Page 58 of Silken Chains
“What the hell is this insane situation?” I blurt out.
I glance beyond Andrew to the other man stationed like a guard by the door, an unspoken barrier between me and any thought of escape. The towering figure with a broad chest sports a rugged look, complete with a beard and sharp, blue eyes that seem to pierce through me. There’s a smirk playing on his lips, one that irks me deeply.
I’m staring at Victor, then at Andrew, disbelief clouding my judgment. “But… but I’m a married woman.” I may have been duped by David, but that marriage certificate must mean something, surely?
“Not anymore, Ms. Thompson.” Andrew calmly seats himself across from me, sliding a sheaf of papers across the table. My hands tremble as I pick them up, my eyes scanning the title incredulously. “Divorce Decree Finalized,” it reads, official stamps and signatures littering the bottom of the page.
My heart skips. “But how is this… even possible?”
“Let’s just say we have our ways with certain… judicial processes.” Andrew forces a smile at me.
I stare at Victor “Are you fucking insane?” I stand up abruptly.
I try to steady myself as Victor moves closer, his aura exuding a mix of danger and control. He takes a seat next to me.
“Kiska, what’s insane is that you married a man when you have no clue who he really is,” he says, his voice low and steady.
I can’t hold back the tears that start to flow. He’s right. My entire marriage, everything, has been a fucking lie.
“But… why me?” I manage to ask through sobs, wiping away tears. “Why…?”
“Because,” Victor’s tone is icy as he tilts my face up to his, “you’re just a pawn. And now? You’re Morozov Bratva property.”
Chapter 21
Victor
I WATCH her.
Her face drains of all warmth, her once rosy-pink lips now pale and trembling with fear. I can’t help but feel a surge of pleasure at the sight, knowing that this is just how I like it.
Blyad, I want to taste those quivering lips, to savor her fear and make it my own.
“Brat…va?” she stutters out, those lips of hers parting slightly in shock.
“Yes. Bratva,” I confirm, letting go of her face finally.
She squints. “As in, mafia and gangster, like… the Godfather? Scarface?” Attempting to hold back tears, she ends up sniffling, her breath hitching with each stifled sob.
“Exactly like that. But we’re the real deal. Not some Hollywood fantasy.” I let the words sink in, watching her process it.
Nervously, she runs her tongue over her lips and struggles to swallow the growing lump in her throat. “This has got to be a joke. It just has to be,” she whispers, confusion etched across her pretty face.
I let her process my words for a moment, watching as her eyes widen in disbelief and realization. “It’s not just a simple con, Laura,” I say sharply, making sure she grasps the gravity of the situation. “Dave Jankowski was deep in debt with us, the Morozov Bratva. He owed us a fortune.”
Laura’s gaze sharpens, something clicking behind those eyes. She’s got that look, the one where she’s connecting dots, her lips press into a thin line, holding back a storm of words or maybe just a flood of questions.
Her voice trembles as she speaks. “David… he was involved with the mafia, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I confirm coldly. “And he owed us two million dollars. And when he couldn’t pay up, he used you as collateral.”
“What?” She gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Wha-what does that mean?”
I can’t help but feel a thrill watching her fear slowly mount.
“It means,” I say, my voice low and steady, “he sold you to us, Laura.” My eyes fix on hers, not missing a single flicker of emotion that crosses her face. “Your life now belongs to the Morozov Bratva.”
Watching her fear grow is a perverse pleasure; it’s the kind of control I’m used to.
