His Forced Bride (The Gravitch Bratva #1)

Chapter 1 Inessa

INESSA

The ivory silk feels cold against my skin as I slip into my hand-sewn wedding dress one final time.

The showroom around me glows under the warm track lighting.

My collection is displayed on mannequins that stand at attention throughout the space, all staring at me like I'm the star this time.

Each piece represents months of work, countless nights bent over my drafting table, fingers stained with charcoal until the perfect lines were accomplished.

Tomorrow morning, this empire becomes part of a larger machine built on blood and bullets rather than thread and fabric the way I wished.

But my father knows what he's doing.

If he thinks this arrangement is what is necessary to take my designs to the next level, then I will choose to trust him.

Besides, Dominic isn't that bad.

"You look absolutely stunning," Alina says from her perch on the red velvet stool near the fitting platform.

Her dark curls catch the light as she tilts her head, studying me with those expressive brown eyes that have seen me through every triumph and disaster since we were teenagers.

"Dominic won't know what hit him." Her eyebrows dance up and down suggestively, but I'm tired of her teasing.

I turn toward the three-way mirror, watching the dress move with me.

The bodice hugs my torso before flowing into a cathedral train that pools around my feet.

Every stitch is perfect, every seam aligned to create the illusion of effortless elegance.

It should make me feel beautiful, even powerful.

But it feels like a costume I'm donning for a play I scored the lead role in.

My eyes sweep toward my best friend who must sense my frustration.

"He's handsome enough to make the whole arrangement bearable," Alina continues, but the pinched way she looks up at me shows me she's only trying to help. "Those pale blue eyes, that strong jaw. At least your children will be gorgeous."

The word "children" makes me tense.

I haven't allowed myself to think that far ahead.

I try not to think about what comes after the vows and the signatures and the binding of two families through matrimony.

The Gravitch name is synonymous with power in St. Petersburg.

My father made that clear when he first proposed this alliance six months ago.

"Beauty doesn't matter when there's no choice involved," I murmur, adjusting the neckline with hands that refuse to stay steady.

They slide over the bodice and down across my hips, flattening the material. "This isn't about love or attraction or any of the things normal brides dream about."

Alina slides off the stool and approaches me, her reflection joining mine in the mirror.

She's petite next to my height on this pedestal, barely reaching my shoulder even in her heels.

Her loyalty has never wavered, not even when I dropped out of university to focus on design.

Or when I impulsively decided to open my own studio and create my own clothing line.

"Your father wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't believe it was the right move," she says in a gentle tone.

"The Mirova name means fashion and elegance throughout Europe thanks to you. The Gravitch name means protection and power. Together, you'll be untouchable."

I want to believe her and trust that Batya's calculations are correct, that Dominic Gravitch will be a partner rather than a master, that my company will flourish under the umbrella of his family's influence.

But doubt gnaws at me with a persistent ache that no amount of rational thinking can cure.

The phone in my clutch buzzes, and I have to step down from the pedestal and walk to my drafting table where I stashed the clutch when I walked in this morning.

I reach for it, hoping to see Batya's name on the screen.

We'd planned to go over the final details tonight, review the contracts one more time, ensure that every clause protects my interests as well as the family's.

The caller ID shows his number, and relief floods through me.

"Batya," I answer, pressing the device to my ear.

"I was beginning to worry. Are you on your way?"

The line crackles with static, then goes dead.

I pull the phone away, staring at the screen that now shows Call Failed.

I sigh and scowl at the phone.

We don’t have horrible service, but sometimes, calls drop.

"Everything okay?" Alina asks, watching my face in the mirror.

"The call dropped."

I dial his number, listening to the ringing that goes on for too long.

"He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," I say out of the corner of my mouth while pressing the phone to my ear.

It isn’t like my father to be running late, but we all have a lot of preparations to finish before the ceremony tomorrow.

At times I wish my mother were here.

I know she and Batya don't get along well and that she lives her life at a distance for a reason, but every woman wants her mother to be a part of her wedding day, even the ones with broken relationships.

Through the windows that face the street, I catch sight of movement that doesn't belong to the usual evening foot traffic.

A black SUV cruises slowly past the showroom, its tinted windows reflecting the streetlights.

I watch it for a second, and Alina seems to notice too.

The way it moves is too slow, like the driver is studying the building.

It makes me want to step away from the windows.

I know the world I live in, and it's not always a calm or quiet place.

"What is it?" Alina says, walking closer to me.

Another SUV follows thirty seconds later, then a third.

"Shh," I say, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Look outside. Tell me what you see."

She moves to the window, pressing her face close to the glass.

The color drains from her cheeks as she watches the vehicles complete another circuit of the block.

"Those aren't delivery trucks or customers. They're watching the building. Do you think they're watching you?"

She knows how dangerous this wedding will be for us all.

The marriage of two families in St Petersburg’s crime world catches some very unwanted attention at times.

Batya warned me there would be pressure from other syndicates over our alliance with the Gravitch family.

I dial his number again, my fingers trembling against the screen.

This time, the call goes straight to voicemail, his familiar voice telling me to leave a message and he'll return it as soon as possible.

The normalcy of his recorded greeting feels surreal against the growing terror that claws at my chest as I take Alina's arm and tug her away from the glass.

It's not bullet proof, and I don't know what those SUVs are here for.

"Batya, it's me. There are cars outside the showroom, and I can't reach you. Please call me back immediately."

The third SUV has stopped at the corner, engine idling.

Through the windshield, I can make out the silhouette of the driver, but his features remain hidden in shadow.

My mind races through possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Did someone discover the money laundering operation Batya thought he'd hidden so carefully?

Are these state agents preparing to raid the building?

Or worse, are they connected to one of the Gravitch family's many enemies?

"We should leave," Alina says, following me away from the window. "Right now. Through the back exit."

"No," I snip. We're safer here than out there with them.

"Batya is supposed to pick me up here. If we leave, he won't know where to find us."

My rationalization is weak.

I'm still just a child inside my heart where I expect my father to rescue me.

But even as I say it, I know she's right.

Every instinct screams at me to run, to get as far from this building as possible before whatever's about to happen unfolds.

I've lived on the periphery of Batya's business long enough to recognize the signs of impending violence.

I start to lift the wedding dress over my head, desperate to get out of the silk that suddenly feels suffocating.

But the fabric clings to my ribs, and the zipper sticks in place.

"Here," she says, grabbing my street clothes from the chair where I'd left them. "Hurry."

In my frightened haste I can't really do much, and my phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Batya's name flashes on the screen, and I answer before the first ring completes.

"Batya, thank God. Where are you?"

"Inessa." His voice sounds strained.

"Listen to me carefully. Stay inside the building. Do not come outside, no matter what you hear."

"What's happening? There are cars circling the block, and I've been trying to reach you for—"

"I'm two blocks away," he interrupts. "Something has gone wrong—"

The line goes dead before he can finish, and I stare at the phone, my mind struggling to process what he's told me.

What could've gone wrong?

I glance up at the window again as Alina's arm wraps around my waist.

"What did he say?"

"We're in danger. Batya's coming, but—"

The sound of an engine revving cuts through my explanation.

Through the window, I see Batya's silver Mercedes turn onto our street, moving faster than the speed limit allows.

Relief and terror war in my chest as I watch him approach the showroom and hear the screech of his car's tires on the pavement.

The first gunshot shatters the night air.

Muzzle flashes erupt from the windows of all three SUVs simultaneously, turning the street into a war zone.

Batya's car swerves violently as bullets spider-web across his windshield.

The Mercedes jumps the curb, smashes through the outdoor seating of the café next door, and comes to rest against a light pole.

I scream, though I don't remember opening my mouth.

My legs give out, sending me to my knees on the showroom floor.

Through the window, I can see Batya's car riddled with holes, steam rising from the engine, the driver's door hanging open at an unnatural angle as the SUVs peel away from the scene, leaving behind the acrid smell of burned rubber.

Car alarms shriek throughout the neighborhood, and my chest pounds.

"Batya," I whisper, then louder, "Batya!"

Alina tries to hold me back as I scramble toward the door dragging the heavy gown with me, but I shake her off.

My father could be bleeding, dying, while I cower inside this building.

I run toward the street where my world has just been torn apart by bullets and let the silk and satin drag on the filthy concrete.

The night air hits my face and glass crunches under my feet from the café's shattered windows.

Batya's Mercedes sits silent and broken, its once-pristine exterior now pocked with bullet holes.

The driver's side window has been blown out entirely, and I can see Kasper slumped over, his face drenched in blood.

My father's driver is dead, probably before he knew what hit him, and it makes my heart scream out as I reach the side of the car.

"Batya," I call out, my voice breaking on the word. "Please answer me."

I reach for the handle and pull, and the door opens easily, but as it does, my father's limp body comes with it, toppling out onto the pavement head first.

A scream tears up out of my chest, sounding like the wail of a banshee, and I collapse with him as his body slides to the ground, trailing blood down the front of my dress.

My arms wrap around his head as I shriek and sob.

"Batya, no… God, please…"

My body is racked with sobs, and I barely register Alina behind me with her hand on my shoulder.

"Oh my God, Dominic," she mutters, and through the haze of grief and pain, I look up in the open door of the car to see Dominic seated there with a single hole in the center of his forehead, his blood splattered on the window behind him.

What the hell just happened?