Page 100 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
God, I want to believe her.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Janice
The phone vibrates in my pocket during dinner.
I feel it through the fabric of my dress, insistent and accusing. Dimitri is across from me, discussing something about permits and zoning with the kind of focused intensity he brings to everything. He doesn’t notice when I reach down to silence it, doesn’t see my hand shake.
Three messages. I check them in the bathroom after we finish eating, door locked, water running to cover any sound.
Friday night. This is your last opportunity. After this, we can’t protect you.
He’s leaving for the Volkov meeting at 7. You’ll have at least three hours. Get the drive or don’t bother responding again.
We’re not asking anymore. You’re either with us or you’ve chosen his side. There’s no neutral ground left.
The words blur together, pressure mounting with each line. Last chance. Final opportunity. Choose now or lose everything.
I delete the messages with shaking hands and splash cold water on my face. My reflection stares back—pale, uncertain, caught between versions of myself that can’t coexist.
The woman who came to New York seeking justice. The woman who married a monster. The woman who’s falling in love with the man underneath.
I can’t be all three. Tomorrow forces the choice.
When I return to the living room, Dimitri is on the couch with Misha sprawled across his lap. He looks up, and something in his expression softens.
“You were gone a while. Everything alright?”
“Fine. I needed a moment.”
He doesn’t push, but his gaze lingers. He knows something is wrong, can probably read the tension in my shoulders, the careful way I’m avoiding his eyes.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
I cross to him because refusing would raise more questions. I settle beside him, and Misha immediately climbs onto my lap, purring. The kitten’s weight grounds me, her trust absolute despite the limp we couldn’t fix.
“Talk to me,” Dimitri murmurs. “Whatever’s bothering you.”
“Just thinking about my father. What we discussed previously.” Not entirely a lie. “Wondering what he’d think of all this.”
“He’d hate me.”
“Probably.” I stroke Misha’s back, feeling her heartbeat flutter under my palm. “He’d hate that I understand you. That I see why you do what you do, even when I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Understanding and accepting are different things.”
“I know.” I finally meet his eyes. “Which one do you want from me?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know anymore.” His hand finds mine. “I just want you to stay.”
The simplicity of it breaks something in my chest. Not possession or control or any of the things I expected. Juststay. Be here. Choose this.
Choose him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
His thumb traces circles on my wrist, and we sit like that until Misha falls asleep, until the city lights outside blur intostreams of gold and white, until the phone in my pocket feels like it weighs nothing at all.
I’ve already decided. I just haven’t admitted it yet.
