ᴀɾɾαηɡεᴅ ϯσ ᏂᎥm

Chapter 4

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Nikolai

I went back to Russia because I felt incredibly guilty for slapping the ten-year-old girl who had a weird obsession with me. I've been in the Bratva since I was five, she caught me by surprise, and I went into defense, but of course, I didn't apologize or explain why the hell I got so defensive. It made me sick to my stomach when the next day, she smiled like I didn't just hurt her the other day.

I mean, there's a limit to stupidity, right?

I couldn't deal with the constant kindness from her; for me, it was weird; it was strange that someone was being kind to me. It wasn't what I was used to. If I'm being honest, I liked her–not like how she liked or 'loved' me–but I liked her. I just didn't know how to say it, plus she was still in elementary, and I was in seventh grade.

I would watch her and her siblings because I was jealous. It was hard for me to be friendly, say kind things, or even laugh. My mom and stepdad sold me to the mafia, and in return, their only son killed animals for fun and trained to kill at five, killed two people at seven, tortured at ten...god, I've done a lot of things.

Now, the French Pakhan (boss) wants me to marry his daughter and make peace between the bratva (Russian mafia) and mafia française (French mafia), and the French pakhan just so happens to be Laurent DuPont, Bellamy's father.

Laurent DuPont married an outsider, which makes Bellamy.... A half outsider? Not that there's a problem, but the mafia does not take too kindly to outsiders. It's a miracle Bellamy's mother hasn't been assassinated, and maybe it's because she's from a country that speaks French.

"What are you talking about?!"

I glance nonchalantly at her. "Our marriage is being arranged."

Bellamy scoffs. "Nikolai, I don't think you know what a funny joke is."

I glare at her. "Does it fucking look like I'm joking?"

She shakes her head. "Why aren't you doing anything about it?! I know damn well you'd marry a cardboard box over me."

Funny

I narrow my eyes. "Bellamy, that was thirteen years ago."

Bellamy crosses her arms. "So what about now?"

I roll my eyes. "Now, you look pleasing to the eye." I pinch her nipple under the covers, and she jerks up.

"What the hell, you asshole."

"You'd want to be fucked in the ass next time?" I ask, knowing full well that was not what she meant.

She forces herself up, limping over to her clothes to dress up. I mentally smile. "You've overstayed your welcome, and our parents cannot come back to this–"

I sigh. "Why do you think they left the house to us? So we could watch Disney movies and paint nails?"

She growls. "I did one thing when I was ten, and now it has to follow me."

I scoff. "One thing? You followed me everywhere, called me dreamy, said I was cute, and claimed that you loved me. Shall I go on?"

Bellamy smiles sadly. "And I kissed you, to which you replied by slapping me. What I did was wrong, but did you need to slap me? What makes you think I'd agree to marry you if you put your hands on me? You can't even get my name right; it isn't bitch, or Bella. No matter how ugly or annoying it may seem to you, it's Bellamy."

Damn it, guilt. I've never felt guilty, so when I felt guilty thirteen years ago, it completely ate at me until I couldn't bear seeing Bellamy smile at me.