Lahat ng Kabanata ng Arranged To The Bravta King: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

MariaI don’t dare speak on the car ride back to the penthouse. The Mercedes is filled with boxes and bags from Bergdorf’s, Saks, and Bloomies. My wedding gown sits on my lap in a huge rectangular box that feels heavier than a boulder, dragging me deeper into the depths.Larissa and Naomi talk nonstop about people I don’t know, and from the sound of it, people I don’t want to know. It’s safer for me to say nothing.I hope my stupidity doesn’t get Mercy into trouble with Dad. Her opinion of me is right. I don’t know anything about being on my own. I glance over at the two women who are making it seem so easy. Say the right thing. Wear the right clothes.But it’s not so easy when I do it. And it’s not like I had a crash course on how to live the Mafia life.Pedestrians cross in front of the car at the red light. One man looks exhausted from his long day. He wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his white shirt as he carries his jacket in his hand. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to b

MikhailToday was supposed to be a peaceful day of reckless and obscene spending, but not after what Maria did last night. I keep thinking about the solid steel doors that she breached, and my thoughts turn to the secrets she discovered.The secrets that no one else can ever be allowed to know.We wait in silence in the Tatiana Gallery, where we are meeting with our wedding planner. The well-guarded space is situated on the tenth floor of the Waverly Trust building. A bomb left outside would not touch us, but I'm alert to anything out of place. There's nothing.It's filled with timeless works of Russian fine art and relics that once adorned the walls of the aristocratic palaces. Today, their beauty masks the hidden darkness, but I can sense it.It's something profound, something dark. Something that speaks to my own turbulent thoughts.But even those thoughts can't make me tear my mind away from what I found last night: Maria standing before that painting, her eyes filled with wonder

MariaThe sheer curtains stretch across my bedroom window, concealing Manhattan below. I don't care what's going on outside. My attention is on the painting Mikhail has hung on the wall across from my bed.It's the same Kuzma Fedorov from the gallery.I smirk, noticing it's turned right-side up. In this orientation, I can see that there's more than just a face. The splotches of purple and blue that had been unrecognizable against the green background now transform into a field of wildflowers. And the face, previously upside down, now smiles at the view.I lean in close and close my eyes, imagining I can smell the flowers, even though they're strokes of paint.There's something strangely appropriate. It's like a part of me is trapped within the canvas, forever pictured sitting by a window while staring wistfully outside ever since my world was turned upside down.Yesterday, I watched Mikhail talk to the wedding planner from the corner of my eye. He didn't say it, but he wanted to be al

MikhailI never should have kissed her.Kidnapping Maria was a necessary evil. Or so I tell myself. But deep down, I know I crossed a line that I can never uncross.Sunlight streams through the wide windows, casting a bright light into the room. The clear morning is in stark contrast to the storm brewing around me. No, within me. The light illuminates a painting hanging on the wall—an abstract piece with swirls of red and black, like blood mingling with shadows. I get up to close the blinds to protect my collection, and I feel like an ogre hiding my treasures. I glance toward the spiral staircase, half-hoping to see Maria descend. But she doesn't.A princess in a tower. How appropriate. But I'm no prince. The real prince died years ago.What if ...A new disturbing thought takes shape in my mind. I don't dare let it finish.I can't deny the feelings that Maria is invoking inside of me. They complicate things in more ways than I want to admit. Lust is not love, I tell myself.But what I

MariaI don't know why I wore a satin dress. This isn't the prom, not that I went. The material is already wrinkled, and we haven't left the limo. Smoothing it with my hand is not helping. I look like a peach throw pillow that's burst open and been put back together with double-stick tape.We've driven almost an hour and still haven't arrived. My right leg bobs up and down like a piston until the limo passes through a pair of towering ironwork gates leading down a drive to a massive mansion.I jump when a man with an earpiece peers into the tinted window directly at me. The only thing separating us is the glass. Intricate tattoos cover his hands and neck, and my heart sticks in my throat. He eyes me warily and then Mikhail.Mikhail barely turns his head as he continues talking with Rurik, Larissa's husband. Rurik lifts his hand and motions the man away.The man taps on the window, motioning for the window to lower. I slowly move closer to Mikhail, and he looks over."What does he want