Indebted to the Mafia King

*Tatiana*

A tacky, overly poofy white gown hangs on the back of the bathroom door next to the full-length mirror. I take a deep breath and drag a hand down my face. How the fuck am I getting out of this?

I hoped I'd have more time to escape, but this day has come more quickly than anticipated, and now, here I am. The fuckers got me to the church on time.

"What do you think?" one of the maids who will be helping me get dressed asks, a timid smile on her face.

Arching an eyebrow, I say, "I think I'd be better suited to black."

She laughs nervously and pulls the fancy frock down off the hanger. I have to assume this contraption cost thousands of dollars and was designed by one of New York's biggest names in fashion.

It's a death trap to me.

It would look so much better with a spray of vomit across the front.

Telling myself I need to focus, I listen to the maids prattle on about how they're going to do my hair and makeup and other such bullshit I couldn't care less about.

"This dress is magnificent," one of the maids whispers to the other. The other woman agrees, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Unfortunately, Laura is not here. Just another tally against this morbid day. She's the only one in the house I like—or trust. These two keep making eyes over the top of my head like I can't see them in the mirror.

The maids begin to style my long, wavy brown hair, pulling it from side to side, deciding what to do with it. I ignore them, tugging at one of the straps of this vicious gown. It's so fucking tight, my lungs are burning.

Another woman I don't recognize comes in and starts laying out makeup brushes on the vanity in front of me. She's older, with a stern face. Not exactly the kind of person one dreams about getting them ready for their wedding.

Fuck... I miss my mom...

"I'd have to live a thousand lives to be able to afford something like this," the maid to mv. left notes. fingering the strap of my down. "Are these... diamonds?"

Her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as she reaches down to finger the shining jewelry embroidered on my corset. They look like diamonds for sure, but I've never been into fancy shit like that, so I'm really not sure if they're real or fake. Too bad I can't rip them off the gown and tell these ladies to make a break for it. Maybe I'd go with them.

They continue to chat amongst each other as the stern woman with the bird nose begins to apply makeup in garish colors to my face, making me look like a clown—or a bride from the 1980s, more like it. I don't give two fucks. Maybe Yakov will think I'm hideous and call the wedding off.

I have to stifle a yawn as she begins to apply lipstick in a hot pink hue. I was up most of the night, trying to figure out a way to escape, but I was being kept in a fortress with dozens of brutish guards around every corner.

The whole way to the church, I bided my time, praying I'd have the opportunity to jump out of the vehicle, but I had a guard on either side of me. So, I've been trying to come up with a plan for the wedding reception. With my luck, there will be just as many armed men there to ensure I can't even pee without being watched.

I watch the hands on the clock on the wall behind me. Two hours? Fuck. Why is this taking so damn long? But then... I'm not in a huge hurry to marry my cousin. That's so fucked up.

"You look so lovely," the maid who wanted the diamonds off my dress says, giving my hair a final poof.

"Thanks.” That's all I can say. What else could I tell them? That they are dolling me up for a man who will probably beat me and threaten me every day of our lives? That I'm on my way from one prison to another? They work for Oleg and the Romina family. They already know what those bastards are like. I don't need to remind them.

"You look like a princess," the other one muses beside me.

"She really does," the first one agrees.

I offer them a small smile. My vision blurs as tears threaten to spill down my cheeks, ruining Beak-face's hard work. I can't let them see me cry. Besides, I'm sure Oleg would punish them if I got to the wedding looking anything less than how he's envisioned.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything before you go, Miss Ivanov?" one of the women who did my hair asks. "You haven't eaten anything at all, and I'm sure the ceremony will be long. You need to be able to stand up there without passing out."

She is right about that. Although, I wouldn't mind ruining the wedding because I fainted.

"I'm okay, thanks," I reply. Besides, I couldn't put anything in my stomach right now. Bile rises in the back of my throat again.

They all excuse themselves, leaving me alone in the room. Someone is supposed to come pick me up and take me to the chapel, so I wait seated in front of the mirror, staring back at my reflection.

I don't even look like myself. Maybe that will make it easier to pretend this isn't me— that I'm not the one marrying Yakov. I'm just temporarily caught in someone else's nightmare.

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Back in Russia, I used to imagine who I'd marry. A handsome man who loved me. A beautiful gown I picked out with my mother-my mother standing behind me, smiling proudly as we gazed into the mirror, both of us beautiful and blushing.

I'd rather go back to constantly looking over my shoulder in Russia than be here now -with my parents dead. I never really expected Oleg to find out about me, and I still don't know how he did. None of that matters now.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my reverie, and I get to my feet, not even bothering to tell whoever it is to come inside. I know they came for me.

One of Oleg's capos is outside, his eyes narrowed in annoyance that he has to be the one to escort me. Maybe he thinks I'm beneath him. Maybe he'd rather be out killing innocent people rather than shadowing me down the hallway. I don't wait for him to order me to march. Instead, I brush past him into the hallway, silently hoping he steps on the ridiculously long train of this dress and tears it so the wedding will be off.

Tears announce their presence with a sharp sting, but I will them back, pushing away the intrusive thoughts and walking alongside this brute, the maids rushing behind me to help adjust the dress's train.

The hallway stretches on forever; it's as short as the plank on a pirate ship. I watch the blurred faces gathered on either side, staring at me, and try to remember this isn't over yet. If I keep my wits, maybe I can find a way to get out of here.

One thing is for damn sure. I can't cry in front of these bastards. Weakness has a scent, and they'd eat me alive.

When we arrive in front of the chapel, the doors are open. Unlike my dress and makeup, the decorations here are glamorous. Beautiful flowers in crisp white and scarlet red bloom from large vases near the dais. Smaller ones are attached to the end of every pew. A large archway decorated in flowers and ivy stands behind the priest.noveldrama

The priest... too damn bad he's not here for my fucking funeral.

With just one glance, I can tell there are more than three hundred guests packed inside the chapel, not to mention the bastards lining the hallway and stationed outside to keep me from running. I'm sure the most elite mobsters of New York and the surrounding area are all congregated here to see Yakov anoint me as his queen. The music shifts, and all eyes turn to me. People whisper to each other behind their hands as I make my way to the entryway.

"Miss Ivanov, come right here, dear." A middle-aged woman with way too much jewelry gestures for me to take my place. I'm assuming she's the wedding planner. I wonder if she chose this dress. If so, I may just have to spit in her eyes. She hands me a bouquet, and I begrudgingly snatch it out of her hands.

I maintain my composure and stop where she's pointed. Taking a deep breath, I finally allow myself to look at the other figure standing at the far end of the aisle, near the priest.

Fucking Yakov. He looks like the smarmy bastard he is, standing up there, rocking back and forth from heel to toe, his hands folded in front of him. He reminds me of a cobra, ready to strike.

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God, the thought of a large snake makes my mind jump elsewhere. That asshole better not think I'm sleeping with him. I'd rather die first. Of course, Oleg has already explained that he must have an heir to his legacy. The mere thought of having to give Yakov a child, to watch my flesh and blood be raised under the influence of those two bastards, makes me double down on my threat-kill me now.

"You can go,” the woman whispers, and I realize the wedding march is already playing and everyone is staring at me in anticipation.

I take a deep breath and force my legs to move forward. My hands tighten around the bouquet, and my gaze finds a spot behind the altar. I can't look at Yakov again or that puke I threatened to splatter all over my dress will end up on him, too.

God, how I want to turn and run. I'd be caught before I could blink though, and it'd only worsen my situation.

As soon as I reach the end of the aisle, Yakov yanks my arm with his, forcing me to stand next to him. The overwhelming stench of his spicy cologne burns my nostrils. I grit my teeth, trying not to grimace. I can feel Oleg behind me, and I know he has his eyes on me. He's fully prepared to deal with anything I might try to pull off. "No one will save you, darling," Yakov murmurs into my ear, and my stomach twists with his foreboding threat. "You're stuck with me, so you better stop fighting it. Otherwise, what I have planned for us tonight will be a lot less pleasure, and a lot more pain."

The priest clears his throat in front of us and opens his mouth, but not a single syllable comes out before the ground beneath my feet trembles and a large boom has me dropping my flowers to cover my ears. Panic bubbles up in my throat as I quickly turn to see what's going on. Gunfire rings out from the back of the church, followed by screams, shouts, and the sound of hundreds of people scrambling to escape. Chaos erupts all around me.

Smoke burns my eyes, momentarily disorienting me. I crouch down the best I can in this fucking dress, trying to ascertain what the hell is going on. Everywhere I look, I see people trying to find the closest exit. In the back of the church, bodies slump over the pews.

I need to do... something...

Spinning around, I realize Yakov is no longer beside me. I hear his voice somewhere across the chapel as he yells orders to his men. The smoke clears for a moment, and I see my betrothed cowering behind a pew while he waves at the guards to run into the gunfire.

I look back at the pew where Oleg was seated, and he's gone, too. Knowing him, he's

in the thick of things. Unlike his son, he's not a coward.

And then... everything becomes crystal clear. I have to do what these other

motherfuckers are doing. It's my one chance.

Gathering up my garish gown, I do exactly what I've wanted to do since the day Oleg

married my parents.

I run.