Chapter 2 Underboss

Mia POV

"Wait a minute... You're dating a bratva underboss?"

Katie rolled her eyes. "Aren't your walls a bit too thin to say that so loudly?"

I set my jaw, looking at her. The air in the cramped space seemed to thin, making it difficult to breathe. She had never spoken much about Ivan, but I could never imagine that he was an underboss.

"There aren't... Bratva in this city."

I would know the city had been overrun with the mafia for years, and they'd never accept anyone stepping in on their turf.

"Shows what you know. The Volka arrived a while ago and expanded like crazy. The Italians aren't exactly what they used to be, you know?"

For a moment, all I could manage was a bewildered stare. There was a part of me that was a bit happy thinking that the mafias in the city were declining, but the thought of them just being replaced by the bratva didn't sit well with me.

A criminal was a criminal, and all mafia, no matter the nationality, were the same. To hear that Katie was dating one of them, the underboss of the bratva at that, freaked me out. Didn't she know how dangerous that was? Did she think he was just some bad boy that she could enjoy and then leave the way she always had?

"Have you met him?" I asked. "Ivan’s boss, that is. Are you safe?"

She scoffed. "Of course, I haven't met him. He barely ever shows his face outside of the organization, and I'm not part of it. I don't plan on being either."

I shuddered. How could she be so relaxed about it? Nothing about the criminal underworld was that simple unless they wanted it to be! Mafia, bratva, and all other gang men were all the same: misogynists, abusive, power-hungry psychos. If Katie made it out of it, alive and unscathed, I would be happy, but at the same time, what point was there in me trying to interfere with it? My gut churned with guilt.

"Katie," I finally croaked, my voice barely a whisper. "How in the world did you even meet him?"

She shrugged, a nonchalant smile twisting her lips. "He's actually a real sweetheart, you know? The Volka took over those areas near the river, so he was around more often. That's how we bumped into each other."

There was nothing sweet about anyone in that lifestyle, but I said nothing. She seemed happy. It was more than I could say for myself at the moment.

"Call him back."

"Why?"

"Tell him I changed my mind. I can't go through with this."

"And what are your other options? Did you suddenly win the lottery?"

I flushed. "I'll figure something else out.... getting any further into mafia politics...."

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by further?"

I went and scrambled to figure out how to cover up my slip. I had never told Katie that my biological father was in the mafia.

"I'm just saying I already live in the slums, and I'm pretty sure this building is already owned by some mafia that I don't want to think about."

She blinked. She didn't seem to buy it. But then her phone rang, and she answered it.

Her eyes brightened. "She'll be there, babe. Thanks."

She hung up.

"Before 3 PM at the marriage registration office entrance."

My jaw dropped. "I just said that I didn't want to go through with it."

"And you also didn't say how you were going to fix your money problem otherwise."

I stared at her, trying to find a way out of it, but I had nothing to say. I averted my gaze, and she clapped.

"Now I can make you lunch."

"I don't even get a picture. Nothing?"

"No, that doesn't matter. This is a business transaction, not a love match."

By 2:50 PM, I was already perched on a rickety metal bench outside the granite facade of the marriage registration office. Every couple that entered or exited seemed to be radiating love and happiness.

It felt like a bizarre costume party I hadn't been invited to. I fidgeted with the hem of the dress Katie insisted I wear. It was one of hers and was a bit big on me, but it was pretty and fitting for the season.

The longer I waited alone, the more nervous I grew.

I knew nothing about this man, not even his name. Who knew what kind of person this guy was? What if he was psycho?

My greatest hope was that he wasn't some volatile thug with a hair-trigger temper. Any legal entanglements beyond the initial fake marriage could spell disaster.

And sure, it wasn't a love match. I probably wouldn't even have to live with him. Just be married to him on paper, but it was still a legally binding agreement. And I'd have to keep up a facade for a certain amount of time to make sure the government didn't suspect anything.

I wanted to stand and escape, but my legs wouldn't move. In my mind, I saw my mother in her hospital bed, and my body felt like lead.

I really had no other options.

As the minutes ticked on, the faster my heart thumped against my ribs. Every rustle of leaves and every car door slamming sent a jolt of nervous energy through me.

At precisely 2:53 PM, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb, drawing bewildered glances from the other people nearby. I barely spared it a glance, too nervous to care.

Then, a tall man stepped out, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of lilies in his hand. He was undeniably handsome, with a jawline that could cut diamonds and eyes that seemed far more mature for his age. He didn't look that old. He didn't look violent. If anything, he looked like he'd stepped off a magazine cover.

I started to wonder who would be the lucky bride of this man. They must be a happy couple marrying for love. Not like me.

However, he scanned the front area before the Maybach started to glide away, and his eyes landed on me. As I watched him saunter towards me, a flurry of questions buzzed through my mind.

Then, he stopped right in front of me with a smile.

"Good to know you're punctual too, fiancée," he said. “I’m Albert.”

His voice was as smooth as the expensive fabric of his suit. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Why would a man who looked like that need a fake marriage?