Mafia Boss’s Arranged Bride by Bella King
Chapter 6
Annika
When I awaken the next morning, I feel reborn somehow. Did something in me shift last night? There is an unfamiliar but welcome hunger lingering in me, almost like a parasitic twin or second shadow. That odd urge I had last night is haunting me, but in a way that lifts me up and empowers me.
I emerge from my bedroom in a half-asleep daze, the sunlight blinding me as I enter the living room where my mother pretends to enjoy one of the tired dime-novels she always reads.
Before I’m able to speak, my mother interjects. “So, how did you like him? You’re a very lucky woman, Annika,” she says with a dreadful chime in her voice. “He’s a beautiful man; you two will make such pretty little babies,” she continues.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I hope you’re very jealous of me,” I reply.
My mother scoffs as she puts the book down. “Do you remember all of those horrible young women that you graduated college with? They would collapse with envy if they could see the man you are marrying. You didn’t even have to find him! He was practically handed to you,” she says, her tone charged with misplaced anger.
Instead of engaging in such a silly conversation with her, I turn in the other direction and return to my bedroom, ready to sleep another ten hours until my mother has passed out or gotten distracted by the inner turmoil of celebrities or distant relatives back in Russia.
I am just about ready to jump out my window and find that man outside from last night. Running away sounds a lot better than facing the reality that has woven itself around me like a net. I’m trapped in it.
“Annika,” my mother shouts from the couch as I attempt to leave. “We are seeing the Ivanovs again later today, do not make any plans. I need you focused.”
Fuck, I feel like she expects me to be a robot, programmed to listen and obey her orders as though I have no dreams and aspirations of my own.
I won’t make plans today because I know she’ll mow them over with hers. I’m introverted anyway, hiding in the shell of my dry personality while the world turns outside. I’d like to be out there, taking part in some grand adventure, but it’ll never happen. My life doesn’t belong to me.
Later in the day, I learn that we’ve been invited to the Ivanov house for my father and Dimitri to discuss territories and other involvements while Michail and I stare at each other and make small talk.
When I enter the house, the interior is opulent to the point of excess. Every surface is cherrywood or mahogany with some kind of invaluable piece of art hung above or placed on the surface. The lighting is so low that even in the daylight, I feel like I’m descending into a lightless atmosphere, maybe like hell.
It sure feels like hell.
Michail’s mother greets us at the door, clearly overdressed in an attempt to show off for my mother and intimidate me. I roll my eyes as she and my mother exchange saccharine niceties as petty middle-aged women tend to do, knowing full-well that they would have each other beheaded if the opportunity presented itself.
Dimitri and my father shake hands in an overfamiliar manner. We are led down the hallway to a surprisingly well-lit living room, where I see Michail typing on a laptop in the corner. I’m tempted to ignore him entirely and instead wander his house, trying to imagine what it was like to grow up here, to become bored of such an atmosphere.
Before I am able to make up my mind, I hear Michail’s mother’s shrill voice piercing the air. “Nikolai! It is eleven in the morning; go pour that out!” she shouts in the direction of someone I had no idea existed before I observed him being screamed at.
Nikolai Ivanov.
I had been under the impression that my mother’s misremembering of Michail’s family was a result of her intense devotion to alcoholism and benzodiazepines. Clearly, there is another man in the family, but he’s not anything like Michail.
Nikolai and Michail could be from different sides of the planet, much less brothers. While Michail’s hair is kept short and professional, Nikolai’s is messy and somewhat long. It hangs over his bright green eyes.
Michail’s deep brown eyes cast a shadow, whereas Nikolai’s bright eyes seem to look right through me.
And he is.
I freeze. Nikolai takes a drink from a mostly empty glass of what appears to be whiskey and smiles. “I learned from the best.” Without hesitating, he drinks the rest. He then pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Absolutely not! Why are you trying to embarrass me?! You are going to give me a fucking aneurysm,” his mother wails in her familiar nails-on-a-chalkboard timbre. She points to the door where we just came through. “Outside!”
Nikolai relents and raises his hands in false surrender, a half-smile forming as he makes his way outside.
“You need to go back on your medication,” interjects Dimitri, placing an awkward and unwanted hand on her shoulder. She scoffs. “It is your fault he has no sense of decorum, Dimitri. He acts like he’s not even part of the family, like he’s better than us.”
There is a brief pause of deafening awkwardness as I stand there, the smokey scent of Nikolai’s body distracting me from the unease for a brief second as he passes me. It’s only then that I realize who he is.
He’s the man from outside.
Nikolai, the man I touched myself to.
“Annika, you and Michail should go talk for a bit while we work some things out,” my father says dismissively, giving me the final push to get the hell out of this house. The energy here is dreadful.
Michail takes my hand. “There’s something I want to show you,” he says quietly, his voice low and reassuring.
His grip on my hand is loose and nonaggressive; his hand feels warm in mine. A sense of calm washes over me, like he’s my friend and not the man I’m about to marry. He’s harmless, docile.
He leads me out to the courtyard toward the back of the house. The smell of cigarette smoke permeates the air.
“Nikolai, please put that out,” Michail says. “I’m sure it bothers Annika.”
Nikolai sighs heavily. “You can’t tell me what to do. Stop showing off for your wife,” he scoffs as he drops the cigarette and steps on it, leaving a trail of black ash along the pavement.
“I’m not showing off. If anything, I’d say it’s you who is showing off. It’s not tough to be brooding around the house when we have guests,” Michail replies calmly.
“How about go fuck yourself?” Nikolai snaps, his sudden bout of anger sending a shockwave of arousal through me. He certainly could be the type of man to bend me over if he found me masturbating in front of a mirror. He’d treat me like garbage, and I’d probably like it.
“Please, Nikolai, this is hardly the time for that,” Michail pleads, and I already know he’s lost this battle as Nikolai smirks and pulls out another cigarette.
“Make me,” Nikolai says, a flame dancing in front of his prominent nose as he lights his cigarette.
Michail grips my hand harder, frowning deeply at his brother.
I can tell he’s struggling to find something to say, so I speak up instead. “Why weren’t you at the house the other night?”
“I was,” he answers gruffly.
“Outside,” I mumble, my legs tingling inappropriately. It’s as though we shared something last night, even though he knows nothing about it.
Nikolai frowns and leans forward, smoke wafting toward me and embracing me with an exciting sort of sinfulness. “Yes, I was outside. I don’t enjoy petty gatherings.”
“Neither do I,” I admit.
Michail suddenly tugs on my hand, pulling me away from his brother before we can share any more words. “We’re leaving. Come,” he says sharply.
Nikolai chuckles and walks back toward the house, his cigarette still burning between his smirking lips as he disappears inside.
“God, sorry about him. He isn’t usually here, but when he is, he’ll make sure you know it. He loves attention,” Michail explains.
My stomach tightens. I thought that Michail’s family consisted only of his terrifying father and doting mother, but now a new character has been thrown into the mix, somebody who strikes me as being volatile and perhaps even dangerous.
“It’s fine. I didn’t know you had a brother,” I reply, completely uncertain of an appropriate response and kicking myself for acknowledging what he said at all.
“He wasn’t around a lot for the last two years; he came back to New York recently. Wasn’t interested in listening to our father, I guess,” he says with a shrug. “He’s got a mind of his own.”
He says it as though that were a bad thing. I think Nikolai is more interesting than the other here, but I wouldn’t say that to Michail.
“What was it you wanted to show me out here?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“Nothing, actually. I just wanted to get us out of the house so our parents leave us alone for a bit. This is what, our second time meeting? Most people our age would rather peel off their fingernails than have their parents present for dates, especially at our age,” he replies.
The mental visual of someone peeling back their fingernails nauseates me. It makes me wonder if that’s something his father does to those who cross him. My father isn’t that much different, but I sense a power in this family that isn’t present in mine.
My mind drifts back to Nikolai as we walk. Michail tries to make conversation, but I’m not interested in it. The only questions I have to ask aren’t about him. They’re about his brother, and that wouldn’t be wise to bring up considering our upcoming wedding.
