Bridal Agreement With The Bratva Mafia Boss

Chapter 1

Camila’s POV

The figures on the calculator would not alter, however many times she pressed the keys.

She poked them with her thumb more forcefully, as though she could make the answer different by sheer force. However, the outcome remained the same each time.

Her heart beat heavily in her breast. She remained silent. She feared that the truth would come true, should she speak.

And worse, her mother could hear the fear in her voice.

Camila could not allow that.

Come on, come on, she said to herself.

The buttons clicked until the machine fell out of her hands. It fell to the floor, with a dull crack.

The desk and floor were littered with papers.

Bills, letters, statements--most of which she had never seen. And had she not, she was not sure her mother had wished her to.

“Camila?”

The voice of her mother was on the other side of the desk. Katinka bent over, her thin fingers touching the arm of her daughter.

Her nails were manicured and polished, a tidiness she maintained herself in spite of all.

Camila kept her eyes on the papers.

We are in trouble, she said, in a flat voice.

The hand of her mother stopped in the air.

What do you say?

You understand me. Camila grew sharp. “These bills. They are piled up like mountains.”

Katinka straightened herself. Do not speak so loud, Camila Marakov, she said in Russian, pronouncing the full name of her daughter.

It was the old country trick she had employed ever since Camila was a toddler.

It was no longer effective. Not of this.

This is serious, Camila said, in English. She gave a harsh laugh, and rose out of her chair.

Our dance studio is in debt. That is what you ought to be afraid of.”

Her mother looked straight at her, her chin up. Her eyes were angry, but Camila felt that it was not against her.

We did the best we could, Katinka answered.

“We?” Camila felt her throat tighten. You and Dad?

She looked around the room, seeing the boxes full of papers. All of it was evidence that the studio--their studio--was on the verge of collapse.

It is all right, she said, after a long pause, trying to get herself together. I only need time to think.

No, no need, said Katinka, rising.

Camila faced her. Her mother still moved with some grace, the carriage of a woman who had spent her life in ballet, despite the years. But sorrow had etched lines on her face, and taken away the hardness that she used to have.

Katinka said, I have found a buyer.

Camila froze. “What?”

He is coming to see the place tomorrow. The sale is taking place, Camila.”

She gasped. We cannot simply sell it! This studio is ours since before I was born.”

The bills, Katinka said. You have seen them with your own eyes.”

That does not imply that you simply abandon all the effort that Dad put into this place! Camila spoke louder. How are you going to do that?

Her mother flinched, and turned her face so that her hair covered her cheekbones. That was her habit when she felt herself in a corner, and she would draw in like a turtle into its shell.

Camila recalled how she used to be a small girl, and she would tie her hair around her chin and pretend it was a beard, and she would wait until her father would laugh. The memory turned in her breast.

The silence was broken by a deep breath of Katinka. You are right, she whispered, dashing away her tears. She never shed a tear before anybody.

It is like betrayal to sell. Believe me, I would prefer anything to it. But there is no other way, Camila.”

The burden of her words tugged at the heart of Camila. She despised the sight of her mother in this condition--weary, helpless, suffering.

It is all right, Mom, she said at last, and she stepped up and put her arms around her.

Katinka embraced her at once. They were almost of equal height, and her chin lay lightly against the brow of Camila. She smelled of lemon soap.

I am sorry, my angel. Indeed, Katinka said.

I know, Camila whispered. I love you.

I love you also. Her mother released her, and waved her hands across her cheeks as though she were attempting to cool herself.

I am going to take some fresh air.

Camila warned, Do not even think of lighting a cigarette.

Her mother tensed a little, her voice fading toward the door.

I no longer smoke.

Camila bit her lips. She was aware that it was a lie.

However, there were certain things that were not to be said.

She was alone in the office, and the papers that lay about told their silent tale. She looked out of the window, to the street where the stranger of tomorrow would come in.

***

Her phone vibrated in the back pocket of her high-waisted jeans.

Camila pulled it out and read the brief message that lit up the screen.

Adriana: You still want to drink?

She looked at the desk covered with bills, the edges of the papers curling as though they were laughing at her.

It would be the responsible thing to do to stay at home. The beverages in this city were too expensive, diluted and not worth the money.

But she was aware that fifty dollars would not rescue the studio.

And at this moment, something to cheer her up appeared much more helpful than looking at late notices.

Me: No problem. See you at Topher soon.

She put her phone in her pocket and walked out of the office into the short hallway.

Toilet on the right. Left dance floor.

The big room opened out like a memory--mirrors on all the walls, lights hanging down like a galaxy.

At one time, there was a waiting list to dance here, music reverberating as girls in tutus spun around the polished floor.

The silence was now only interrupted by the creak of wood under her feet.

Her shoes were sinking into the threadbare carpet by the entrance. There were a couple of mismatched chairs along the wall, and a dusty display with program sheets that had not been touched in months.

She could see her mother through the glass, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed tight, staring off somewhere.

Camila was feeling around her fingers to find the tell-tale cigarette. None.

However, as she opened the door, she was met by a slight odour of tobacco.

She made no reply. She had already offended her mother enough in a day.

Camila said, I am going to see Adriana.

Katinka drew her brows together. Hope not downtown.

It is okay, Mom. You are too anxious.”

Her mother answered, her voice sharp, her arms crossed tighter, sometimes I think I don t worry enough. The black puffer jacket squeaked as it moved.

Bad things occur downtown. Bad things to people who get themselves in places they ought not to be.”

Camila grinned sideways. Do you call your daughter stupid?

Her mother was waving her hands in the air. “Fine. Do as you please. You just call me when you need a ride. And do not drive and drink.”

I will not. Camila bent down and kissed her cheek. “Eat dinner. Your cheekbones are glass-cutters.”

That at last made her mother laugh.

Camila waved and ran to her light blue Prius.

She plugged her phone in and played a cheerful playlist inside, something that could chase away the darkness that was creeping in through the city streets.

Topher Lounge was close to the docks, and the salty smell of the ocean hung in the air.

Her mother had been correct, this section of town was rough. But Camila had never got into any real trouble here.

Men had shouted to her, but that was the worst she had experienced.

It was nothing to the story of Adriana--breaking a glass over the head of a man who had seized her, in spite of her engagement ring flashing in his face. No charges were pressed. Her husband, Jonah, ensured that. It was a good thing to be a lawyer in witness protection.

In this case, the police would hardly move unless they were bribed with some cash. Nobody had troubled that night.

Camila stopped at the curb, and the music stopped in the middle of the chorus, as she opened the door.

Topher was low and heavy, constructed of weathered stone, as though it were crouching over the street.

Blue light poured through its rounded windows, the shadows of bodies moving behind the glass.

A cloud of smoke was over the little group outside.

She passed someone who whistled low. She held her head straight, not even rolling her eyes at him.

Her attire was not suggestive at all-just jeans, low red heels, and a white tank top.

Hey, barbie doll! A bald man in thick gauge earrings shouted. You want company?

The phrases gave her the creeps. Whether he was pretty or ugly would have made no difference. Camila despised being hit on.

Flirting became feelings. Emotions became dating.

And dating…

Dating was just the beginning of the trouble.

The sort of trouble she could not afford just now.

Trouble had a habit of seeking her out, whether she liked it or not.

And when she walked to the door of Topher Lounge, she had no idea who was inside that was going to alter everything.

What would happen if this was the night it all began?

Chapter 2

Camila’s POV

Adriana had not been waiting long, but the group of empty glasses before her spoke otherwise.

She called out, Camila! over the low thrum of music. She waved so large that she attracted attention of other tables. Her red hair was long, and it shone in the light, her curves were just right, and a fitted dress was just the right thing to show them off. Freckles were all over her cheeks, as though they had been painted there.

Hey, Adriana. Camila sat down in the chair opposite her.

Adriana bent forward and spoke in a low tone. How is Katinka?

Camila smiled half-heartedly. Mom is… okay. She shook her head, hair tossing against her cheek. No, no, she is not. But I want one of those before I get into that. She nodded at the glasses that were empty.

Adriana lifted her hand to wave the waitress. The small waitress approached, hips swinging in a short black skirt. A man grabbed at her as