Ava
I was married. Married. I still couldn't believe it. I was married to a man who crashed my wedding ceremony, declaring that my father had sold me to him when I was only seven. That couldn't have been legal. Oh, and that’s not even the crazy part. Far from it actually. Not only was I married to this crazy person, but apparently, this man was the long-lost heir of the Russian Mafia who was supposed to be dead. And they say weddings aren't fun. I drag my gaze towards the man seated in the driver's seat just a few inches away from me. He sits there composed and unruffled, an effortless control radiating off him like he hadn't just hurled me on his shoulder and out of the church like a caveman seconds ago. There was no denying the fact that the man beside me was the most painstakingly gorgeous man I had ever seen. His chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones and tousled dark hair framed a face that belonged on the statue of a Greek god. But that still didn't give him the right to do what he did. He had no right to storm into my wedding ceremony, threaten me and then marry me. Annoyance flickered inside me, and I bit the inside of my cheek. It pissed me off how attracted I found myself to him. Because I shouldn't be attracted to him. He was my husband. My captor. For God's sake, the man was a murderer. That alone should have easily killed any attraction I harbored for him. Except it didn't. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He hadn't said a word since we exited the church. When my father tried to approach me after the ceremony, Nikolai made sure that he was able to get within an inch of me and for that, a part of me was grateful. Truth be told, I wasn't ready to face my father yet, and I doubted I ever would be. My father saw me as nothing more than a commodity. Something to use to escape the web he so intricately wove for himself each time the strings became too tight. It infuriated me just how much I let myself believe that he loved me but most of all I felt betrayed I felt blindsided because no matter how coldly my father had treated me, I never once thought that he would willingly trade my life in exchange for his. I return my gaze to the window, watching as the blurred scenery passes by in hurried flashes. It was a Saturday, and the streets were littered with weekend shoppers and couples strolling hand in hand who were oblivious to the fact that my entire world had just come crumbling down moments ago. I let out a rough breath and glanced back at Nikolai whose eyes remained fixed on the road as he drove us to God knows where. “Where are we going?” I ask, breaking the silence that had previously enveloped the car. My gaze shifts briefly from his face, stopping on the black ink peaking from under his shirt. He offers a glance in my direction, and for a second, our eyes meet, and I’m instantly sucked into the intensity behind his irises. Focus, I reprimand myself. He was my captor. My captor. Nothing more nothing less. “Home,” One word. A hundred meanings. Although I’d grown up in a home, it stopped feeling like that after my mother's death. After she died my father preferred to spend his time locked in his study or supplying weapons to dangerous men rather than spend time with his own family. Up until today, I made excuses for him. He just lost the love of his life it's understandable he didn't come for my recital. He's busy, he'll come to my exhibition next time. Time and time again I had made excuses for a man who had no problem trading me to save himself at the drop of a hat. What does that say about me? I let out a breath and leaned further into my seat. I try my best not to roll my eyes as I say, “Oh really, how informative” The sarcasm in my tone isn't lost on him. “And where is that?” Silence. For some reason, his lack of a response only irks me further. I lean forward, snapping my fingers in his face. “Hello, I’m talking to you,” I say. His grip tightens around the steering wheel as his jaw tightens. He was pissed. Good. I wanted him to be. “You know, for someone who was awfully chatty earlier at the church, you seem to be pretty good at the whole silent brooding thing.” Still nothing. But there's a faint twitch in his right index finger that tells me he heard me and that's enough to satisfy me. For now. Sinking further into my seat, I returned my gaze outside the window, fixing my eyes on the blurred scenery. The ride ‘home’ seems to last forever. My back aches from sitting too long to the point that I'm overcome with relief when the sight of a black steel gate comes into view. I guess the Russians were big on security. But then again, if I were someone who derived pleasure from killing people, I guess a heavy metal gate would be just what I needed to shield myself from the consequences of my actions. Two heavily built men stand on either side of the gate. Their eyes lock on the vehicle as we approach, and once we stop in front of the gate, one of the men walks towards us. Nikolai lowers the window, and the man says something in Russian, to which Nikolai replies also in their native tongue. The man glances at me and makes an odd sound at the back of his throat before returning to his post at the gate. I watch as He leans in and whispers something to the other guard. The second guard nods and steps aside. He presses a button and the gate falls open with ease. Nikolai drives down a path of smooth concrete. Palm trees stood on either side of the road against the backdrop of the sky, and I was immediately blown away by the scenery. For a place filled with hardened criminals, there was a surprising calm that filled the surroundings. The road eventually thins into a driveway, and my breath hitches at the two-story house that comes into view. The house or should I say mansion, is a masterpiece. It's a stunning example of Mediterranean architecture, with its warm, ornamented exterior painted in soft cream and adorned with terracotta roof tiles that gleamed under the sun. It was breathtaking. Aside from the security guards littered around various points, the house appeared to be empty and I wondered if anyone other than Nikolai lived there. Nikolai stops the car beneath a covered portico parking between two other cars. The engine dies down into a low hum before he turns the key switching it off. I start to reach for my door to unlock it, but Nikolai stops me, his hand gripping my wrist as my fingertips brush the door handle. The warmth from his fingers stops me in my tracks, and I look at him, then at his hand, then back at him. "What are you doing?" He doesn't respond, he simply unwraps his fingers from my wrist and unlocks his door. In four brisk strides, he rounds the vehicle, stopping at my side. He unlocks the door, and when I make no move to step out of the car, he speaks. “Get out.” A command. Okay then. Mumbling under my breath, I gathered the hemline of my dress and stepped out of the vehicle. I paused, realising he hadn't moved away yet. His body brushes against mine and goose flesh erupts on my skin. We were barely inches apart, and against my better judgment, the memory of our kiss resurfaces in my mind. The feeling of his lips against mine, the roughness of his touch, the way he swallowed all of my moans like he was afraid they would slip past him. As if he sensed my thoughts, his gaze dropped to my lips and I watched his eyes darken. For a moment, I feared he might lean in and kiss me again like he did at the altar, except this time it wouldn't be in Infront of confused spectators and a pissed off ex soon-to-be father-in-law and his son. The thought is enough to pull me back from whatever trance I momentarily found myself lost in and I step away from him, creating some much-needed distance between us. He lingers in the space for a beat, eyes fixed on me before leaning back slightly, his expression unreadable. “Follow me,” he says, his voice calm and commanding. I do. Trying my best to keep up with his long strides. Not only was my husband inexplicably tall, but one of his strides equalled two of mine, which made keeping up with him rather exhausting, Husband. The word stops me in my tracks. As of yesterday,whoasn’t even in a relationship and now I was married. Fucking married. Can you believe that? Me, the girl who had never been in a relationship was now entangled in a lifetime commitment with a man who only saw me as a possession to be claimed. I can’t help it, I laugh. I laugh until I’m gasping for breath and I’m certain I am going to pass out. Nikolai stops mid-stride and turns around to face me. A frown creases his forehead as he witnesses the way I throw my head back in laughter. “Something funny, Solnishko ?” He questioned, his tone tight. I shook my head, wiping the corner of my eyes with my ringless finger. “I-I’m sorry,” I say, in between fits, “It's just that this whole thing”, I gesture between the two of us, “is fucking hilarious, don't you think?” The corners of his lips twitch slightly, fighting an annoyed smile “Funny isn't the word I would use to describe your current situation, Solnishko” There's an edge in the way he says those words that cause the laughter to quickly die down on my tongue. What the fuck did he mean by that? And why was he still calling me that horrible nickname? I had no idea what it meant but I was beginning to think that it was some kind of russian insult. "Would you stop calling me that already? It's getting annoying." Nikolai's lips twitch, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Solnishko?" He repeats that horrible nickname again and I can barely keep the annoyance bubbling within me at bay. "Stop it. How would you like it if I constantly insulted you in a foreign language you had no idea how to speak?" My question only seems to spark his amusement further. "Solnishko is hardly an insult" "Then what does it mean?" He doesn't respond. Instead, he condescendingly shrugs his shoulders and turns around, continuing his descent to the entrance of the house, leaving me momentarily rooted in place. it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with his mood swings. I didn't understand him. One minute, he was giving me the silent treatment, and the next, he was teasing me. It was confusing. Tightening my hold on my dress I follow him, trying my best to keep up with his pace until he stops in front of the entrance. He reaches for the doorknob but before his fingers can brush the cool brass the door is yanked open. Standing on the other side of the door is a girl that could be no older than six years old. She's wearing a set of Blue pajamas and standing barefoot on the floor, her eyes are wide and she's sprouting a grin that reveals her missing tooth. Dark curls frame her round face and she looks up at Nikolai with the most adorable expression I had ever seen etched into her eyebrows. But it's not just her expression that stops me in my tracks. No, it’s the shade of her eyes. They're green, forest green to be precise. Just like the man beside me. “Papa!” she exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement as she looks at my captor as if he hung the moon. My heart stops. Papa?Nikolai Volkov “Papa” Kira's excited squeal hits me before I see her. She runs up to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my leg like a vine. It's a habit she's developed recently and one I planned on breaking - eventually. Her small, chubby face beams up at me, and her eyes sparkle with the kind of joy that I've become immune to. I let out a breath, resting my head on her curls. “What are you doing here Kira? You're supposed to be with Lydia” Kira giggles, clearly missing the annoyance in my tone. She's made a habit of escaping her nanny at every little opportunity since we got back from Russia. It was a habit that was becoming increasingly worrisome, considering she was a five-year-old child who thought that every opportunity should be seized to play hide and seek. Shaking her head, she grins up at me, revealing a missing tooth that was still intact when I left this morning. I make a mental note to put a hundred-dollar bill under her pillow tonight because the last th
Ava I hardly get any sleep throughout the night. Each time my eyes fluttered shut, Nikolai’s face would emerge from the darkness, just inches from mine, the words he said yesterday lingering in the space between our barely touching lips. I had spent the majority of the night reminiscing about the events of my botched birthday turned wedding day trying to make sense of my current situation. Letting out a disgruntled groan, I turn away from the harsh rays of sunlight streaming in from my windows. Everything was so confusing. My entire life had changed. Everything I knew had been ripped out from under my feet and without an anchor, I had come crashing down into a pile of confusion and uncertainty. Nothing about my life felt real anymore. In the last twenty-four hours, I had gone from birthday girl to wife-to-be, and now I was married to a man whom I barely knew anything about and trapped in his house. Could my life get any worse? The low rumble of my stomach forces me out
Ava The walls of Nikolai's office are cloaked in a deep charcoal that blends seamlessly into the dark wood design, creating an intense atmosphere. The shelves are filled with all kinds of books, new and old, all turned to the spine. The books are arranged in such precise colour coordination that they look a bit too perfect. The space is much bigger than I expected it to be and I'm almost consumed by its vastness. A large mahogany desk stands at the centre of it all, polished to a gleam with neatly stacked papers arranged on each side, and not a single paper document out of place. A sleek black leather chair stands just behind the desk, its high back giving off an air of authority against the soft glow of the crystal chandelier above the room. Nikolai occupies the chair, matte-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as his pen moves frantically over a document, his brows furrowing in concentration. In the last twenty minutes I've been seated opposite this man
AvaFinding out my father sold me off to a sadistic Mafia Don to save himself was not how I expected my twenty-first birthday to go.But alas. Here, I am. “Are you okay?” My father asks, his voice layered with concern. I turn to observe him, my eyes roaming up and down his slouched shoulders. He was dressed in a black tuxedo one of the men who had brought us in had given him shortly after we arrived at the church. His hair was pushed back, the result of countless hand motions through the balding strands in order to appear much younger than he actually was.It doesn't work.“Ava… Please talk to me”I let out a breath, then pressed my lips together forming a thin line. How exactly did he expect me to answer that?Oh, of course, Dad, I’m fine; it’s great that you sold me to a literal mafia boss to save your life; I totally understand and forgive you.My lips twist downward at the thought.My father had sold me to one of the most ruthless men in all of Chicago in order to save his neck a
AVA I believe you have something that belongs to me. His words linger in the air for only a second before gasps erupt from the audience. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I blinked at the intruder in disbelief. His? What was he talking about? My gaze finds my father. He stands frozen, his lips slightly parted and eyes wide with shock as he looks at the man who called himself Nikolai. “What is going on Marcus!” Alessandro roared, his rage-filled gaze fixed on my father. His face filled with rage. A smile peaked at the corner of the intruder’s lips as he shoved his hands into his pocket. “It’s quite simple, Alessandro. You’ve been played.” Played? As if snapped from a trance My father looked up, his gaze finding mine amid the chaos. Remorse clouded his features. “Forgive me, Ava.” my father says, giving me an apologetic look. My brows knitted together as a slow wave of dread settled at the pit of my stomach, “What have you done?” “It was a long time ago.” He b