All Chapters of Married Off To The Merciless Mafia King : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

ANA“Flowers for you,” Steve announces as he strides into my office, holding a massive bouquet of white and red roses like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to receive. “Met the delivery guy on my way in. Figured I’d do him a solid and bring them up.”I stare at the bouquet suspiciously. “What about my signature?” I ask, wondering who would send me something like this. The only person who might send me roses is Yelena, and she’s more of a chocolates and cocktails kind of girl.Steve shrugs. “I signed for you.”Of course, he did. Because that’s totally normal. I should probably ask how, since delivery guys don’t just hand things over without verification, but I can already imagine him pulling some fast-talking nonsense. Not worth the effort.I get up and take the roses from him, their scent hitting me as I inhale deeply. It’s nice—unexpected, but nice. A small smile creeps onto my face, though I can’t shake the curiosity gnawing at me. Who’s responsible for this?“This cam

DMITRI“Have I ever told you that I like this new you?” Yelena’s voice drips with amusement as she lounges on the sofa in the corner of my office. Her legs are crossed, a playful pout on her lips. “Everyone says it’s impossible to change a man set in his ways, but Ana’s a magician.”I stare at the bouquet sitting on my desk, my eyes narrowing. “How?”Yelena uncrosses her legs, strolling over to my desk with her usual air of confidence. She pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, her gaze fixed on the flowers. “Did you pick these out yourself?” she asks, her tone teasing.“I didn’t,” I reply bluntly. “I had Jakob take care of it.”Her eyes flicker with amusement, and I can sense she’s about to crack a joke. I scowl, my patience already running thin. “What’s your point, Yelena?”She gives me a shrug, but there’s a glint of mischief in her expression that makes my jaw tighten. Finally, she relents with a smirk. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I’ve never seen you buy flowers for an

ANADaria’s face says it all as I approach her desk.Great. Just great.“Let me guess, he’s pulled another disappearing act?” I ask, my heart sinking. I thought giving Papa some space would make him miss me, but apparently his ego’s gotten so big it’s pushed out any paternal feelings. At this rate, I’ll be collecting social security before he decides to grace me with his presence.Daria shakes her head, oozing sympathy. “Sorry, hon. I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting. You know how he gets.”My shoulders slump like they’re trying to touch the floor. “Right. Because heaven forbid Nikolai Petrov face his only daughter.” A spark of defiance flares up. “Maybe I should just camp out here. He can’t ignore me forever, can he?”I see the pity in Daria’s eyes as she offers me a chair. “If you think it’ll work. Or I could tell you where he is. If you’re feeling brave enough to make a scene?—”“No, no,” I cut her off, shaking my head so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off. “Can’t embarrass th

DMITRII guide Ana onto the yacht’s deck, my grip firm on her hand. “Watch your step,” I warn, my voice low and commanding. I’m not used to being gentle, but with her, I find myself adjusting.Her midnight blue dress ripples in the breeze, a stark contrast to the white of the yacht. She moves with a grace that reminds me she’s no stranger to luxury. Of course, she isn’t, she’s Nikolai Petrov’s daughter.“I’m not going to fall,” she laughs softly. “This isn’t my first time on a yacht.”“I know,” I respond curtly, reminding myself of who she is, who I am. This isn’t a fairytale romance, it’s a strategic move. At least, that was the idea.I survey the deck, noting the scattered carnation petals with satisfaction. Everything is precisely as I ordered. I’m a man who demands perfection, even in this.“Carnations?” Ana asks, her voice tinged with surprise.I nod, keeping my face impassive. “Red and white. I assumed you’d had your fill of roses.”A small smile plays on her lips. “You assumed

ANAI take Dmitri’s hand as I climb out of the limo, trying not to faceplant in these ridiculous heels. Nothing says “Bratva wife” like eating pavement at a fancy party, right?The night air hits me, and I resist the urge to shiver. Next time I’m bringing a jacket. Or better yet, staying home with Netflix and sweatpants.Dmitri insisted on being “fashionably late,” which I’m pretty sure is code for “I wanted to make an entrance.” I half expect a spotlight to shine on us as we cross the street.He offers me his arm like we’re in some period drama.Who is this guy, and what has he done with my usually detached husband?I take it anyway, because hey, if he’s playing nice, I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.The security outside looks like they eat steroids for breakfast. Their suits are probably bulletproof too, unlike my flimsy dress.Dmitri doesn’t need to show an invite. Of course, he doesn’t. He probably owns half the city by now. He gestures for me to enter first, all gentleman