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

Chapter 7 - Damien

This afternoon, I stand in front of the property, taking in its grandeur. The building has an old-world charm with intricate moldings and wrought iron balconies. It’s the perfect location for a gentleman’s club—secluded from the city’s chaos yet easily accessible. I can practically see Lev’s clientele enjoying their evenings here, discussing deals and indulging in all the fine things life has to offer.

“Mr. Zolotov,” the real estate agent greets me as he walks out of the door, extending his hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Good afternoon,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly. “Let’s not waste time,” I motion at the doors.

From the moment we enter, I can envision its potential. The large rooms would provide ample space for hosting events, while the smaller ones could be turned into private lounges. There’s even an area that could be transformed into a cigar room.

“Alright,” I say after we’ve completed the tour. “This place will do. What’s the asking price?”

The agent hesitates before answering, “Well, Mr. Zolotov, I have some news. The going rate in the market was ten million. Due to Mr. Russo’s influence, the purchase price has been cut significantly for you, and the owner is willing to offer it for eight.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “What does Gerald Russo have to do with this?”

“Apparently, he made some arrangements with the owner,” the agent replies, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know all the details, but it seems he wants this deal to happen.”

I cross my arms, suspicion gnawing at me. Gerald’s involvement doesn’t sit well. He’s never been one to act without an ulterior motive. I need to understand what’s going on.

And how the hell did he even find out about this meeting?

I put on a straight face, and pretend this property isn’t the only option we have. “In that case, I’ll discuss the matter with Mr. Russo and reach out if we still need your services.”

The agent looks a little worried, but I turn on my heels and leave. Once out of the agent’s sight, I take one last look at the property. It’s perfect for our venture, but Gerald’s interference has me on edge. I need to find out what he’s up to before committing to anything. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s to never underestimate the cunning man.

***

After this newfound revelation, I storm into the back of my car, my frustration evident as I slam the door behind me. I make the call and don’t bother with the formalities: “What the hell are you playing at, Russo?” I demand.

“Damien, always a pleasure,” he jeers. “To what do I owe this delightful call from my son-in-law?”

“Cut the crap. Why did you interfere with the purchase of the club? What’s your game?” My hands clench into fists.

“Relax, Damien. Is this how you talk to your father-in-law? I’m just making sure things run smoothly for you and my daughter. Consider it a... wedding gift.” His smug tone infuriates me further.

“How did you find out about it?” I ask slowly.

“All of our family business is in my purview. You ought to know that,” he says.

“This has nothing to do with our family business. This venture I’m undertaking is to set it up for Lev and Lev alone. Neither I, nor your daughter, nor YOU will benefit from it.”

“Does it matter who it’s for? The business is to be run by a Zolotov, isn’t it? Whether it’s Boris or Lev or you, we’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

“There is no ‘we’ here, Gerald,” I tell him, my voice on edge.

“I married my daughter off to a Zolotov. Any Zolotov business is my business. Expanding together will only strengthen our alliance. It’s good for both of us.”

“You’re deeply mistaken,” I say through gritted teeth. “Lev will be the one calling the shots in this venture. You won’t have a say in it.”

“But I think I will, especially when I become an investor. I was thinking we could go in as 50-50 partners. I don’t care how you split your stake, but my half remains with me.”

“You’re delusional,” I say, without skipping a beat. “There won’t be any need for an investor in this deal, Russo.”

“Not even for the two million price point off the property? You know, I could call the owner and bar him from even selling it to you in the first place.”

I clench my jaw, battling the urge to explode at Gerald’s blatant threat. He’s overstepping his boundaries, assuming he has control over everything. He’s acting like he’s one of us when he isn’t. But I won’t let him manipulate me or my family’s affairs.

“You’re crossing a line, Russo,” I warn, my voice cold and firm. “This is not a negotiation. This is Lev’s project, and your interference is unwelcome.”

I end the call before he can even reply.

The tension follows me as I head to the meeting with Boris, Lev, and our cousins. I can’t seem to shake off Gerald Russo’s sudden interest in all our work. This past week, I’ve been getting more and more interference from his end, and today, his actions have brought my lingering doubts to validation.

It’s clear to me that Gerald Russo wants to become a part of us, that opportunistic bastard. But I won’t let him have that satisfaction.

***

I arrive at Boris’s office within half an hour. As I enter the room, I’m greeted by the familiar faces of some of our family’s inner circle. Ivan, Sergei, Mikhail, and Lev are all seated around the table, their expressions serious and focused. The atmosphere in the conference room is charged with urgency as we’re all set to discuss the rising shipping costs that threaten the bottom line of our operations. I see secretaries crunching numbers, assistants setting up the PowerPoint slides, and chairs being placed in the back for observers and associates.

“Where’s Boris?” I ask after greeting them all.

“He’s outside.”

“We better tell him to come so we can start,” I sigh, rubbing my temple between my hands. My head hurts.

“He’s with your wife,” Sergei says, winking at me.

I turn to Sergei, expression unchanging as I try to ensure he doesn’t see me sweat. “Excuse me?”

“You heard right,” Sergei whistles and leans back in his chair.

I stare at the door, and within seconds, it swings open, and Boris and Genevieve walk in. Boris has her arm in his, and they’re both laughing heartily, her head thrown back. I have to physically stop myself from gaping at the image of my wife dressed in a sleek business suit that clings to her figure like a second skin. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, accentuating her high cheekbones and sharp, intelligent eyes. Time stands still as I take in how incredible she looks. Powerful, fierce, fucking sexy.

But why the hell is she here, looking like that?

“Genevieve,” my voice draws her eyes to me. “What are you doing here?”

“Damien,” she replies warmly, ignoring the curious stares from our cousins and Lev. “I thought it was time I attended one of these meetings since it’s the only chance I have of spending any time with you.”

“Whatever for?” I ask coldly and wonder what she’s playing at. As my wife, she should have discussed this with me prior to just showing up.

“Relax, Brother,” Boris says warmly. “Genevieve wanted to drop by and give you a surprise. When I said you have a meeting, I heard a little complaint about how she hardly gets to see you. She’s bored out of her mind and decided to come on by and see what you spend your time on. So, I stepped in, made a decision, and we reached a conclusion. She’s going to sit in the meeting until we’re done, learn a little more about our work and then the two of you have the rest of the day off.”

Genevieve nods enthusiastically, a big smile on her face. When Boris is done speaking, she gets on her toes and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek before showing herself to one of the seats at the end of the room. She sits where I can directly see her.

“Now,” claps Boris. “Shall we begin?”

A million protests go through my head. Genevieve has no business being here. However, looking around at the nonchalant expressions on my brothers’ and cousins’ faces, I know that the wisest thing to do would be to accept this unexpected turn of events and get on with the meeting.

I’ll get to the bottom of this situation with Genevieve later.

“Alright, then,” I say hesitantly. Our eyes lock for a moment, and the air between us crackles with an unspoken tension. As she settles into her chair and pulls out her notebook, I notice the way her fingers drum impatiently on the armrests, betraying her calm facade.

The fact that she’s got a notebook doesn’t go unnoticed by me.

“Let’s get down to business,” I say, eager to move past Genevieve’s presence. “We need to discuss the rising shipping costs for our arms trade.”

Ivan leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s getting out of hand,” he admits with a scowl. “Our profits are taking a hit, and we need to find a solution.”

“Agreed,” I chime in, my mind racing with possible strategies. “We need to explore new routes and negotiate better deals with our suppliers to minimize the impact on our bottom line.”

As we dive into a heated discussion about which routes to build and which prices to negotiate with our logistic operators, I find my mind and sight drifting back to my wife. Throughout the meeting, I end up stealing glances at Genevieve, studying her every reaction. When Ivan mentions the rising shipping costs, her eyebrows furrow, and she puts something down in a small notebook. During Lev’s playful banter, her lips twitch upward in a subtle, almost amused smile.

And when I propose negotiating better terms with our partners, her eyes flash with disapproval, though she remains silent. It’s as if there’s a hidden depth to her, a side I’ve never seen before—one that understands the stakes and complexities of our business.

As the gathering comes to a close, my mind races with questions. What has prompted Genevieve’s sudden interest in our dealings, and how much does she really know? And why, despite my best efforts to keep her at a distance, am I secretly thrilled to see her?

***

The meeting winds down, and we all prepare to disperse. After exchanging some papers with Boris, I walk over to where Genevieve still sits.

“Shall we?” I say, offering her my arm.

We walk out of the office in silence. Once outside, I call for my car. She asks where we plan to go now.

“Home,” I say, simply.

“Home?” she inquires, looking mildly irritated.

“Is that a problem?” I say. The car comes up to the curb. I open the back door for her and help her in. I close the door, walk to the other end, and get in.

“No,” she sighs. After some time, she tells me it’s getting lonely.

“Why don’t you invite some friends over sometime?” I suggest.

“Friends?” she asks in disbelief.

I nod calmly. There’s not more I can offer her, yet I don’t like the idea of spending all that time alone. The only alternative I can think of is her friends and brother.

On the drive home, we don’t speak. When we get back, I close the door to our house. She puts down her purse on the foyer table and turns to me, looking expectantly.

“Genevieve,” I begin. “What the hell were you doing in my office?”

“I told you, I was sick of being cooped up here.”

“But… my office?”

Genevieve, her posture stiff and defiant, crosses her arms over her chest. “I wanted to see for myself what goes on in these meetings,” she replies, her tone just as firm.

“Since when do you have an interest in the family business?” My gaze narrows as I scrutinize her, trying to discern her true intentions.

Genevieve hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty before meeting mine again. “I’ve always been curious, Damien. I’ve got certain interests in using my brains, and wasting time at home makes me feel dull.”

“Really?” I ask skeptically. Usually, in our world, the women stay away from the business. “Well then, what did you take away from today’s meeting?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at her feet. I cross my arms and look at her, expecting a response.

“Just leave it, Damien,” she says, sounding disappointed in me.

I demand an answer, a defiance in my eyes. “I won’t just leave it, Genevieve. You said to me you’ve been curious. I want to know how you put your curiosity to use today. Is that so wrong of me?”

She remains silent for a moment, and then stares me in the eye, a tinge of sadness in them.

“It’s clear from the way you asked what I took away from the meeting today that you don’t actually want to know,” she says gruffly. “You’re challenging me, and honestly, I’m not keen to put up a fight for nothing.”

She turns around and is about to walk away when guilt hits me like a ton of bricks. I know she’s not wrong. My tone, my way of inquiring, was all over the place, but I just couldn’t control it. This isn’t me, I’m always a thinker before a talker, but there’s something about Genevieve that makes me lose myself …

I stride quickly to cover the space between us and reach out for her arm. Slowly, she turns, her eyelashes fluttering against her eyelids. For a millisecond, I’m stunned into oblivion as I lose myself in the green of her eyes.

“Damien?” she whispers.

“Please, Genevieve,” I clear my thoughts and step back. “I mean it. I want to know what you thought.”

“Really?” her voice goes an octave higher.

“Truly.”

She takes a deep breath, clearly gathering her courage. “I don’t agree with the proposal to renegotiate terms with current suppliers,” she says, her voice steady despite her earlier hesitation. “It’s too risky and could bring unwanted attention to our current problems.”

“Why is that?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise at her insight.

Genevieve bites her lip, considering her words carefully before continuing. “Your logistic partners are probably in touch with their competition and, knowing you’re in a desperate situation, could take advantage of you and threaten to make things even more expensive. Instead, for the rising shipping costs... I think we should look into alternative methods of transportation. Find new vendors you don’t work with. It’ll scare the current ones into coming to you with better terms out of fear they’ll lose you. It may be more efficient and cost-effective in the long run. Alternatively, you can create central warehouses. Instead of shipping globally from each factory, collect all the items in central warehouses and only ship out full containers. Full containers will bring your costs down with scale.”

I stare at her, shocked by the depth of her understanding and yet equally disturbed by this revelation. How is it possible that she’s managed to keep this side of her hidden until now? And why am I so captivated by her sudden display of intelligence?

“Damien?” she inquires, her voice low.

“Genevieve,” I run my hand through my hair. “You’re not wrong. Everything you said makes complete sense. I don’t know why nobody thought of it before. I think I’ll take it to the rest in our next meeting.”

“Really?” she asks, looking excited.

“Absolutely,” I nod. “Brilliant.”

“Well,” she bites her lower lip. “In that case, can I come to the next meeting?”

I watch her closely, contemplating her request. She stands there, looking at me with those mesmerizing green eyes, a hint of anticipation lacing her features. But at the same time, today was a one-off thing. I cannot allow this to continue.

It’s difficult to forget that she is Gerald Russo’s daughter, and his recent interference in our matters has put me on guard.

“But Damien,” Genevieve collects herself. “I know how to operate a business. Look, I’ll just get bored here by myself. Please, let me come and help out where I can.”

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and gently hold her arm, forcing her to look into my eyes. I can’t tell her I don’t trust her because of her proximity to her father, but I need to give her an excuse that can lessen the blow.

“It’s not because I don’t value your input,” I explain, my voice softer now. “It’s because it’s dangerous for you to be involved in these matters. The less you know, the safer you are.”

Genevieve’s eyes flicker with a blend of emotions—understanding, defiance, and a hint of vulnerability that tugs at something deep within me.

“Damien, I can handle it,” she insists, looking directly into my eyes. “I’m not as fragile as you think. I want to help, to be a part of something more than just... this,” she motions at the large apartment next to her.

“Genevieve,” I say again, sounding annoyed now. “I told you that I want you to stay out of it. So just stay out of it, okay? You’re not allowed to come to the office and as of this moment, the conversation is now over.”