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  Mafia Bride

  An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

  Bella King

  Copyright © 2020 Bella King

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bonus Content

  More Mafia Books by Bella King

  Introduction

  Viktor

  There’s only one reason I’m marrying her, and it’s not because of her irresistible hips and pouty lips, although those are a plus.

  I need her, and I will do anything to make sure I get her.

  And she better behave.

  I’m sick of women acting up. She should know her place the second she arrives.

  Cora

  I’m destined to marry a man I’ve never met.

  He claims to be a politician, but I doubt it.

  Politicians aren’t 250 pounds of pure muscle, with a thick Russian accent and a face so handsome that it would have me forgive even the greatest of sins.

  I know that he’s up to something, but arrangements are final.

  There’s no turning back from fate, no matter how cruel it can be.

  Mafia Bride is a Standalone Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

  Chapter One

  Cora

  Not all women are out looking for their prince charming. Some of them are sitting on the porch swing, drinking an overly sweet iced coffee that had to be delivered by a bodyguard because they’re not allowed to leave the estate property, and humming a wedding song for a man they’ve never laid eyes on.

  Some women marry for love. Others, like me, will marry for political reasons.

  You would think that society had moved beyond marriages like that. People my age link up with their college sweetheart, buy a house together, get a few pets, have a baby or two, then divorce ten years down the road. Unfortunately, that’s not my destiny, and divorce is strictly out of the question.

  I’m supposed to meet my suitor this evening, and I’d be lying if I say I’m not a sickening mixture of excitement and anxiety. I can’t be blamed for how I feel, of course. I’m marrying a man that I’ve never met before, and it’s because my father advised it.

  I never see my father unless he wants something from me. The last time I laid eyes on him was when he came to tell me that he had a potential suitor picked out for me. He made it sound like I had a choice in the matter, and technically I do, but why push back against one of the most powerful men in the country? It won’t get me anywhere but cast out onto the street, and there are good reasons why I don’t go out there.

  I’ve never been off government property alone. I’m not allowed to wander freely. Politicians’ daughters are prime targets for kidnappers and terrorists, neither of which I fancy spending any amount of time with. I’d much rather stay home if it puts me at risk to go out.

  I take a sip of my iced coffee and look at the bulky man standing on the porch across from me. “Could you get them to put less sugar in this next time?” I ask, swirling the half-melted ice cubes around in a large plastic cup.

  The bodyguard nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  They always talk like that. You can’t have a proper conversation with a bodyguard. They’re hired to look mean and keep people away from me, not to talk. Sometimes, I talk to them and tell them about my day, but they don’t say much back. It’s always one-sided.

  That wouldn’t be so bad if I had any friends, but I don’t. How am I supposed to when I never see anyone aside from old men with white hair and permanent scowls etched into their wrinkled faces. I hope that my husband doesn’t look like that.

  I’m not terribly worried about the man I am destined to marry, however. As long as he isn’t eighty, I think that we’ll be able to get along. I’m sure that at the very least, I’ll enjoy having consistent company. Maybe he’ll even be attractive, but that might be too much to ask. I’d settle for a man with a sense of humor and a pleasant demeanor.

  I take another sip of my cold coffee and lean back on the porch swing, placing my hand down on the worn wooden armrest. The air is just hot enough to warrant an iced drink, but not hot enough to reduce me to a sweaty blob of pink flesh. It’ll get to be that hot in a month’s time, but for now, I’m enjoying the weather.

  I run my fingers listlessly through the grooves that I’ve left in the armrest with my fingernails over the years, considering getting up to go for a walk around the estate. There are 53 acres of grass, woods, gardens, ponds, and tennis courts to explore, but I usually stick to the same path. Otherwise, I’m required to have a bodyguard with me. What’s the point of meandering through the woods when it’s ruined by someone breathing down my neck?

  I stand up from the porch swing, and my bare feet make contact with the canary yellow dusting of pollen on the floor. It gets thicker every day, but thankfully I don’t have bad allergies. The worst I’ve experienced is an increased rate of sneezing.

  I lift up my foot and look at the pollen stuck to my sole. That’s a good enough reason to wear shoes outside, but the grass feels so good between my toes that I opt to go without them. I can always rinse the pollen and dirt off my feet before I go back inside.

  The coffee sloshes around in my clear cup as I jump down the stairs and off the porch, not bothering to take them normally. The bodyguard shoots me a glance, always on the lookout for a sprained ankle or any variety of dangers that I like to put myself in. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had to retrieve me from the ground after I got too confident in my athletic abilities.

  I give him a thumbs-up as I walk away from the house, silently telling him that I’m not going too far away. I’m sure he’ll be watching me anyway, but at least I get to have some personal space as I stroll through the perfectly maintained acre of grass that resides at the front of the house.

  I’m going to fantasize about the perfect man, no doubt setting myself up for disappointment when my suitor arrives later today. I know it’s unrealistic, but I want to be pleasantly surprised by the man with whom I must spend the rest of my life.

  I squint through the rays of the pineapple sun as I begin my lap around the house, already concocting images of a mild-mannered man who injects some excitement into my boring life.

  Chapter Two

  Viktor

  This better work.

  There’s only one reason I’m marrying her, and it’s not because of her irresistible hips and pouty lips, although those are a plus. I’m marrying Cora Lauder bec
ause she will bring me one step closer to ultimate power in this country, and she’ll be none the wiser.

  I look through images of her as though I was choosing a model for a photoshoot, tossing them onto the black leather seat in the back of my limousine as my driver takes me to the Lauder Estate. Cora has blonde hair and suntanned skin, like a southern girl who never had a single responsibility in her entire life. I can only hope she doesn’t turn out to be an insufferable brat. She should know her place around me.

  I must be careful not to anger her outright, even though I tend to be strict with my subordinates. I must be a perfect gentleman so that no suspicion is aroused until the wedding. After that, all bets are off. She will bow to me as though I were king. I might as well be after I’ve been sworn into the Lauder family.

  I flip through another candid polaroid photo of Cora. Her eyes are a stunning gray, with just the slightest hint of blue tinting her irises. I’m going to enjoy this woman immensely, but that’s after the job is done. I can’t go astray on my mission. I paid eleven million dollars to her father to be considered as a suitor, and I can’t afford to make a mistake.

  “Sir,” my driver calls from the front of the limo. “We will arrive at the Lauder Estate in five minutes.”

  “Very good,” I reply before I gather up the photos of Cora, tucking them into the inner pocket of my black suit jacket. I want her to believe that this is the first time I am seeing her, as though it were a normal arranged marriage. She can’t know the secrets I hold.

  I recline in my seat, looking out of the tinted window at the increasingly posh surroundings until we arrive at the first checkpoint. The Lauder Estate requires heavy screening before entry, and it’s closed to the public. However, a few million seems to be enough to convince them to let a Russian mafia boss step onto their pristine lawn. It’s not so secure after all.

  A knock on the glass lets me know that I will have to change vehicles upon entry into the estate. I’ve been here before, but I was with Jonathan Lauder, who is Cora’s father and a ruthless politician. With him, all we had to do was to give a curt nod to the guards on our way in, but I don’t have that luxury now that I’m coming alone.

  I open the door to the limo, a gush of hot air flowing inside as I slide out of my seat and exit onto the private street. There are two armed guards waiting to escort me to one of the Lauder Estate vehicles sitting in front of the gate, blocking the way in.

  I straighten my back as I stare down the guards with a blank expression. I don’t bother to seem less threatening now that I’ve been granted permission to come to the Lauder Estate at my will for as long as I’m deemed welcome. I hope to seal the deal as quickly as possible so that I won’t have any issues in the future.

  My suit jacket is unique in that I don’t feel hotter with it on. In fact, it’s built for the summer and does an excellent job of repelling heat, despite being midnight black. I had it custom made to fit my large frame. Regular suits in this price range are made for old, fat men, and I’m anything but, consisting of nearly 250 pounds of pure muscle.

  It never ceases to blow my mind that rich politicians will hoard everything they can find – women, money, cars, power – but when it comes to their own health and longevity, it’s as though they couldn’t care less. I don’t fall into that trap. I’m not vain, but the pursuit of greatness has left me with a formidable appearance. I take care of my body, as well as my mind.

  Despite my intimidating appearance, the guards don’t search me. If they did, they would discover I’m carrying a firearm. I always do. They can pry it out of my cold, dead hands if they want me to forgo taking it with me when I enter the Lauder Estate. I’m always armed. Always.

  Alas, the guards know better than to search a man who just ensured they would all go home with a significant Easter bonus this year. One doesn’t unload eleven million dollars and get treated like any regular visitor off the street. To them, I’m precious cargo, and they’re more concerned with protecting me than the people on the estate.

  “This way, sir,” one of the guards grumbles to me as we walk toward the glossy black SUV humming at the gate. He leads me to the car, opening the door for me to climb into the backseat.

  I haven’t said a word to these people, and it will remain that way until I meet Cora. She’s the only one worthy of my words, aside from my limo driver. He’s been with me longer than I can even remember. It must have been at least fifteen years ago when we first met.

  I fold my hands in my lap as the SUV rolls down the immaculate path to the towering mansion that houses my future bride. This alone is enough to indicate that I’ve made the right decision. Jonathan Lauder wasn’t kidding when he negotiated me up to eleven million for a chance at his daughter, stating that my initial offer of five million was pocket change to him.

  Ah, well, I’ll have plenty more once I harness the power of the government to enhance my current occupation. It’s not every day that a ruthless Russian mafia boss like myself gains access to such a position with as much potential as this one. Forget getting my foot in the door; If I can pull this off, I will have blown the door straight off its golden hinges.

  Chapter Three

  Cora

  I adjust the spaghetti straps on my white silk dress. It’s a subtle but expensive piece, likely to excite even the most critical of suitors. I have no idea who this man is, or if I will even be attracted to him, but I feel compelled to dress in a way that impresses him.

  I’ve put my hair up in a neat bun on the very top of my head with the help of one of the mansion maids. They’re always so helpful, but like the bodyguards, they’re deathly quiet at all times. I hope that my suitor isn’t so shy. I’m not exactly the most talkative and extroverted person, but I do better around people who are more outgoing than I am. It brings out the adventurous side of me.

  “Miss Cora,” says a thin blonde woman who I recognize as Mrs. Johnson, the estate’s community operations manager, as she pokes her head into my dressing room. She speaks with a friendly tone, finely crafted from having spent her entire life catering to the needs of foreign guests and temperamental politicians. She’s a saint amongst the sinners who occupy the seats in a merciless political realm, and probably the only person who knows how to hold a proper conversation on this estate.

  I turn my head to her, and a smile spreads across her face. “You look lovely, Miss Cora,” she says. “Your guest has arrived. He’s waiting for you in the lobby.”

  “Thank you,” I reply warmly, taking one final glance in the body-length mirror before I leave. I’m still not wearing shoes, but I’ve showered and done my toenails with white polish. I’m assuming it’s fine.

  Mrs. Johnson is still at the door, an odd expression on her face as I step away from the mirror. “Your guest,” she says, a confused smile flickering across her face, “Is a very interesting man.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” I ask, walking toward her as she moves to let me through the doorway.

  “Oh, not at all. I’m just curious as to where one would meet such a man. He’s very,” she pauses, “exotic.”

  I raise my eyebrows, holding back a laugh. “Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?”

  “Are you friends with him?” she asks, knowing that she can get personal with me. I granted her that permission long ago when I got fed up with the stoic tendencies of everyone at the estate.

  “I’ve never met the man,” I reply as I pass her. I know she’s confused by my statement, but she doesn’t question me any further. I couldn’t answer her questions about the man I’m about to meet even if I wanted to. She knows him better than I do at this point.

  I walk down the hall, my feet making the faintest of sounds against the cool marble floor. My heart is the thing making the most sound as I round the corner to enter the lobby where my suitor is waiting for me. I take a deep breath before entering, trying to collect myself so that I don’t stumble over my words and make myself out to be a fool.

  All heads turn to me
as I walk into the lobby, and blood immediately rushes to my cheeks. I offer up a weak smile to the most intimidating man I’ve ever come across in my years on this earth. The man smiles back at me after a moment, as though he has to remember to look friendly in front of his future bride. I wonder if this is even my suitor, or a personal bodyguard sent to deliver a message from him.

  “Cora.” He says my name as though he’s commanding me to kneel before him.

  My eyes are wide with uncertainty as I come to a stop in front of him, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. I force them apart, letting them fall to my sides in a manner that makes me appear more comfortable. I’m far from that, but I’ve been taught to maintain appearances well.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say to him, extending a hand toward him and trying to keep it from shaking like a spiderweb with a fly caught in it.

  “My name is Viktor Kazakov,” the man says, clasping his large hand around mine and giving it a firm shake. “I spoke with your father, Mr. Lauder, in regard to a potential union.” He speaks with such a heavy accent that it’s unmistakable that he’s from Russia. His grammar and vocabulary are meticulous, however.

  I attempt to smile at him again as he lets go of my hand. “So, you are my suitor,” I say, my brain overclocked in an attempt to process what that means for me. Unfortunately, the first thing that pops into my head is that a man his size would split me in half in the bedroom, something that both frightens me and arouses me at the same time.

  Now isn’t the time for those sorts of lewd thoughts.

  Viktor nods, his face returning to the serious expression he wore before I entered the room. “Perhaps we should speak in private,” he says, giving the side-eye to the bodyguards one at a time, as though to tell them to fuck off.

  Normally, my bodyguards won’t let me be alone with anyone, no matter who they are, but this time they step back, allowing Viktor to stride forward and take my arm. I’m taken aback by this, but I allow him to escort me out of the lobby and down the hallway.