Mafia Boss’s Arranged Bride by Bella King

Chapter 22

Nikolai

It’s been two days since the massacre at the wedding, but I’ve chosen to know nothing about what’s going on in the outside world. It’s not yet safe for Annika and me to emerge from our cocoon of safety – a frigid shipping container tucked away where nobody will find it.

We sleep there at night, and during the day, we sit, mostly in silence but occasionally with words exchanged.

Today, after holding each other close to keep warm again last night, Annika seems to have found her voice.

“Are you going to eat those?” she asks, eyeing a couple of green beans that I pushed to the edge of my plate.

“Take them,” I mutter, lazily pointing at them with my fork before returning to the rest of my less-than-appetizing breakfast.

It was James’ idea to have us eating lunch food for breakfast. I’m accustomed to better cuisine – waffles, sausage, eggs, and usually a cranberry mimosa with an extra shot of vodka to start the day. I’d follow it up with a cigarette, but apparently, we don’t have those either.

I’m itching to get out of this place, but it still isn’t safe out there. My father will be sweeping the city for the survivors, but he’s an impatient man. He won’t look for longer than a few days before concentrating his efforts on the next phase of his fucked-up plan, whatever that might be.

“How long are we going to be in here?” Annika asks, seeming to read my thoughts.

Maybe it’s just the nervous twitching and irritability at not being able to smoke or do much of anything enjoyable. The only pleasure I have is holding Annika’s soft body and feeling her heart patter in her chest as we sleep together. Even with that, I can’t take this confinement much longer. I haven’t avoided prison for all these years just to ultimately settle in one out of fear.

“We won’t be much longer,” I say without looking up at her.

Even without seeing her, I know she’s disappointed. Her voice drops as she speaks again. “And how long is that?”

“There’s nothing out there for you, Annika,” I say, finally lifting my head. “Why do you want to go out?”

“I want to know the truth,” she says softly.

“About Michail?” I ask, feeling jealous even though I shouldn’t. She’s with me only because she has to be. I haven’t stolen her from him, and she doesn’t belong to me. I have no reason to feel this way when she’s mourning the likely loss of her family and possibly even her fiancée.

“Michail is the last person on my mind,” she admits, pulling some of the weight of my heavy shoulders. “You’re much nicer to be around than he ever was. I’m just concerned about what has happened to my family. My parents were at that wedding.”

“Dead,” I answer bluntly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Why do you say that?” she asks, struggling to hide the indignation in her voice.

I lift a fork of mashed potatoes to my mouth, trying to pretend it’s something that wasn’t sitting in a box for years before James pulled it out for us. “The point of the shooting was to kill your entire family,” I inform Annika. “I thought you would’ve figured that out by now.”

“I had hoped for a different reason,” she replies.

“Well, you don’t have one, so deal with it,” I grumble, putting my fork back down and pushing my plate away. “This food sucks ass.”

“Jesus, Nikolai, why are you so damn grumpy? I know we both got fucked in all this mess, but really, your attitude is starting to bother me.”

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the grease of several days without shampoo. Does James not use it? Does nobody? I can’t find a bottle anywhere.

“I’m talking to you,” Annika says, raising her voice and leaning over the table.

“And I’m not listening,” I reply.

“You can’t act like this. I’m just as much of a victim here as you are, and –”

“I’m not a victim,” I snap, anger rising in my chest. “I just want to eat my goddamn food in peace.”

“You pushed your plate away,” she says, pointing at the uneaten food. “You’re not really interested in food. Is there something wrong?”

“A lot of things,” I grumble. She doesn’t seem to get how annoyed I am to be staying here. A man has urges, he has needs, and none of them are being met right now. I’m seconds away from snapping and leaving this rundown shithole for a strip club, a fresh pack of cigarettes, and a proper shower.

Annika hovers over the table, trying to study my face as I look in any direction but directly at her. She tries to read my thoughts, but the things in my brain are so dense that it’s difficult for even me to decipher. She doesn’t have a chance.

“I need to find some fucking shampoo,” I growl, running my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time this morning. I don’t want Annika reading my mind. I want to be clean and have a goddamn smoke before I lose what’s left of it.

“Shampoo? What are you talking about?” she asks.

“The fucking shampoo,” I exclaimed, slamming my fist down onto the table and causing the dull silverware to dance. Annika’s fork almost leaps into her lap, but she catches it in time to save the green beans on the end of it.

“Nikolai, it’s in the bathroom,” she says in hushed embarrassment for my outburst.

“I’ve been in there half a dozen times already,” I say, shaking my head. I hate to admit how many showers I’ve taken since I got here. There aren’t many things that I can do to pass the time, so showering twice a day is almost mandatory to keep my sanity.

I can feel the heat of Annika’s gaze on my cheek. “Are you serious, Nikolai?”

I look at her, finally catching her confused look. “Yes, I’m serious. It’s not in there.”

She laughs as though I were stupid. “I used it this morning. It’s definitely in there.”

I’d hate to embarrass myself by overlooking something so obvious; even worse is that it’s been days since I cleaned myself with anything but a cheap bar of soap. My hair probably stinks, and Annika is just too polite to tell me. It’s what I would expect from someone raised by such stringent parents.

Her laughing at my expense isn’t polite, however, and I have the desire to prove her wrong. In the worst case, I finally wash my hair.

“Let’s go, then, if you’re so sure of yourself,” I say sharply, standing up and simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief that I don’t have to look at those godawful mashed potatoes anymore. I’m pretty sure they’re not even edible at this point.

Annika springs up from her seat, all too certain that she’s about to win big and prove me wrong. She doesn’t know it, but even if we manage to find the shampoo, I have other plans before I intend to wash my hair.

Other plans involving… her.