Forced to Marry the Bratva: Age Gap Mafia Romance (Zolotov Bratva Book 5)

Chapter 2 - Genevieve

I hold my breath, tiptoeing past the creaky floorboard outside my bedroom door. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to escape the confines of my room. As for what I want?

It’s irrelevant. It’s too late. It’s impossible.

I feel a lump in my throat as I continue down the hallway. I begin to imagine what it would be like for me to leave this house, get in a cab, reach the airport, and disappear into the world, never to be found again.

Just then, the automatic bright lights near the guest bathroom switch on, and I instantly shudder and freeze, wincing as I close my eyes. I’d completely forgotten that Papa had these fancy lights installed.

“Genevieve?” His harsh, commanding tone comes from the front of the hallway. He must have noticed the lights and starts to walk out from the door to the library. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I look at him. His stern expression sends chills down my spine, and I know there’s no way I can evade this confrontation. I avert my gaze.

He’s almost dressed and has his waistcoat on. All that’s left is for him to fix his tie and put on his jacket and shoes.

“Father,” I choke out, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “I was just... getting some water.”

“Really, Genevieve?” His tone is icy, devoid of warmth. “You expect me to believe that? The maid left water in your room, as she does every night and every morning.”

“Of course, Father.” I force myself to meet his gaze, though every instinct tells me to look away. “I…I must have forgotten.”

“Have you seen the bloody time?” he roars at me, walking closer. “It’s almost nine-thirty in the morning, and we have to be at the Zolotov’s by noon!”

He crosses his arms over his chest as if attempting to shield himself from my influence. I’m about to apologize, to speak, when he continues on his tirade.

“And you haven’t even started getting dressed! You’ve got to do your hair and your makeup. Or do you plan to go looking like a little rag doll?”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. It’s not easy being the daughter of Gerald Russo, the man who runs our little corner of the world.

“Father… I… I—” I mumble, trying to find the right words. Yet, none come to me. These past few weeks have been nothing but words. I’ve tried to tell him, in a million different ways, that I’m too young to get married, let alone to a man I don’t know, but it all comes down to what he needs me to do for the family. There’s nothing more to say. My fate is sealed, and so remain my lips.

“Your behavior lately has been... concerning,” he continues, now glowering at me. “I don’t want anything jeopardizing this union. You understand me?” he shouts at me, a finger pointing at my face.

“Hey, hey!” Gael’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere like soft butter, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. He strides into the hallway and stands beside me.

“Genevieve, what’s going on? Why aren’t you in your room, getting dressed?” he asks gently.

“Just look at her,” Papa puts me down, now shaking his head at my brother. “Your sister’s only goal in life is to embarrass us all.”

“Papa, no, please. You know how much I want to make you proud,” I cry out, my hands extended for him to take. He ignores them, and they tremble as I put them down.

The tension in the air is palpable as my father’s anger remains unrelenting.

“Genevieve, do you have any idea what this marriage means to our family?” His voice drips with disappointment, adding to the heaviness in my chest. “It’s more than just a union between two people; it’s a symbol of the honor and glory we could achieve.”

“Papa, I understand the importance of this arrangement,” I interject, attempting to cut off his tirade. “That’s why I’m getting married today, aren’t I?”

But he’s not finished, and my interruption only fuels his anger.

“Then why are you behaving so irresponsibly with all the sulking around? You simply haven’t been yourself the last few days,” he demands, his words sharp like daggers. “This alliance with the Zolotov family is crucial for us. They hold the keys to power, wealth, and influence—and we need them on our side. And I wonder if you’re going to sulk through your wedding and embarrass us all? That is if we even reach it on time!”

“Father, please. Allow me to talk to my sister,” Gael tries to soothe. “It’s her wedding day. She’s probably just nervous. But Ginny is a good girl, Father. She will make us proud as she leaves our home to become a Zolotov, won’t you, Ginny?” he looks at me pointedly.

My heart shatters at my younger brother’s words. From today, I will no longer be a Russo. This will no longer be my home. Tears come to my eyes. Gael puts his arms around me and looks at our father.

“Father, I’m going to take her back to her room now and make sure she looks absolutely beautiful.”

“Very well,” Papa says after a long moment, releasing his arms and stepping aside. “But remember Genevieve, your actions reflect upon this family—our honor, our reputation. Don’t forget that.”

I say nothing. I simply keep my head bowed and allow Gael to guide me back to my room. The weight of my father’s expectations presses down on me, threatening to crush my spirit. But I won’t let it. Not tonight, not ever.

We reach the door to my room, and Gael leans over as I open it and whispers, “Want to talk about it? In private?”

“Sure,” I reply softly.

The door to my room shuts behind us with a soft click, and Gael releases a long sigh as he slumps onto my bed. I sit next to him, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air.

“Listen, Ginny,” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “I only said those things out there to appease Dad. He’s been really on edge lately, and I didn’t want him to blow a fuse.”

“I know, Gael,” I reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your help.”

He hesitates for a moment before continuing, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I just... I miss Mom so much. Everything was so much better when she was here. She would have never allowed Father to let you marry…” he doesn’t complete the sentence. After all, what point would it serve?

Mom’s been gone for over a decade, and Papa is who he is, and we are where we are.

My heart aches as I wrap my arms around him, feeling the weight of our shared grief. “I miss her too, Gael. More than anything.” We sit like that for a while, comforting each other in silence.

Eventually, Gael pulls away and grins at me. “Enough with the moping,” he teases, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you, Sis. You can’t let Dad’s harsh words get to you. Remember, you’re always a Russo. This will always be your home, at least as long as I’m around.”

“Easy for you to say, but Father might share a different opinion,” I retort, rolling my eyes but smiling nonetheless. The playful banter feels familiar and comforting amidst the uncertainty of my impending marriage.

“Hey, you’re Genevieve Russo—the strong, passionate woman who I learn from every single day. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

His words bring warmth to my chest, making me feel stronger. At least I have a brother who supports me. “Thanks, Gael. You always know what to say.”

“Of course!” he exclaims, puffing out his chest and striking a dramatic pose. “I am the great Gael Russo, after all.”

We both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through my room.

“Now come on, get dressed before Dad blows a fuse,” Gael says and leaves me to my own devices.

After he’s gone, I stand in the center of my sanctuary, and the reality of my situation sinks in like a stone dropped into still water. The truth hits me all at once, causing a splash.

I can’t run. I can’t back out. This is my role to play, and once I fulfill my duty to the family, Papa will be proud of me. My gaze is drawn to the full-length mirror, and I stride toward it, the fire in my eyes growing with every step.

“Get a hold of yourself, Genevieve,” I whisper as I stare at the reflection of the woman I’ve become. Overnight, I no longer feel like the innocent twenty-two-year-old I was. I’m now going to play a part I can’t fail at—that of a wife to a man I don’t know.

And someday, when Papa succeeds in getting what he wants, I will find a way out of this arranged marriage and grab a chance at my freedom.

The flicker of determination within me begins to grow, fed by the memories of my late mother’s strength and Gael’s unwavering support.

In this moment of introspection, my thoughts turn angrier, drifting to younger dreams of the wedding day that I had long nurtured. I had imagined a grand, lavish ceremony surrounded by friends and family, filled with laughter and love. But the reality looming before me is a stark contrast—a small, intimate gathering with unfamiliar faces devoid of warmth or genuine affection.

The only people representing me today are Father and Gael. I have no bridesmaids, no flower girl.

This wedding is the only thing they control. Moving forward, under no circumstances shall I let these Zolotov strangers control my life.

I slip on my wedding dress and force on a smile. I may not have chosen this path, but I will walk it with my head held high and my spirit unbroken. I will not give them the satisfaction of believing they have power over me.

“Ready or not,” I murmur, my reflection echoing the fierce glint in my eyes, “Here I come.”

***

Father has already left for the wedding venue to see if they require any help before the ceremony begins.

Gael drives me, telling our security detail to follow behind in other vehicles. My hands tremble in my lap, and Gael notices.

“Genevieve, are you okay?” Gael asks, looking at me before turning his gaze back to the road.

I can’t shake the lingering suspicion that something sinister lies beneath the surface of this arrangement.

I force a smile, knowing that he’s been my rock through all of this. “Yeah, I’m just... thinking.”

“About what?” He approaches cautiously, sensing the tension in my posture.

“About our father,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And these strangers he’s marrying me off to.”

Gael’s brows furrow, his gaze sharpening with concern. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it strange how quickly this whole thing was arranged? And how little we know about these people?” I glance back at him, searching for understanding in his eyes. “What if they forced Father into this because of their ties to the mafia?”

“Gen, don’t let your imagination run wild,” Gael says, attempting to reassure me. “Dad’s a smart man; he wouldn’t put us in danger. It’s a business arrangement as happens in many old, wealthy families, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Maybe not willingly,” I counter, my thoughts racing. “But what if he had no choice? What if they threatened our family? It would explain why he’s been so insistent on this marriage.”

“Look,” Gael tells me. “We’ll keep an eye on things, alright? If anything seems off, we’ll deal with it together.”

“Promise?” I ask, locking eyes with him, trying to find solace in his unwavering determination.

“Promise.” He nods furiously, solidifying our unspoken pact.

We drive the remainder of the distance in silence.

***

Soon, we pull up at Ivan Zolotov’s compound. For a second, both Gael and I sit in the car and take it in.

“Wow, this house—” I begin.

“Mansion, you mean?” Gael whistles.

To get to the main lawns, we entered through thirty-foot-high wrought iron gates with the Zolotov symbol perched on top. We drove through winding pathways lined with blooming roses and perfectly trimmed hedges, leading up to a grand fountain at the center of the estate.

We thought that was impressive, but now we realize it was just the appetizer.

Standing behind is a double-storied house so large it could fit a thousand people in it. I count the windows, and there are over a hundred. The enormity of the mansion takes my breath away.

“What do you think your husband’s home will be like?” Gael asks.

“Hopefully, nothing like this,” I shake my head.

“Yeah, hopefully,” Gael says. Just then, we see my father come up to the car. He knocks and frowns at us as though asking what we’re doing sitting inside.

Gael steps out, and Papa helps me out.

“Genevieve,” Father kisses me on my cheek after he helps me out, his voice betraying a rare hint of emotion. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Father.” I nod, steeling myself for what lies ahead.

“Remember,” he adds, trying to instill a sense of duty in me, “This union can bring great things for our family.”

“Of course, Father.” My words are carefully measured.

“Let’s go, then,” he says, offering his arm solemnly. “The Zolotovs have set up a beautiful spot for the ceremony in the private gardens at the back of the house.”

I begin to walk, and Gael disappears ahead of us to take his seat for the ceremony. My heart races, my hands feel clammy, and I try to tell myself that it’s all just a game. Eventually, when the time is right, I will win, as long as I play my cards right. I’ll find a way out of this marriage and regain control over my life.

***

The grand makeshift doors to the wedding lawn open with a hushed creak, and I find myself standing at the precipice of my new life.

Swallowing hard, I discreetly peek at the guests gathered in the dimly lit room, their faces unfamiliar, albeit curious. My heart pounds like a wild animal running to save its life from a hunter at large.

“Chin up, Genevieve,” Father whispers, his grip on my arm tightening ever so slightly.

As we take our first steps down the aisle, my gaze sweeps across the room and lands at the altar. Suddenly, my eyes lock with those of a man standing at the altar, his confident posture and smug expression radiating an air of arrogance. He’s got shoulder-length black hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He’s tall. Probably the tallest in this room.

And then, to my horror, he winks at me. I look away, instantly terrified. What the hell am I getting into? Is this the way a gentleman should treat a wife he’s about to meet for the first time? Is this how he hopes to put me at ease?

Or does he not wish to put me at ease? I begin to feel afraid and nervous. What if he’s just a player, a cruel man with no regard for what I’d like?

The helplessness of my situation begins to dawn on me truly. It’s an arranged marriage, and for all I know, I could end up with a monster.

My knees begin to tremble, but Papa keeps tugging me forward.

I look down at my feet, willing them to keep moving, and when I look back up, the man who winked at me now stands behind another. Was he… the groomsman?

In his place is a tall man wearing glasses, with perfectly slick hair. He’s got a flower in his coat pocket. A hint of a tattoo creeps up his neck below the dress shirt he has on. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wink. He just stands there patiently, coldly, waiting for me to reach his side, without a single emotion on his face. There isn’t a flicker of doubt, an ounce of joy, an edge of nerves, a moment of regret. He stands there like it’s just another day on the job where he’s shown up for a meeting with no room for negotiation.

I believe I’ve just laid eyes on the actual groom, and looking at how imposing and controlled he seems, I wonder if the flirt would have been the better bet.