Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Maxim
This is really happening.
I’m marrying Calina Morozova. I’m allying myself with the most powerful Bratva family in New York.
My reign is about to become ironclad. No more whispers. No more doubts about whether the orphan deserves the Orlov throne. If I had my way, I would drag her to the altar tonight.
After her brother left, I sit at the head of the table and watch her across from me. She keeps pushing the food around her plate, barely eating a bite. The silence between us is thick.
She still refuses to wear any of the clothes I had brought for her.
Instead, she’s stubbornly sitting there in the same dress from last night, the thin material clinging to her curves like a second skin. The straps hang delicately over her shoulders, exposing soft skin, the hem riding higher every time she shifts in her chair.
She looks distractingly beautiful.
I bought those clothes on purpose. I knew it would irritate her. Because something about provoking that fire in her has become… entertaining.
“Is the food not to your liking?” I ask.
She ignores me completely, eyes fixed on her plate.
“Calina.”
Her head snaps up, fire flashing her eyes. “What?”
“When I call your name or ask you a question, you respond.”
She drops her utensils onto the plate with a loud clang. “Why are you doing this?”
I lean back slightly. “Doing what?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “Why are you forcing me into this marriage?”
I almost smile. “I’m not forcing you. That’s the part you keep forgetting. You offered yourself.”
“I offered because it was either me or my sister,” she snaps. “I wasn’t going to let you take Milana. She doesn’t deserve this. I’m sure there are several women out there who would gladly become your wife.”
“Have you forgotten you said last night that I’m so despicable and miserable no woman would ever want to marry me,” I remind her calmly.
She rolls her eyes. “Marriage is for a lifetime.”
“I'm aware of that.”
“There is no divorce in our world. Once we’re married, that’s it. We’re stuck together until one of us dies.”
“Another obvious fact,” I reply. “What’s your point?”
She leans forward, voice trembling with frustration. “So why would you want to saddle yourself with a woman who doesn’t love you? Why tie yourself to someone who can barely stand the sight of you for the rest of your life?”
Her words hit harder than they should.
I watch her, cheeks flushed with anger, chest rising and falling, that fire burning in her eyes, and something dark and possessive coils tight in my chest. She has no idea how badly I want her. How the thought of anyone else having her makes me want to destroy things.
I don’t believe in love. Never have. Love is weakness. But this? This pull between us, the way she challenges me, the way her body reacts when I get close, the way I can’t stop thinking about pinning her down and making her mine, that’s not nothing.
I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch until it’s almost unbearable.
“I have never cared for love in marriage,” I say quietly. “I don’t believe in it.”
Her eyes flash with disbelief and something almost like hurt.
“Well, I do,” she says, voice trembling with emotion.
“I’ve always dreamed of marrying a man I love.
A man who loves me back. Someone I can have children with, build a life with…
someone I’ll actually be happy to come home to every single day. ”
She keeps talking, painting this picture of the future she always wanted, soft, warm, full of love and laughter. I listen without interrupting, my gaze never leaving her face. Every word she says pulls at something deep inside my chest, something I don’t recognize and don’t want.
I’ve never cared for love, I wasn’t lying.
I think it’s for the weak. I grew up in a house where love didn’t exist, my adoptive father and mother barely tolerated each other.
There were no tender moments, no affection, no warmth.
Love was an alien concept to me. In my world, marriage is a weapon, a contract, a means to power. Nothing more.
And yet… watching her speak so passionately about the life she wants, a small, unfamiliar part of me feels tugged. A part that almost wishes I could give her what she’s describing. But I don’t know how. I’ve never seen it. Never lived it.
I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression cold, even as that strange pull tightens in my chest.
“If you want a loving marriage so badly,” I tell her, “if you want to marry a man who loves you and who you can love in return… you still have the chance to leave. After all, you were the one who volunteered.”
The words taste bitter on my tongue because they’re a lie. I’m never letting her go.
She stares at me, lips parted, chest rising and falling faster. I hold her gaze, daring her to call my bluff.
“I agreed to this because I want Milana to have a chance at happiness.”
I lean forward slightly, holding her gaze. “So why are you complaining? You decided to make yourself the sacrificial lamb. You might as well stop whining about it and accept what you chose.”
She sits back in her chair, studying me for a long moment. Then she asks, softer this time, “Have you never been loved? Is that why you’re so against it?”
The question hits somewhere deep and uncomfortable. I push my chair back and stand up slowly, towering over the table.
“This is happening,” I say, my voice low and final. “You are marrying me. You are going to be my wife. You will bear my children. You will carry my name. You will become mine in every single way that matters. So get used to the idea, Calina.”
Without waiting for her reply, I turn and walk away from the table, my footsteps echoing through the dining room.
But even as I leave, her words follow me.
And the worst part is… a small, buried part of me wonders what it would feel like to give her the kind of marriage she dreams about.
She spoke about it like it was something real. Like it was oxygen.
I shove the thought down hard. She’s mine now. Love or not.
I don’t stop until I reach my bedroom, closing the door behind me with more force than necessary.
I stop by the window, staring out at the grounds. Her face keeps flashing in my mind, the passion in her eyes when she talked about the future she wanted, the way her voice softened when she spoke of children and happiness and coming home to someone she actually loves.
For one dangerous second, I wonder what it would feel like to be that man, the man she described. To give her that kind of life.
I kill the thought instantly. What’s wrong with me?
I take off my clothes and step into the bathroom to take a quick shower.
I step out, water still running down my back, and quickly dress in fresh black shirt and trousers, grab my coat, and head out to one of my warehouses on the outskirts of the city.
Dmitri and Viktor are already waiting when I arrive. These two are the only real family I’ve ever had, the brothers I chose from the orphanage hell we all survived together. They know me better than anyone.
“Everything is in place,” I tell them the moment we’re alone in the back room. “The deal is done. I’m marrying Calina Morozova in two weeks.”
Viktor breaks into a wide grin. “Fucking finally. The Morozov alliance is going to shut everyone up. No more bullshit about you not being a real Orlov. With her name behind you, the clan will fall in line.”
Dmitri claps me on the shoulder, laughing. “This is going to solidify your reign, Pakhan. The Society won’t be able to touch us after this. We’re untouchable now.”
“Wait a minute, didn't you say you were going for the younger sister, Milana?” Viktor asks.
I let out a breath. “Yeah, but Calina offered herself in Milana’s place.”
I go ahead and tell them about last night and how everything went.
We talk for a while about how this marriage strengthens our position, new territory, better connections, and the kind of legitimacy that silences every bastard who still doubts me because I wasn’t born an Orlov. For the first time in a long time, I feel like the ground beneath me is steady.
“When do we get to meet her?” Dmitri asks, still grinning.
“Tonight,” I reply. “Come for dinner.”
“Cool,” Viktor says, leaning back against the table. “So… how is she?”
I exhale a long, frustrated groan and drag a hand down my face. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I already want to shoot myself. She’s driving me fucking insane.”
Both of them burst into loud laughter.
I could have chosen someone easier. Someone who wouldn’t challenge me at every turn.
But the truth hits me like a bullet. I don’t want anyone else. I want her.
Even if she fights me. Even if she hates me. Even if she never loves me.
Calina Morozova is going to be my wife.
And I’m never letting her go.