wanted me to retrieve him breakfast.

I wanted to accuse him of trying to trick me, but my father was never one to joke around. Unable to look at him, my eyes fell to my feet that rested on the floor in my blue running shoes. My mouth opened and closed several times before I could finally get a word out. “No.”

“If there had been any other alternative, I would’ve taken it. Believe me, this will be the best for Bratva.”

Tension spread through my chest. The furious beating of my heart trying to break through in response to him. It didn’t matter if I was his blood. He would always put his mafia ahead of me because that was his true family. “Do you think I give a damn about Bratva? I’m your daughter. Selling me to an Italian mob boss should have never even been an option.”

“I know this will be hard for you to accept but the decision has already been made.”

“Really? Because I never made a decision. I don’t remember agreeing to marry this man. This was never your decision. You can’t make me do this.”

"Actually, I can. You will be married tomorrow even if we have to sedate you and forge your signature. We are done here.”

There was a time when I would do anything to help my father run his business dealings, illegal or not. The issue was that he never wanted me to have any part in his work. Until now. I could hardly believe that my father saw me as a piece of property to trade with and I didn’t want to marry anyone who viewed me the same way.

“Take her to her room.” I turned my head at my father’s demand. I hadn’t even noticed the four men walking into the study. Now they stood, ready to take me away by force if necessary.

Max and another man grabbed each one of my arms and led me back into the hallway. When they thought that I had no intention of resisting, I slammed my body into Max so that he fell against the wall. I kneed the groin of the other man who had a hold of my right arm.

I sprinted ahead to escape from the men. Before I could reach the end of the hallway, arms wrapped around my waist and stopped me from going further. I tried to fight the men back by creating wild movements from my limbs. My elbow connected with a cheek bone and my heel with a shin. The men would have bruises the next day, but in the end, they still dragged me away as a prisoner.