Forced To Wed The Devil Don

CHAPTER ONE

NIKOLAI PETROV – POINT OF VIEW

Blood splashes all over my face as I dig my knife deep into his throat.

He jerks in my hold, thrashes and tries to escape, but my grip is firm. I smile as I watch the light drain out of his eyes. He stops fighting. His body goes limp, and I let him fall.

I wipe the blood away from the knife on his trousers and stand upright.

The room is filled with my men and subordinates.

“This is what happens when you steal from me,” I grab the bottle of Vodka on the table.

“No one steals from me.” I drink straight from the bottle, welcoming the burn in my chest. “The Bratva is built on loyalty, and when that shakes, we have nothing left. We are brothers here. We do not steal from each other, and neither do we lie or abandon anyone. If we fall, we fall together.”

They nod in accordance, and I smile.

“Now, can someone drag this thieving piece of shit away from me? I have to get to work.” I grin.

Two foot soldiers step forward, and they drag away the fallen one. The tang of blood hangs in the room, and I scrunch my nose in disgust. I wipe the blood from my face and stare at the map on the table.

As the Pakhan of the New York Mob, there is a lot to conquer, territories to own, money to wash, and people to kill. Here, the party never stops, my fist keeps punching, and the blood forever flows.

“Isn’t it a little too early for this, Nik?” Maxim steps forward, wiping imaginary lint off his suit.

“He stole ten million worth of cocaine. Trust me, it was long overdue.” I snap, nose flaring in irritation.

My men disperse slowly, settling into their various duties. It is the beginning of the new year, and we have a lot to conquer. Maxim stands as a constant, but irritating voice of reason. He believes there are ways to settle disputes without our fists, and I always love to watch the blood flow. I don’t know how we’re brothers when we’re so different.

“What do you have for me, brother?” I ask, focused on the map.

I memorise the routes. We need Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, and Queens. Then, we need the Port, too, for our shipments. We need to move these things subtly without tipping off the NYPD. Most of them are in my pockets, but I prefer to be careful.

“Are you going to the club tonight?” Maxim asks, standing close to me.

I look at him, gaze narrowed in suspicion, “Yes, I am. I am always going to the club.”

“And, the ring?” He frowns.

A deranged grin spreads across my face. In addition to being the Don, I’m also a boxer. It’s a habit I picked up ten years ago. ‘Boxer’ is a pretty calm word to describe an Underground fighter. In my ring, there are no rules, no sanctions, just pure entertainment.

I shake my head, “Not tonight. I have monitored the shipment at the docks. Why are you asking? Wanna join me?”

He is silent for a second before speaking. “Don Russo reached out to me. He wants to put aside our old war and finally merge our families. He wants you to marry his only daughter, Stella.”

The room suddenly feels so small, and the air thins.

Don Russo. Stella.

“No.” I scoff, wondering if my brother has gone mad.

I am the Don. No one gets to tell me who to marry. I am not marrying Stella. I want nothing to do with the Russo family.

“Listen,” Maxim sighs, and I storm out.

I feel my heart pounding as blood rushes through my ears. My whole bound is wound tight. Darkness stirs in me, and my vision flickers at the edge like a warning.

He follows me until we are in my office, and shuts the door behind him.

“Think about this –”

“Think about this? Have you gone mad, Maxim? I am not marrying into that family. You think I want to marry Stella, knowing how hard I’ve fucked her brother in every inch of their home? You think I want to bind my soul to her when her fucking bastard of a brother ripped out my heart? You think when I look into her eyes, all I’ll see won’t be him? No. Clark was …” My voice trembles, and my jaw locks so hard it hurts.

I slam my hand on the table and shove everything off. I watch it clatter to the ground, but the madness doesn’t stop creeping in.

“No, Maxim. I am done with that family. I am done with Clark. I am not who I was ten years ago. I am Don now!” I roar, beating hard on my chest.

“I know,” he says softly, and picks up the picture frame from the ground.

“I know Clark hurt you. I know he ripped out your heart. I know you loved him, and he left you, but this is the chance you’ve been waiting for, Nik.” He articulates carefully, and I pant, sweat beading on my forehead.

“Do you think it’s merely a coincidence that Don Russo wants you to marry his only daughter? It’s not, and the timing is right – we stand on the threshold of everything we’ve ever wanted. In a matter of weeks, we’ll have Hell's Kitchen, Queens, Harlem and the Docks. We’ll finalise our dealings with the Traids and the Cartels. We’ll be unstoppable.” He reminds me.

“Russo wants something.” I surmise.

“Exactly, and he’s willing to throw his only daughter to the wolves. She’ll probably be spying on us, but who cares? I’ll focus on her, and you can finally get your revenge on Clark. You can make him beg, pretend to hold a knife to his sister’s throat, unless he does your will. This is a win-win situation, brother. Russo has always been a slimy bastard. He was there when our father died and blamed it on a coincidence. This way, we can finally make that family pay.” He smiles at me.

My pulse slows, and I nod.

He pulls out the marriage certificate, and I sign it with a deranged grin.