Married To The Devil For Peace

If I hadn’t forgotten my phone on the kitchen counter, I would’ve never learnt the truth.

I would’ve spent the night laughing with my cousin on the phone, instead of learning the ugly secret my father had been keeping.

“Ugh, where is it?” With the faint light, I felt around the cabinet surface, until I finally touched my phone.

“Got it.” I slipped it into my pocket and headed out.

I was going back to my room, when I noticed the lights were on in my father’s office. The sound of hushed whispers flowed to my ears.

That was strange. It was well past midnight, and Father was an early sleeper. Who could be there?

Most of the staff had gone to bed early because of tomorrow’s gala.

I stopped in front of the closed office door.

“You should’ve told her years ago.”

I recognised my uncle Marcus’s voice. It was rough around the edges and impossible to mistake.

Silence followed. Then my father’s voice answered.

“There was no reason to.”

“You can’t seriously expect her to accept this.” Marcus said.

“She doesn’t need to accept it.”

Accept what? Who were they talking about?

“So you just want to drop the news on her tomorrow? How is that right, Victor?” Marcus asked, sounding pained.

“Stop trying to sound like some saint. I’ve provided every need she has ever had. I’ve bought her the most expensive things in the world. She is my daughter, and I get to make decisions for her, without her involvement.”

Something about the conversation felt wrong.

At this point, I should have walked away. People didn’t survive long in my family, in our mafia world, by listening to conversations that weren’t meant for them.

But curiosity had always been my biggest weakness.

I moved closer. The door wasn’t completely shut. Just enough for voices to slip through, and for me to understand they were talking about me.

Marcus laughed, except there was no humour in it.

“She’s your daughter.”

Father merely grunted at that.

“Yes. And an asset of the Moretti family, I’ve invested in. And now it’s finally time to reap our returns.”

The frostiness in his voice made my heart stop.

My father had always treated me like his precious little girl. He had never spoken about me like I was a mere object.

“The Volkov family has been patient.” Father said. “We made a promise, and the time has come to keep it. This marriage will prevent a war and keep the truce together.”

Marriage?

The word exploded inside my head.

My father couldn’t arrange my marriage without telling me.

But a painful truth entered my mind. Of course he could. This was the mafia. Power came before feelings. Family came before freedom.

Inside the office, Marcus cursed.

“You really intend to hand her over.”

My nails dug into my palms.

Because for the first time in my life I realised something.

I wasn’t part of the conversation.

I was the conversation.

A tool. A solution. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“You’ve met Izaak. Velma is lovely and will balance out his barbaric nature.” Father said.

Whatever reply my father gave after that, I didn’t hear because my mind had latched onto the name.

Izaak.

There was only one man in the mafia world with that name.

Father’s next words confirmed my fears.

“The Volkovs have honoured their side of the agreement. Now we’ll honour ours.”

It felt like the floor had caved in beneath me.

The Volkovs.

Izaak.

He wanted to marry me to Izaak Volkov.

The heir of the biggest Russian mafia empire. The man newspapers called ruthless. The man rivals feared. The man nobody wanted as an enemy.

I had never met him before, but I had heard enough to know he was a monster.

“She doesn’t even know how evil that family is.” Marcus said. “Victor, she has never even met the man.”

“She doesn’t need to know him to marry him. She needs to understand her position in this family and what is required of her.”

“She thinks her position in this family is your daughter.” Marcus retorted.

My father said nothing to that.

That silence was the part that undid me. Not the shouting, not the cursing. Just him, sitting there, refusing to argue the point because he didn’t think it needed arguing.

I took a small step back without meaning to, and my elbow caught the narrow table against the hallway wall.

Before I could catch it, the decorative vase toppled and fell off the table.

Crash!

The sound of it shattering was enormous in the quiet house.

And then everything went silent.

The voices in the office stopped.

I stood there surrounded by broken porcelain, unable to move, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, the kind that didn’t bother hurrying because they already knew there was nowhere I could go.

The office door swung open.

My father stood in the frame, the warm light of his office falling around him, and his eyes found mine immediately.

Behind him I could see Marcus, standing with his arms crossed, his face filled with anguish.

But it was my father’s eyes that held me in place.

Gone was the loving father I knew.

Rather, he was staring down at me with unfeeling coldness.

I could immediately sense the danger in his presence.

“Velma.” His voice was quiet. That was somehow worse than if he’d yelled. “Come inside.”