Chapter 7 – Kat
A nightmare was nothing compared to my reality. It wasn’t a dream I could just wake out of. It was a nagging truth that wouldn’t get away, regardless of how hard I shook it off.
My life was taking a turn I never would have imagined. Marriage wasn’t on my never-to-do list, but it wasn’t on my soon-to-do list either. In fact, I had a side plan of what my life would look like if love decided to never find me.
But all I had planned for myself was crumbling right before my very eyes, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I was sentenced to a married life with the man who killed my father and took all that meant the world to me at a young age.
The marriage papers were signed, forcefully, and the wedding was scheduled for a few days later.
“Hello, beauty,” Sava greeted as he strolled into my room after knocking.
“Hi,” I answered, unfolding my arms.
Asking him to stop using the nickname for me was a pointless effort; he never listened.
“No appetite?” he asked, gesturing toward the plate of fried rice on the stool in front of me.
Crossing the room, he came to sit at the foot of the bed.
“Surprise,” I remarked dully, turning to my right to face him.
“If I’m being honest, you’re taking all this better than an average person would,” he said.
“I can’t exactly unleash my anger when I’m locked up in a room.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then he closed it again with a sigh.
Digging the heel of my palms into the bed on both sides of my body, I told him, “This isn’t the typical reluctant bride situation you’ve seen a hundred times. The Yezhov Bratva killed my dad, Danil, in particular.”
My voice quivered with unshed tears as I revealed, “I was there that night. He ordered the shot that killed my dad right in my presence. My mom held me back in fear; she couldn’t risk him shooting me, too.
He just stood there like a damn god, like he couldn’t be stopped or even held accountable for whatever the fuck he did. I hated it.”
“I can’t say I know what it must have felt like to witness that. I’m so sorry,” he said softly as he moved to sit beside me. “I never thought you witnessed it. We all know the Bratva eliminated your dad for some reason—”
“Treason,” I chipped in, a dry chuckle leaving my lips. “There’s nothing to sugarcoat.”
“But he was a father to you. Watching someone take him away from you must have been hell.”
I sighed.
“I’m sure you would have cussed him out if you could,” he remarked, bumping his arms against mine.
I chuckled. “I don’t think I knew any curse words then. I was thirteen.”
His left arm came around my shoulders as he pulled me in. “Nobody should have to experience that. Not at thirteen.”
Another sigh left my lips before he removed his arms from around me.
“I thought the memory was hell until I got myself into this sick situation. Now I’m getting married to my dad’s murderer because some people are looking to kill me for some possession I didn’t know existed until last week. This is the real hell.”
“I understand how it all looks right now. It’s crazy, I get it,” he said, clasping his fingers on his lap.
“There’s something my aunt used to tell me when I was much younger, and I would go on and on about how much I hated being born into a world of crime.
She said, ‘Don’t look at your situation like it was dumped on you.
See it as something you went to buy at the store yourself.
The less control you think you have over something, the bigger a problem it appears to be, and the harder it is to solve. ’”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can control in this situation.”
“There are a lot. Your perception of the boss. Your wedding dress and choice of appearance. Your mood.”
Half-rolling my eyes, I answered, “Easier said than done.”
“It all starts with telling yourself you’re not drowning. Then your hands will move to start swimming.”
“Poetic much?” I teased.
He smiled.
His phone’s ringtone filtered through the brief silence. Looking down at the screen, he ended the call.
“Girlfriend troubles?” I inquired.
“Nah. Just someone who had a taste and can’t help wanting more,” he revealed, winking.
“Ugh,” I uttered, playfully cringing. “She clearly has the worst taste.”
“Stop playing, baby.”
I giggled. “Being a Mafia soldier obviously has nothing on your charms,” I stated. “Did you grow up in all of this?”
“My dad was a Mafia affiliate. You know, not attached to any Mafia but offering information and services to them as required. He was killed by some of his fellow affiliates. The Yezhov Bratva didn’t let his death go in vain.
They stood up to avenge him. They killed the four colleagues who conspired to kill him.
I was still in high school then, but I made up my mind to join them after school.
So I spoke with Sir Konstantin after graduation, and well, here I am. ”
“Sorry about your dad.”
“It’s fine. Every sane person in this line of work is always prepared for death; they know it could happen at any time.”
“My mom used to say the same thing.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead,” I replied. “She was severely depressed after my dad died. She couldn’t deal with his loss—couldn’t stay, not even for me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “What about yours?”
“She remarried. Never liked my dad’s job. She’s now based in Denmark. We talk once or twice a year.”
I would give anything to be able to speak to my parents, either of them, once a year. My foster parents were perfect, but they couldn’t fill the void my parents’ absence left—a fact that used to make me feel like a bad person.
It wasn’t until I learned that missing my real parents didn’t make me ungrateful for my foster parents that I started allowing myself to think of how much I missed them at times.
“Well, the food is now cold. What do you think of ice cream and a variety of snacks while we talk about anything but our mostly dead parents?”
It had been a while since I last tasted ice cream.
“I’m in.”
***
“It’s okay,” I stated for the umpteenth time.
The makeup artist kept asking if every single thing she applied was okay—and I had the same answer. I would have ignored her if she didn’t seem unnaturally eager to please. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sava told me she was threatened with a gun to her head to do a good job.
It was Saturday morning.
My wedding day.
And there was no way to describe how I felt. It went beyond anger, regret, or even resentment. I was simply going through the motions with my mind switched off.
Sava had practically dragged me out of bed about two hours ago.
I was currently sitting on a chair and facing a dresser that Sava had brought from somewhere I didn’t care enough to know. As she applied the finishing touches, I gazed at the mirror.
The makeup artist did a great job of making me look like a beautiful bride.
The soft pink shade on my eyebrows brightened my eyes, and the extra-thick mascara added just the right amount of boldness.
The pink-tinted lip gloss had an extra shimmer that highlighted the fullness of my lips.
A smile would have made me look like a happy bride, if I were getting married to any other man in the world.
The door opened, and Sava stepped in.
I turned toward the door to roll my eyes at his enthusiastic energy that did the opposite of rubbing off on me, and he replied with an even wider grin.
Just as I was about to turn back to the mirror in front of me, he took a small step to the side.
That was when I saw the blonde head just behind him.
That golden blonde hair was unmistakable.
Could it be…?
“Hi, babes.”
I all but flew out of the chair as my eyes landed on Marielle’s grinning face.
Our bodies collided in a tight hug as she met me halfway.
Something seemed to melt inside me as the tears spilled without restrictions. The last time I saw her, my life was going steadily, just as planned. But today, everything was going off track.
Seeing someone familiar, particularly my best friend, in such a time when life seemed to be going against me was enough to make me break down.
“Marielle?!” I enthused. “How are you here? Who told you?”
“I’ve missed you so much, Kat!” she confessed as she held me at arm’s length.
“You two know each other?” Sava inquired. “I thought this was a ‘welcome to the family’ visit.”
“Well, it’s that too,” Marielle answered, dabbing gently at my face with a white handkerchief.
“Marielle is my best friend,” I told him, and his eyes dilated.
“Are you kidding?! Did the Yezhovs take an oath to reap the hottest women from the surface of the earth?” he queried.
“The Yezhovs?” I repeated, looking from Sava to my best friend.
“There’s a lot of explaining to do,” she disclosed, glancing at the makeup artist standing beside the dresser. “Can they excuse us?”
“Sure,” Sava mentioned, signaling to the young lady to leave.
“And you, too, mister,” Marielle answered, a small smile on her face.
“What? I’m her friend. That technically makes me a fellow girlfriend,” he protested.
Marielle and I gave him a pointed stare, making him sigh in defeat before turning around.
With my hand in hers, she pulled me toward the bed, her maroon dress flowing behind her while I followed in my bathrobe. Sitting beside me on the edge of the bed, she quickly turned to face me, her dark eye makeup accentuating her eye movements as she looked me over.
“Do you remember my new last name?” she asked.
“I know it ends in a ‘v.’ Typical Russian name. You know I’m not good with names,” I said with a sigh.
“It’s Yezhov. My husband is Eduard Yezhov.”
The lights came on in that instant.
“The Yezhov Bratva!”
She gave a slow nod in response before saying, “Danil, your husband-to-be, is Eduard’s immediate younger brother.”
I blinked in shock, unable to compose a coherent word or even a thought.