Married To The Russian Mafia Boss

Ava

Finding out my father sold me off to a sadistic Mafia Don to save himself was not how I expected my twenty-first birthday to go.

But alas. Here, I am.

"Are you okay?" My father asks, his voice layered with concern. I turn to observe him, my eyes roaming up and down his slouched shoulders. He was dressed in a black tuxedo one of the men who had brought us in had given him shortly after we arrived at the church. His hair was pushed back, the result of countless hand motions through the balding strands in order to appear much younger than he actually was.

It doesn't work.

"Ava... Please talk to me"

I let out a breath, then pressed my lips together forming a thin line. How exactly did he expect me to answer that?

Oh, of course, Dad, I'm fine; it's great that you sold me to a literal mafia boss to save your life; I totally understand and forgive you.

My lips twist downward at the thought.

My father had sold me to one of the most ruthless men in all of Chicago in order to save his neck and waited until my wedding, which just so happens to be my birthday day, to tell me about it.

Can you believe that? He waited until the day of my literal wedding day, despite knowing for months, to tell me what he had done.

Two of Antonio's men had stormed into my bedroom and forced me and my father into a car before driving us to the chapel where my soon-to-be father-in-law and husband-to-be were waiting.

We were currently in the dressing room, and while my father was doing a terrible job at calming me down, I had resorted to giving him the silent treatment.

My gaze wandered to the mirror, admiring how the ivory fabric of the wedding dress I was given minutes ago hugged my body. I always imagined wearing my mother's wedding dress on my wedding day, but the delicate lace clinging to my curves was nothing like the once-white satin dress buried away along with the rest of my mother's things in the attic.

"You can't remain silent forever. Sooner or later, you're going to have to talk to me." his voice cut through my thoughts, but I couldn't bring myself to reply to him. Instead, I continue to fix my gaze on my dress in the mirror, pretending to be oblivious to his persistence.

His voice rang again, softly this time, "I know this whole arrangement may seem a little... unexpected but you have to understand, this was the only thing he wanted. You were the only thing he wanted."

Il Mercante di Morte. Merchant of death.

It was what the Italian mafia called men like my father.

Men who sold weapons to the mafia in exchange for temporary power, and were too blind to see the inevitable consequences their actions would cause. My father believed he could outsmart men who built their empires on the blood of their enemies and the loyalty of their partners and that was the beginning of his and my downfall.

The Moretti Family was one of the three crime families that operated in Chicago. The families were of Italian, Russian and Irish descent but the Morettis were the most ruthless of them all. Their Leader, Alessandro Moretti, was a man known for his precision and unwavering authority. He ran his business like a well-oiled machine and left no room for screw-ups. Two months ago, my father made the mistake of selling faulty guns to the Moretti Mafia. His actions resulted in the death of three of Alessandro's men. One of which was his nephew.

As you would expect Alessandro wasn't too pleased to find out that the cause of his nephew's death was my father. A life for a life was the number one rule of the mafia and Alessandro was determined to make my father pay with his.

Until he saw me.

Well a picture of me.

On my father's table. He took one look at that picture and decided that I would be the perfect fit for his son.

As his bride.

As twisted as it sounded, Alessandro Moretti believed that forcing my father to give up his only daughter to his son would be punishment enough for my father.

"You sold me." the words fell from my lips before I could stop them. My nails bite into the flesh of my palm as I stare at him through glassy eyes.

He tipped his head back, briefly closing his eyes, "Ava, it isn't like that. Alessandro... this was all he wanted. For you to marry his son. If I hadn't agreed to this he would've killed the both of us. I didn't have a choice."

"You had a choice. You could've chosen not to sell off your only daughter to a monster. But you didn't."

He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, finally meeting my gaze. "Antonio will be good to you. His father will make sure of it."

I almost laughed at how convinced he sounded that Alessandro, a man who was notoriously known for going back on his words, would ensure that his son would treat me well.

As the next in line for his father's role as the head of the Moretti family, Antonio Moretti was as ruthless and vile as they came.

I had heard rumours about my future husband. About how he killed without a second thought and how he was willing to do anything and everything to get what he wanted. He was a murderer and a rapist who spent most of his nights visiting clubs, surrounded by women, alcohol and drugs.

Although his father had spent most of his life preparing him to become the perfect successor, Antonio had fallen short in his path to being the next head of the Moretti Mafia.

It was one of the reasons Antonio's father was desperate to get him married. Alessandro was getting old and Antonio had shown no interest in settling down.

The mafia needed heirs to survive, and since neither of Alessandro's children was interested in marriage, he was forced to play the role of matchmaker in their lives.

A soft knock echoes through the room and I drag my gaze towards the door where it's coming from.

"Two minutes until the ceremony." A voice says.

My shoulder stiffens.

I wait until the footsteps fade away before turning to my father once more.

My heart sinks. I turn to my father, my tone desperate as I beg, "Please don't make me do this."

He had to see that this was wrong. That he was making a mistake.

My father looks away, shoulders slumped as he stands there, defeated. His unspoken reply simmers in the silence.

It's already been done.

My heart hammers against my rib cage as the heavy oak doors of the chapel fall open. Silence falls over the guests as they stand and turn around to witness my entrance.

Breathe, I remind myself because it appears that I have forgotten.

The grand cathedral, adorned with white roses and soft lighting looks like something out of a dream. White rose petals lay scattered across a narrow crimson aisle that ran from the grand entrance down to the altar where my future husband stood.

The sight would've been breathtaking if it wasn't for the tiny knot of dread gnawing at my chest.

My father bent his arm, extending his elbow for me to hold on to. With trembling fingers, I settle my right hand over the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket. The delicate fragrance of roses lingers in the air as my father begins our descent down the aisle.

My eyes sifted through the faces that filled each pew. I had never met any of these people but yet Alessandro had deemed each of them of utmost importance to be in attendance.

I wondered if they were aware of the circumstances surrounding this wedding. Did they even care that they were attending the wedding of a man who had caused suffering to hundreds?