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

Chapter 8 - Genevieve

I stand in the foyer of our apartment, my fists clenched at my sides as I glare up at Damien. “As of this moment, the conversation is now over?” I bellow at him, repeating his words. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”

He shuffles his feet but stands his ground. “Yes, I did.”

“How dare you just ban me from the office like that?” I spit out, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

“Genevieve, it’s for your own safety,” he counters, his jaw set in that stubborn way of his. “You know how dangerous this world can be.”

“Yeah, but I think you forget I come from a world quite similar to this! Besides, what makes it okay then for you to continue working in this dangerous world but not me?” My emotions churn inside me like a storm. He is supposed to be on my side, but instead, he undermines my efforts to prove myself to my father. The tension between us is palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on the air. “Is it because I’m a woman?” I finish at last, unable to hold back my bitterness.

He sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head. “It has nothing to do with you being a woman. And everything to do with what I know and you don’t. You don’t understand how dark, how evil it can get, and it’s MY job to protect you. You want to work? You want to stay busy? Fine. I’ll help you set up a business of your own, but you will not involve yourself in this mess.” By the time he finishes his sentence, he’s shouting at me.

Even I’m forgetting how to argue with him. He doesn’t have a problem with me working; he takes offense at me involving myself in mafia business. But he can’t know that that’s the exact arena I need to be in, to learn what I can and pass on that information to my father. If he shuts me out, then I fail Papa.

I feel a surge of panic running through my veins. No, I think to myself. This isn’t an argument I can carry on right now. He’s too angry, too stubborn. I’ll need to find another way in, and another way I will.

Now, we are both staring down each other, waves of anger encompassing us in one bubble. His ice-blue eyes surrender in mine, and I can almost count every streak of brown in them.

The air crackles with tension as Damien and I stand fixed in close proximity, our chests heaving with the intensity of our emotions. The space between us feels electric, charged with a mix of anger, frustration, and something deeper—a raw desire that has been smoldering beneath the surface since our forced union.

“Is this what you want, Genevieve?” Damien’s voice is low and dangerous as he speaks at last, his green eyes boring into mine. “To prove yourself so badly that you’re willing to risk everything, including your safety and life?”

“Maybe I am,” I reply defiantly, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. “Or maybe I just want to be seen as more than a possession—a fragile object to be protected.”

“Damn it, Gen,” he growls, taking a step closer, bridging the gap between us. “You know that’s not how I see you.”

“Then show me otherwise,” I challenge, refusing to back down.

In an instant, Damien’s hands grip my waist, pulling me roughly against him. His lips crash onto mine in a searing, possessive kiss that leaves me breathless. I should push him away, tell him he can’t shut me up.

But just then, he places one hand on the nape of my neck, and I melt into his arms. Who the hell am I kidding? I’d be lying to myself if I say I don’t want this.

I want this. I want him. I’ve wanted him since that kiss on the altar, and from the way he’s groaning in my mouth, I can tell he wants me, too.

It’s as if all the passion and fire that has been building between us since we got married erupts in this single, explosive moment.

I wrap my arms around his neck, surrendering to the sensation of his mouth on mine, the taste of his desire, the heat of his body pressed against me. There’s an urgency, a desperation in the way we cling to each other that goes beyond words and logic.

“Genevieve,” Damien murmurs against my lips, his breathing labored.

“Bedroom. Now,” I whisper, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I can’t fight this. I want to feel his fingers on my bare skin, which is now burning like an addict waiting for a fix.

With that, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms and carries me to the bedroom, laying me down gently on the soft sheets.

I watch as Damien’s hands slowly travel to my clothing, his movements confident and sure. His eyes are dark with desire, his gaze unwavering as he begins to unbutton my shirt and slide it off my shoulders. He devours every inch of my skin as he exposes it. His fingers touch my now bare skin, reaching toward the straps of my bra.

He puts his lips on my neck, and I feel so vividly alive. The tickle from his stubble, the warmth from his breath, and the cold from the air all mix together to send shivers down my spine. He pulls down the straps of my bra and slowly kisses the cleavage popping through.

I, on the other hand, do something I’ve never done before. I reach down and caress his contained cock through his trousers, now fighting to be free.

He helps unbuckle his trousers and kicks them off, his boxers following. This whole time, he watches me sit there.

Then, he places his hand on my stomach and slowly crawls down to the band of my trousers. He unbuttons them and slides them off me, using the force from one hand to lay me down against the bed.

My breath catches in my throat as he stares at me lying in his bed, almost naked. I feel a sudden wave of vulnerability wash over me. My body trembles with both anticipation and fear, anxious about the unknown. He doesn’t know it, but he’s the first man to ever see me naked.

His fingertips trace patterns along my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern etched on his features as he notices my discomfort. I nod silently, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He nods and kisses a trail down my breasts, now unbuttoning my bra and throwing it on the floor. He gingerly takes my breasts in the cup of his hands and slowly sucks one nipple, then moves to another. I weave my hands through my hair and arch my neck back, savoring this sweet, sensational bliss.

I feel high. I feel scared. I feel nervous. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Our lips collide once more, tongues dancing and tasting each other, a fire igniting deep within me, an insatiable ache I’ve never known before. I grip his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath my fingertips, and pull him closer. His hands, rough yet gentle, caress my breasts, and I moan softly, unable to control the sensations coursing through my body.

Slowly, with his tongue still on my mouth, he inches his fingers down to my thighs. Gingerly, he parts them. I feel his fingers brush against the delicate skin of my inner thigh, a shiver coursing through me at his touch. It’s a foreign sensation, but it’s exciting and intoxicating. I’m acutely aware of every single touch, every small movement of his body as it brushes against mine.

His fingers start to trace the edge of my panties, and I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. This is it. This is the moment of truth that I’ve been both dreading and anticipating all night. In slow motion, he peels off my panties and then stops kissing me.

I close my eyes, too nervous to watch, as he places the head of his cock between my legs, teasing me with it. I brace myself, wondering how it will feel. Will it hurt? Will it be excruciatingly blissful?

I feel his skin against my most intimate parts, and a whirlwind of emotions engulfs me. This is where I’ve never been touched by anyone, even myself. This is the final frontier. And here he is, ready to explore it.

My breathing quickens, and my heart pounds like a drum in my chest. This is intense and unnerving. My legs quiver, wanting more and wanting it now. I feel hot, like fresh out of an oven and everything within me is melting, dripping.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, looking down at me with a smile on his face. He takes a finger and glides it through the outer length of my pussy.

I blush and nod.

Then, he steps away from me and stands on the edge of the bed. He grabs my thighs and pulls my body closer to where he now stands, rather violently. It shows me how bad he wants me, and the unexpected fervor with which he grabbed my thighs and tugged me to him sends a thrill down my spine. I liked it, how he just dominated me there for a second.

He parts my legs again and positions himself between them. I see him hold his cock in his hands, so big, so strong, so powerful, and I feel a prickle of fear.

I pray this won’t hurt. I know I should tell him I’m a virgin, but I’m scared of spoiling the mood, and so I say nothing.

With one soft thrust, he places himself right on the edge of my pussy, barely half an inch in. I shudder involuntarily and clutch the sheets below me, preparing for what’s to come.

“You okay?” he asks, frowning.

“Mm-hmm,” I say. “Continue, please,” I beg.

Slowly, he begins to further insert himself inside me. My breath falters as he fills me more and more with each passing second. My eyes widen in anticipation and from the pain that’s slowly starting to burn, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“God, you’re tight,” he murmurs, inching further in.

I can hardly believe what’s happening! I’m about to have sex for the first time, and the thrill takes over all other senses. As he pushes himself further, I feel a sudden sharp pain, and the boundary between pleasure and pain becomes blurred.

I cry out, and he freezes, his eyes searching mine for any sign of discomfort. It becomes apparent that the pain I’m experiencing isn’t merely due to nerves. Damien’s eyes widen with realization as he connects the dots—I’m a virgin.

Then, I see it. Regret. It only lasts for a moment, but it’s enough to shatter the moment and break the spell we’ve been under.

“Genevieve,” he breathes, his voice filled with surprise. “I had no idea.”

“I should’ve told you,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “I’m a virgin.”

Damien’s face softens, a look of understanding washing over his expression. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then, he pulls out gently.

“What?” I gasp, sitting up on my elbows, my legs still parted. “No, Damien, please. Continue.”

Damien searches my face for any sign of distress or regret. His hand moves to stroke my cheek, his touch gentle and full of concern.

“Genevieve, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly. The thought of stopping now, after everything we’ve shared tonight, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“No, please,” I whisper, my voice shaky but determined. “I want this, Damien. I want you.”

He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn between his desire for me and his fear of causing me pain. But ultimately, with a quiet, pained expression, he retreats from me.

“Another time, when you’re ready,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead before rising from the bed and leaving the room, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in my ears.

As I lie there, cold and exposed, I can’t help but feel humiliated. Was I not enough for him? Does my inexperience make me undesirable? My self-esteem plummets, and I know I need someone to talk to—someone who will understand. With trembling fingers, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and dial Gael’s number.

“Hey, Sis,” his voice answers cheerfully, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside me. “What’s up?”

“Hi, Gael,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just... I needed to hear your voice.”

“Aw, Gene, what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone immediately shifting to one of concern.

“Nothing,” I lie, swallowing hard. “Just... had a rough night.”

“Want me to come over and bring ice cream?” he offers lightheartedly, attempting to lift my spirits. “We can binge-watch something terrible and laugh at it.”

“Thanks, Gael,” I chuckle weakly, grateful for his efforts. “But I think I just need to talk.”

“Alright, spill the beans,” he encourages, his voice gentle and understanding.

As we chat, I don’t reveal the full details of what happened with Damien, but talking to Gael helps me feel a little less alone in my vulnerability. His jokes and lighthearted banter provide a welcome reprieve from the crushing weight of my insecurity.

“Remember, Genevieve,” Gael says softly before we hang up, “You’re strong and amazing but also a little bit of a pain in the ass. Try not to scare Damien too much, okay? He has my deepest sympathies.”

I burst out into laughter. “You’re unbelievable, Gael.”

“Have you ever met yourself?” he jokes back.

Our lighthearted banter puts my heart at ease, and after a few more jibes at each other, we call it a night.

“Thank you, Gael. I love you,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Love you too, Sis. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I reply, disconnecting the call. As I stare at the ceiling, feeling better now, I still can’t help but wonder what’s going on through Damien’s head at this moment.

***

Over the next few nights, I notice a disconcerting pattern—Damien disappearing without warning or explanation. Each time he vanishes, I’m left pacing our apartment and grappling with my own confusion and concern. Despite our rocky start to this arranged marriage, I can’t deny that his sudden absences leave me feeling inexplicably empty.

Days go by, and I’m left feeling more and more isolated. I want to talk to Damien and clear the air. I don’t want to be alone.

Once again, he’s gone before I wake up and returns after I sleep. I checked at his office once or twice, and they said he wasn’t in.

“Where could he be going?” I mutter to myself, staring at the closed front door as if it might reveal the secret behind Damien’s whereabouts.

It’s been five days since our last argument and our awkward encounter in the bedroom; we’ve barely spoken since. The unease between us lingers, but my growing frustration and need for answers are pushing me to act.

“Maybe... maybe Lev knows something,” I whisper hesitantly, contemplating reaching out to Damien’s younger brother. After all, they’re family—surely, he’d have some insight into what’s happening.

I pull out my phone and take a deep breath before dialing Lev’s number. It rings several times before someone picks up.

“Hello?” a female voice answers, catching me off guard.

“Uh, hi. I was looking for Lev,” I stammer, trying to hide my surprise.

“Lev’s not here right now—can I help you with anything?” she offers cheerfully, her curiosity palpable. I realize then that I’m speaking with Anoushka from the cheer and tilt in her voice.

“Anoushka... hi.” I pause, uncertain how much I should share with Damien’s sister. “I was just wondering... If Lev’s around.”

“Lev’s a wretched fool. He’s gone off for the night with some friends and left his phone at home. What’s up?”

“Umm. I… I’m not sure.”

“I can call his friends and try to get him to call you,” she offers.

I sigh. “That sounds like far too much trouble.”

“Come on, Genevieve,” she insists sweetly. “Let it out. I’m sure I can help.”

We stay on the phone in silence for a few seconds. I swallow hard, holding back tears. I don’t want to worry Anoushka, but if I get Lev’s friends involved and Lev starts a search or something for it to be nothing, Damien might get mad.

It might just be better to just let it out with Anoushka.

“I wanted to know… well,” I try to find the right words. “Have you noticed anything strange about Damien lately? He’s been... disappearing.”

“Disappearing?” Anoushka echoes, concern creeping into her tone. “That’s not like him at all. Are you two alright?”

“Things have been... complicated,” I admit reluctantly. “But I’m really worried about him. He’s been gone for hours at a time, and he won’t tell me where he’s been. He’s been gone every night this week, and I called his office once or twice, but they said he hasn’t been in since the evening.”

“Really?” Anoushka says after a brief silence. I hear her tone take a more serious tone. “Genevieve,” she continues gently, “Damien can be a bit mysterious and secretive at times, but it’s not usual for him to disappear for so long. I don’t know what’s going on with Damien, but I promise you, we’ll figure it out together. We’re family now, and we look out for each other.”

Her words provide a small measure of comfort, and I find myself grateful for her support.

“Thank you, Anoushka,” I respond softly. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

“Of course, Genevieve. Just hang on. I’ll try to get in touch with Lev and see what we can do. If you like, feel free to come over, and we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you,” I gush again, suddenly feeling relieved. “I’ll be there soon.”

I end the call and realize that this is what it feels like to have a supportive family. With Anoushka’s support, I feel much less alone.