Russian Mafia’s Unwanted Indian Wife

Preview The garden smelled of wet roses and old secrets. In the far corner, where the shadows of the mansion stretched long, a young woman wandered alone. Her cotton kurti swayed with each step, the soft fabric brushing against the dew-wet grass. From behind the trimmed hedges came whispers. “Did you hear? He brought another woman last night.” A sharp intake of breath. “How can you ignore it with those loud moans? The whole staff heard it.” Another voice, softer, almost pitying. “I thought things would change after the wedding… but it’s been two days, and he hasn’t even glanced at his wife.” The third voice dropped to a whisper. “I heard she’s from India. Poor girl… alone in a strange country, and her husband treats her like she doesn’t exist.” Rudra kept walking, her eyes fixed ahead, face calm and unreadable. Their words slid past her like the wind. She didn’t care about their gossip— As long as she was still breathing, that was enough. --- Chapter 1 – The Stranger Who Called Me Daughter The smell of coffee and burnt toast clung to my hands. It had been another long shift at the tiny café near the railway station. The ceiling fan clicked every few seconds, the customers were impatient, and the tips… barely enough to buy a single proper meal. This was my life. Plain. Quiet. And painfully small. I wiped the counter, ready to close for the day, when the bell above the door jingled. A man stepped inside. He didn’t belong here. Not in my world of dusty tables and chipped mugs. Tall. Foreign. Dressed in an expensive black coat that looked like it had walked out of some rich magazine. His presence swallowed the air around him, making the little café suddenly feel too small. His eyes found me instantly. And when he spoke, his voice was deep, accented… and final. “Rudra… you’re my daughter.” The rag slipped from my hand. “Excuse me?” He walked closer, pulling something from his coat pocket — an old photograph. A woman stood in it, smiling faintly. My heart lurched. I had only one picture of my mother… and this was it. “I’ve been searching for you for years,” he said. “Your mother… she hid you from me. For your safety.” My chest tightened. I didn’t know whether to run or demand answers. Then he dropped the bomb. “I am not just your father. I am… the head of a mafia family.” The words didn’t sound real. They sounded like the kind of thing you heard in movies. But his expression was cold truth. Before I could react, his jaw clenched. “There’s no time. A man… a dangerous man… has demanded I give him my only heir. You.” My pulse pounded. “Why?” His gaze darkened. “He wants my power. My influence. If you marry him, he gains both. If you refuse… he will kill us. And take it all anyway.” The world tilted. My knees felt weak. He took my shoulders, grip firm but trembling. “I never wanted to involve you in this, Rudra. You have only two options… hide for the rest of your life—” His voice turned to steel. “Or marry him.” I stared at him, words caught in my throat. “Marry him?” The words tasted strange on my tongue. “You’re joking… right?” My father’s face was carved in stone. “Do I look like a man who jokes?” I gripped the counter behind me, trying to steady my breath. The sound of the ceiling fan suddenly seemed too loud. “This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “You appear out of nowhere, tell me you’re my father… a mafia boss… and now you want me to marry some stranger?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This is the only way to keep you alive, Rudra.” Alive. That word hit harder than the rest. “What happens if I say no?” I asked quietly. His eyes turned cold. “Then you will spend the rest of your life running… until the day they catch you.” I didn’t answer. My throat was dry, my mind a storm. He reached into his coat, pulling out a small envelope and setting it on the counter. “Your passport. Your ticket. We leave tonight.” --- The airport was a blur. Lights. Crowds. My heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t remember falling asleep on the flight, but when I woke, we were landing in a country I’d only seen in movies. The air was colder here, sharper, as if it could cut through skin. My father’s black car was waiting outside. The driver didn’t speak a word, just opened the door for us and started the engine. The city faded into rolling hills and then to gates — tall, black, and covered in steel spikes. Behind them stood a mansion so massive it felt like it could swallow me whole. “Welcome to your new home,” my father said. The room smelled of cigars and something older… like secrets buried too deep. He closed the door behind us, and I felt the air grow heavier. “Sit,” he ordered. I sat. My palms rested on my knees, but my heart was restless. “Your husband-to-be… is not like other men,” he said. “Viktor Dragunov is ruthless. Cold. Emotionless. He doesn’t care for weakness, and he doesn’t forgive mistakes. One mistake… and you are dead. Or worse—he will make your life hell.” I let out a dry laugh. “You’re talking like I have any other option. I’m marrying a person whose name I can’t even pronounce properly. Don’t behave like you care about me. I’m only doing it because I want to stay alive.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharper than a knife. “With Viktor, staying alive is not about luck. It’s about knowing when to bow… and when not to breathe.” He pushed a folder toward me. A passport slid out, the photo staring back like it already belonged to someone else. “You can still go back and hide,” he said. “I wouldn’t tell them where you are… even if it kills me. Or you can sign these papers and become his wife. They’ll send someone tomorrow. Decide before that.” His voice lowered. “I know you hate me… but I still want what’s good for you.” I stared at the papers, my fingers frozen. Alive… or married to a man whose name felt like a curse?