Married to the Bratva (New York Russian Mafia #2)

1. Sophie

1

SOPHIE

T his isn’t how a wedding day is supposed to feel: trapped in a grimy bathroom, wrestling with a dress that’s trying to choke the life out of me.

My phone buzzes on the sink, a welcome distraction from the cheap lace biting into my skin. I grab it and wedge it against my ear. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Oh, Sophie!” Her voice crackles with excitement. “You’ll never guess. I think my doctor is flirting with me.”

“Grandma…” I let out a breath, tugging uselessly at the neckline. “You’ve said that about every doctor since you checked in. The whole hospital can’t be in love with you.”

“This one’s different,” she insists. “He asked if I was single.”

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I’m too old for a relationship, but if he’s interested in a one-night stand, he knows my room number.” She lets out a laugh, wheezing slightly. “But I warned him—he’ll have to be on top. My leg’s still healing.”

“Grandma!” I groan, half-laughing despite myself. “Did you just call to traumatize me?”

“I called to ask if you’re really going through with it.” Her laughter fades, replaced by a softness that lands like a punch.

I glance at my reflection, at the red marks the lace has left gouged in my neck. “Heading to the courthouse soon,” I say lightly. “Just a quick ceremony. No big fuss. You know how Evan is—practical.”

“Practical.” The word drips from her mouth like poison. “Is that why no one’s invited? Just you and him, like it’s some back-alley deal?”

“Lila’s coming as my witness.”

“Oh, wonderful. Let me talk to her. Maybe she can explain why she’s letting you ruin your life.”

“She’s busy helping Evan with his tie while I fix my dress.”

“And Evan? Is he bringing anyone to this shotgun wedding? A friend? A witness? A stray dog?”

Her words slice clean, hitting their mark. “It’s not a big deal, Grandma,” I say, forcing a smile into my voice. “Evan says it’s the marriage that matters, not the wedding.”

There’s a long silence before she speaks, her voice quiet. “You don’t have to make your mom’s mistake. Or mine. Don’t be the third generation to get stuck with an asshole.”

I stiffen, the weight of her words pressing into my chest. “He’s not an asshole,” I snap, too quickly.

“Really? What do you call a man who’ll only fund your business if you agree to marry him?”

“A good man?”

Her laugh is sharp and humorless. “Oh, Sophie. Just because you don’t believe in love doesn’t mean you should settle for the first guy with a fat wallet.”

“I never said I don’t believe in love,” I mutter.

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” she counters. “You’ve been chasing security ever since your dad ran out. But this isn’t security, Sophie. It’s a cage. What would your mother say if she were still here?”

I clench my jaw, the familiar ache of bitterness flaring. “Probably ask me where she could score her next fix.”

Her sharp intake of breath stabs at my resolve. “She’d tell you not to make her mistake.”

“Yeah? And what am I supposed to do, Grandma? Believe in fairy tales? In soulmates?” My voice rises, trembling with anger I don’t fully understand. “They don’t exist. Dad left us. Mom overdosed. That’s what love gets you.”

Her sigh is long and heavy, the kind that lingers long after it’s gone. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret, sweetie. The right man is out there. I know he is. But it’s not Evan, trust me.”

“Look, I’ve got to go,” I say quickly, desperate to end the conversation before the crack in my voice becomes a fissure. “I’ll call you after the ceremony.”

Her voice softens. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Just… promise me you’ll think it through.”

“I will. I promise.”

I hang up and shove the phone into my bag, my pulse pounding in my ears. The bathroom feels too small, the air too thick.

I open the door, expecting to see Evan waiting for me, but the hallway is empty. The only sound comes from the bedroom.

What is that sound?

“Evan?” I call, my voice trembling with sudden dread. “Lila?”

My feet move before my brain can catch up, rushing me down the hall and through the half-open bedroom door.

Lila is on her knees, her blonde hair spilling forward like a veil, hiding her face as her head bobs in a rhythm that makes my stomach churn.

My breath snags in my throat, the sound of it loud in the suffocating silence.

Then Evan sees me staring. His eyes widen, panic flashing across his face as he stumbles back, his cock swinging obscenely like a grotesque punchline to this sick joke.

“I thought you were still getting ready,” he says.

“I’ll just head back to the bathroom, shall I?” The words tear out of me, sharp and brittle, as I laugh—a sound so hollow it makes my chest ache. “Give you two some privacy to finish up?”

Lila jerks back like I’ve slapped her, her wide, guilt-filled eyes shimmering with tears. Her lips part, then press together, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Sophie,” she tries, her voice soft, pleading.

But for once in my life, I interrupt her.

“How long?” My voice is cold. “And don’t lie to me. Not this time.”

Her gaze drops to the floor, her face pale, her hands trembling as they clutch the edge of her dress. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, before she finally whispers, “Six months.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer, knocking the air from my lungs. Six months. Half a year of stolen moments, of lies, of betrayal. I laugh again, a sharp, bitter sound that makes her flinch.

“Six months,” I repeat, the taste of the words sour on my tongue. “And you let me plan a wedding, buy a dress, and stand there smiling like you cared.”

Lila looks up, tears spilling down her cheeks now. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean?—”

“Don’t.” My voice cuts through hers like a whip. “Don’t you dare try to explain this away. You don’t ‘accidentally’ crawl into bed with someone’s fiancé for six months.”

Her mouth closes, trembling as more tears fall, and for the first time, I see her for what she really is: not the friend I thought I had, but a stranger who never cared enough to stop.

And Evan?

My stomach turns as I glance at him, standing there with his pants still half-undone, his face a picture of awkward guilt.

“You.” I turn on him, my voice shaking with fury I can barely contain. “Was I just a convenience? A safety net while you had your fun with her? A joke?”

He shrugs. “Men have needs and you don’t exactly put out a lot. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” I say, like I’m seeing the real him for the first time, seeing him the way Grandma does. I shake my head, the weight of betrayal crashing over me like a wave.

“I hope it was worth it,” I add, my voice low but sharp, as I turn and walk out without looking back.