His Bratva Princess

Chapter 1

I picture Zendaya or Selena Gomez as Sofia
Sofia's Pov

I sit silently, my hands tightly clasped together whilst I sit in front of Vincenzo Russo, my father, and Ivan Volkov.
Viktor sits beside me, an almost exact replica of his father who stands before us. Green eyes, dark brown hair, lips in a thin line and a stoic and blank expression exhibited on his face. Ivan Volkov is a tall man who stands at 6 foot in height, yet, his 24 year old son seems to almost tower over him at 6 foot and 4 inches.
Like his father, Viktor has a sleeve of tattoos, all embodied with symbols of the bratva and other somewhat meaningful pieces to him. I remember at the age of 14, Viktor was 17, he got his first round of tattoos. Stars, on both knees, meaning 'I don't kneel for anyone' and a skull on his hand with roses surrounding it. Now, it's almost impossible to pinpoint each individual tattoo without appearing as if I'm admiring the insufferable baboon.
"You must know why you're both here," Ivan begins.
I look to Viktor hoping for answers, having no idea what Ivan is talking about. Viktor doesn't look my way, he stares intently at his father. His father is the Capo, or mob boss. Meaning, Viktor will be taking his place. Viktor has always held his father in high respects. Viktor has devoted his entire life to the Bratva. At the age of 16, he could have a man the age of 21 begging for mercy. He's known for his fighting abilities, his loyalty to the Bratva and his intelligence.
My father clears his throat, summoning me to look at him. My father has always been protective of me. Although there is a bad reputation surrounding Mafia men regarding women, I know for a fact all the men I know treat women with high respect.
"I don't know what's happening, sir," I answer to Ivan.
He looks to my father with a raised brow, to which my father sighs heavily.
"As Viktor knows, he's becoming capo as I'm.... retiring, you could say. We need the Italian and Russian alliance more then ever, now. You two will be getting married in a months time, after Sofia turns 21. Now as you both may know, this was planned 20 years ago. Securing the Italian and Russian mafia together will make us more powerful and less likely to target. With the Irish mob at our doorstep at least once a month, this is what we need," Ivan informs us of the details.
I knew this was coming one day. But I tried to push the thought to the back of my head as best I could. Italian daughters are always sold off for some sort of alliance.
At least it's Viktor who is close to my age, and not some creepy old man who is 15 years older then me.
Ivan and my father had always been close, I don't know how they met but I'm certain it was through my mother and Ivan's wife. They were best friends. Until my mother passed in a fatal car accident orchestrated by a rival gang.
As my father and Ivan were close, that meant Viktor was always around. Antonio, my brother, Viktor, Mila, Viktor's sister and I all homeschooled together. Along with a few other people, however, Viktor was just always around. When I was at the shops with one of the few friends I had, he'd be there. If I was at some sort of celebration or family gathering, including my own birthdays, he'd be there.
Let's not forget the time I was 10 and he was 13 and I had my first kiss at a playground and he made sure to attack the poor boy and effectively frighten off any other potential love interests for my 10 year old self. Even as a boy he has always been brutal.
"We weren't expecting this change over in leadership so soon, but we are well prepared," my father says.
He stares intently at me, while I don't respond. They're expecting something. I don't know how I feel. I knew this day was coming. I was reminded every year after I had turned 16. That was when my father sat me down and told me. Viktor always knew. I didn't understand why he never cared. I didn't bother asking because he would blubber some bull shit like 'it's my duty' or 'it's what has to be done for the benefit of the Bratva.'
It's always about the Bratva.
"So what will happen with living arrangements sir?" I ask Ivan.
Although Ivan had been in my life since the day I was born, I still called him Sir. The Bratva demanded respect, and I know he cared for me and wouldn't care what I called him but it would be just weird to call him anything but that. Was I supposed to call him my future father-in-law?
      "You will move in to the Volkov estate after you turn 21," Ivan responds.
       My eyes widen and I swallow. I turn 21 in 2 weeks, they can't possibly expect me to pack up my entire life in 2 weeks?
        "You will have help with all of your things," my father stares at me pointedly, as if he can read my thoughts.
        "Right," I whisper and look down at my hands in my lap.
        For the first time since we sat down, Viktor looks at me. I look into his eyes and only see anger. I frown, unable to determine why he would be angry.
       "You're both dismissed. We will be discussing this more in detail in a few days time," Ivan orders.
        I stand and bow my head respectfully, then walk to the door. Viktor stands but stays back to talk to our fathers, which spreads relief through my body knowing he won't be following me back to my room.
        If I had the choice I would most definitely run away from this life. Who would choose to be born into the life of the mafia? There's no out for me. Especially considering I'm to be married further into this life that only simply leads to death at my doorstep.