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

Chapter 12 - Genevieve

Blood stains my once pristine white blouse as I hold Damien back and peek out from the narrow hallway. Right outside, people are scrambling around with cops at their heels.

When I woke up this morning, I had not imagined that this was how my day would end. Yet, here I am, trying to get my husband and myself out of an illegal fighting ring that’s just been busted.

I have so many questions and so many concerns. I’m angry that Damien’s put himself in such danger, especially now that he has responsibilities toward a wife. But all that can wait. In this very moment, he’s in no position to lead us out of here, and I’m all he’s got.

Despite my anger, I won’t jeopardize his safety. Worry gnaws at me when I pull my head back and look at him. His entire torso is marred in blood, and his face is badly bruised. His left eye is swollen shut, turning a deep, ugly purple. I gently trace the outline of his eye without thinking. He winces and pulls his head back. I feel sad in my chest as a thought crosses my mind: I barely recognize my handsome husband.

“Listen,” I whisper. “There’s cops outside, making some arrests to our right. Their backs are on us right now. You put your arm over my shoulder, and we’re going to go to the right and hide out in another similar hallway, which looks empty from what I can see. When we get to the next clearing, we will go out from the emergency escape close to that hallway. You hear? If someone calls out to us, just run.” The adrenaline fills my senses, every word a direct order.

“Lead the way, Milaya,” Damien grunts through gritted teeth. I feel his trust in me despite our tumultuous relationship. It’s unexpected and inspires me even further to get him out of here safely.

I pull him along, making sure not to jostle his wounds. The scent of sweat and blood is overwhelming, but I push it aside. I scan the room for any police coming at us from the front, knowing that there’s backup outside. My heart races as I catch sight of their uniforms in the distance from a window, closing in.

“Damien, we need to move faster,” I say, more urgently now.

“Doing my best, Gen,” he grumbles, his breaths coming out in short pants.

We finally make it to the dark hallway and push him into it before I follow. Just as I inch myself against the wall, I see the doors to the emergency exit break open, the cops rushing in.

We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, pressing ourselves back against the shadows of the hall with bated breath, waiting for the cops to pass. They do, and Damien begins to breathe louder. “That was a close call,” he whispers.

“Shh,” I say, putting my fingers to my lips. More cops in here isn’t a good thing, but, on the plus side, they left the emergency door open, making it easier for us to leave quietly without the risk of a creaking door.

I peek out from the corner of the hallway and see that some of the cops have gone into the stadium. I overhear one telling another group to go check the offices and put the arrested men there until everyone’s been found. I duck my head out again and find the coast is clear.

I guide Damien out through the emergency exit. We go out of the side door, slipping into the darkness of an abandoned alleyway outside. “There,” I whisper, gesturing toward the far end of the dark alley. “That’s where we need to go.”

Damien nods; his current state of exhaustion and pain evident in the way he limps. I take his arm and assist him as we navigate our way through the shadows, careful not to attract any more attention from the still-active law enforcement officers nearby.

We reach the end of the alleyway, and I notice a door. I open it gently, very quietly, and find myself looking into an abandoned store that’s been stripped to the walls. “We stay here,” I whisper, helping Damien in.

I close the door slightly behind me, and the tension in my muscles eases just a bit. But I know we’re not safe yet. I help Damien lean against the cold brick wall, and he sits on the floor, his body trembling with pain.

“I’m going to get us help,” I say in a hushed tone.

“What are you going to do?” he whispers.

“I’ll call Lev first. If he’s got a car and is still around, he could come back for us.”

Damien nods in approval but winces at that slight movement. I begin to worry. A simple nod shouldn’t hurt this bad.

The phone rings. Lev picks up. “Lev,” I say, still in a hushed tone, in case someone outside hears me. “Can you come get us from the alley to the east of the emergency exit?”

“Can’t,” he yells back. “We’re being chased by the cops. Need to throw them off.”

I hear the sirens in the background. “Stay safe,” I whisper, my hands trembling for Anoushka and his safety. I end the call, update Damien, and think hard.

We can’t call Boris or Ivan. That would defeat the entire purpose of why we followed Lev. The goal isn’t to get Damien in trouble. It’s to get Damien the help he needs.

Now, there’s only one person I trust enough to not face consequences from. My brother, Gael.

“Let me call Gael. We need help, and fast,” I say, dialing again.

“But—,” Damien protests, his voice strained.

“Gael is my Lev,” I explain. The doubt fades away from Damien’s eyes, and he mutters, “Do it.”

I dial Gael’s number, praying he’ll answer. “Gael, it’s Gen. I need your help right away. Damien’s hurt, and the cops are after us.”

“What? Where are you?” Gael asks, concern lacing his voice.

“An alley to the East of the emergency exit near this underground fighting ring. I’m sending you the exact pin on your phone. Please, follow the directions and hurry. We don’t have much time.”

“Stay put. I’m on my way,” he says before hanging up. I feel grateful. I know Gael has tons of questions, but he won’t ask them until we’re safe. Right now, that small act of kindness is the difference between life and death.

I glance at Damien, his face pale and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Fear settles in my chest as I realize just how badly injured he is. But I won’t let it show—not now when he needs me to be strong.

“Help is coming,” I assure him softly, brushing a stray lock of hair off his damp forehead. “Just hang on, okay?”

“Never thought I’d owe you one, Genevieve,” he murmurs, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Let’s just get you out of this mess first,” I reply, my heart swelling with newfound protectiveness for this man whom I married with the intention of never caring for.

***

“I’ll be there in two. Come out,” Gael calls me.

I help Damien up. He feels warm to my touch, like he’s burning up. I hold my breakdown at bay. I only need to stay strong for a few more minutes, then I’ll have my brother’s support.

We step out of the abandoned store and stay at the back of the alley. A car enters, its lights bright in our eyes. I shield Damien’s eyes from the light, not wanting his head to hurt.

Finally, Gael’s car stops right in front of us. He jumps out, his eyes wide with worry as they land on Damien.

“Get him in the car,” I order, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that I’m panicking. Together, we manage to hoist Damien into the backseat, where he collapses onto the leather upholstery. Gael gets in the front, and I sit in the back with Damien. I gingerly lift his head and place it on my lap.

“Where are we going?” Gael asks, glancing at me through the mirror as he starts the engine.

“Take us to one of my unmanned Zolotov hideouts,” Damien instructs through broken breaths. “We can’t go home. Some of my guards might be loyal to Boris.”

“Why can’t Boris know?” Gael frowns.

“Just do as he says,” I tell Gael through gritted teeth. I’m afraid the more Damien speaks, the more energy he’ll lose.

Damien brings a trembling hand to the air, his knuckles bloodied. “M… my phone. Open the notes. There’s a list of addresses under ‘hideout’.”

I nod, sending the first one I find to Gael. I then turn to Damien and lean down closer to his ear. Without thinking, I kiss his forehead, just the softest graze of my lips against his skin, and whisper: “You’re safe now.”

He tries to smile, but all I see is pain.

“Don’t move,” I mutter, placing my hand softly on his shoulder. “Just rest.”

When I look up, I observe Gael’s eyes darting from the street to us. “Genevieve, perhaps we can go to ours. Dad will want to know what’s going on,” Gael says, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he says the words.

“Gael, don’t tell him,” I reply firmly, meeting Gael’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “This is our mess, and we’ll handle it. Right now, we need to focus on getting Damien better and I don’t want more stress in this situation. I don’t want Dad’s wrath. Damien is now MY husband, and I call the shots. Is that clear?”

Gael seems hesitant, but he nods in agreement, knowing that I’m right. We drive in silence, the tension hanging heavy in the air. I keep glancing at Damien, his labored breathing a constant reminder of the urgency of our situation.

As we approach the hideout, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. It may not be home, but for now, it’s our haven.

“Help me get him inside,” I say to Gael. Together, we carefully support Damien’s weight as we lead him into the small cottage and lay him on a decrepit-looking couch. Once done, I turn to face my brother.

“Thank you, Gael,” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Anything for family,” he replies, giving me a reassuring smile. “Want me to stay?”

“No,” I oppose his suggestion vehemently. “I’ll take it from here. I don’t want Father wondering where you are. And Gael?”

He looks up at me, afraid.

“Please keep it to yourself. Please. I can’t bear to make Papa upset.”

He sighs, conflicted within, but eventually nods. He understands where I’m coming from.

“Let me at least get you a first aid kit,” he offers, motioning toward Damien. He brings the box from his car, leaves it on the table next to where Damien lies, half unconscious, and leaves. “Call me if you need something,” he whispers from the doorway before shutting it closed behind him.

It’s just Damien and me now, and it’s up to me to keep him safe. I only pray I don’t mess this up.

***

The dim light from a single hanging bulb casts shadows across the dingy room, making it feel eerily cold and unwelcoming. My heart thuds in my chest as I open the first aid kit. Damien’s shallow breaths are a constant reminder of the precarious situation we’re in.

I bring out some cotton and antiseptic and begin to clean his wounds. His eyes flicker open on the first touch, meeting mine with a mix of pain, gratitude, and vulnerability that I’ve never seen before.

“Let me help you,” I say softly, determined to put him at ease. He nods and closes his eyes again.

For hours, I work meticulously, cleaning his wounds and dressing them with bandages. My fingers tremble with fatigue, but I refuse to give in. As I tend to him, I can’t help but notice the intricate tattoos that adorn his body.

I wonder why he likes this—putting himself in pain. The tattoos are large, all over his back, his shoulders, and up his arms. They must have hurt. And the boxing? It could have killed him. Tears spring to my eyes as I think of what haunts this man so much that pain becomes a reasonable outlet.

I wipe away my tears and keep at my work. I would have loved to have given him a painkiller, but he’s so dazed and out of it that I know it’s better to let him just rest. It isn’t until I finish securing the last bandage that my exhaustion catches up to me like a barreling train.

I put aside the first aid box and go sit in a chair near Damien. I must stay awake to check he’s still breathing and make sure he doesn’t need anything. To keep myself awake, I check in on Lev. He tells me he’s alright, but he and Anoushka are hiding out in another hideout because the cops might still be looking for them. Once it’s safe, they’ll head home. He asks if I need help.

I think better than to tell him what’s happening because I know Lev and Anoushka might put themselves in danger to get to us. “He’s a little banged up, but I gave him some first aid.”

“That’s good, Sis,” Lev says. “If you need me, just holler.”

“I think we’ll be okay,” I mutter. I put aside the phone. My eyelids grow heavy, and despite my best efforts, I drift off into a fitful sleep, still seated next to Damien.

When I awake, disoriented, the room is shrouded in gentle darkness. A sliver of moonlight sneaks in through a crack in the curtains, illuminating Damien’s face as he painstakingly attempts to change his bandages one-handed.

“Damien?” I say, sitting up.

“I bled through,” he grunts. I look at the discarded bandages on the floor, stained with blood and pus.

“Oh God. Let me help,” I whisper, rising groggily from the chair. He hesitates for a moment, then nods, allowing me to take over the task.

As I gently unwrap the old bandages, replacing them with fresh ones, our fingers brush against each other, sending an electric jolt through my veins.

“Thank you,” Damien murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”

I glance up at him, our eyes locking in a moment of unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to thank me,” I reply, my heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth. “That’s what family is for.”

“Family,” he repeats, tasting the word as if it’s foreign on his lips. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and for the first time since we’ve met, I catch a glimpse of a man as human as one can get; gentle, soft, seeking affection and love.

Our eyes lock into place, and I get lost in them. I can feel every change in the air, the prickles tickling my arms and neck. I soft, sweet shiver goes down my spine, and he leans forward, ever so slightly. He winces a little, but I know what he wants. Without a second thought, I lean forward, bringing my lips to his. His lips are rough and unyielding, but beneath the surface, I can feel the tenderness, the vulnerability he’s been fighting to hide. I can taste the bitter tang of his pain, but there’s also a sweetness that I’ve never tasted before. I can feel him morphing into someone else right in front of me. A man in need of my love, my comfort, my strength.

My hand finds its way to his neck, my fingers tangling in his dark, luscious hair. His breathing is ragged, and both of us are breathing heavily. By mistake, my elbow hits his waist, and he moans. Suddenly, I pull back, angry at myself for having hurt him.

“No,” he whispers, trying to pull me back.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. I don’t want this to stop either, but I look at all the blood, all the bandages, and think better of it. I shake my head wistfully, lean over to kiss his cheek, and whisper, “I think we better make sure you get all better first. We’ve got our whole lives ahead for everything else.”

I see a glisten of promise and hope in his eyes as he registers the words. He nods gently and sits back against the couch to let me finish what I started.

The silence between us is heavy with unspoken questions as I keep working, but the curiosity nips at my thoughts like a persistent itch.

“Damien,” I begin hesitantly, my voice wavering slightly. “What happened to you? How did you get so hurt?”

He looks away, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he grapples with whether or not to share his secret. Finally, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before meeting my gaze again. “These underground fights can get dangerous. My opponent cheated. He hid something under his gloves... it’s what caused most of the damage.”

I blink, startled by his confession. My mind races, trying to reconcile the image of the cool, calculating strategist with the man who willingly throws himself into such a dangerous hobby. “But why do you do it?” I need to know.

“It started back in Russia,” Damien explains. “It was a way to cope with losing my parents, then it became a way to handle the pressures of our family business, a way to blow off steam. When we moved to America, I just couldn’t leave it behind. It became a part of who I am.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” I ask, unable to mask my concern. “Knowing how dangerous it is, knowing what could happen to you?”

“Of course it does,” he admits, his eyes darkening with a mixture of vulnerability and defiance. “But it’s also exhilarating. It makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. And besides,” he adds with a wry smile, “it’s not as if our lives are without danger, even outside the ring.”

I can’t argue with that logic—after all, we both know firsthand the risks that come with being a part of the mafia. But still, I can’t shake my unease. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around his as if I could somehow anchor him to safety.

Damien’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the weight of his world seems to lift from his shoulders. “I promise,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand. “I won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Good,” I reply, relief washing over me like a soothing balm.

I finish up and return with a glass of water for him. I hand it to him. “Drink,” I order.

“Genevieve,” he says suddenly after finishing the water. “I have a business meeting tomorrow with some important associates. It’s crucial to our operations.”

“Okay,” I reply cautiously, unsure where he’s going with this.

“Given my... condition,” he continues, gesturing at his bandaged torso, “I could use your assistance. Your keen mind might be invaluable.”

“Are you asking me to come with you?” I ask, surprised by the invitation.

“Yes,” he admits, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I admit I was wrong when I thought you couldn’t handle our world, but today, you showed me you’re far more capable than either of us know. I think it would be valuable for you to see firsthand how we operate, and I trust your judgment. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “We’re married now. It’s only natural we support each other in all aspects of our lives.”

His words send a warm sensation through my chest, and I find myself eager to accept his offer. “I’d be honored to accompany you, Damien.”