As the Zhukovas finally departed, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy and tainted, Vera felt like she was truly trapped in a nightmare. The weight of her new reality—a destiny decided without her input—crushed her. She didn't want this life. She didn't want to be tied to Kiril. She silently prayed for a miracle that would dispute the agreement.
Deciding to talk to her father,she followed him into his lobby where he spent most of his time, solving the clan's issues.
Vera hardly talk to her father, he was a disciplinarian and made sure both of his children were well trained and disciplined.
Vera remembered a particular year, she was seven then and rebellious, unlike her brother, she didn't want to train and hid in her room pretending to be sick.
Dmitri was their trainer and his training was always very tough and hard. He reported to Vladimir that Vera was nowhere to be found, Vladimir knowing his daughter's tricks all too well than she herself, stormed into her room and dragged her into the dungeon– A place where they kept their criminals for torturing. He locked her in a sacred room– where there was little ventilation. For two days without food or water.
Vera shuddered at the memory and shook her head trying to erase it off her head. Getting to his study door she recoiled and walked back to her room. She can't stand up to him, he was like the Goliath and she was like David,but here David ain't winning the Goliath, She thought.
A fierce resolve ignited within her, burning through the panic. She was the one being forced into this marriage. She had to find a way to escape, or failing that, a way to fight.
Vera turned and walked away, every step vibrating with raw anger. She jammed her bedroom door shut, the sharp sound a pathetic testament to her inner turmoil. She replayed Kiril's arrogant, victorious smirk in her mind, and the urge to slap that smile off his face was almost overwhelming.
She suddenly felt a searing hatred for the Zhukovas and the entire idea of marrying into their family, especially when her brother's dire warnings were still echoing in the cold marble halls.
Sitting heavily on her bed, fueled by desperation, she snatched her phone and dialed the only number that represented both love and formidable power: her Aunty Giulia.
The phone was picked up on the first ring, and the voice that greeted her was sharp, clear, and laced with Italian authority.
"How are you doing, my Rosaria," Giulia Da Luca said. Giulia, Zoya's elder sister, was the undisputed Godmother of the Italian Mafia clan, ruling with a power and strength that dwarfed even Vladimir's regional influence.
"Zia Giulia, they're marrying me off next month, to a guy I don't even know. I don't want to get married, but Papa and Mama won't listen to me. Even Pavel is not saying anything about it," Vera rushed out, her words tumbling over each other in a torrent of fear and frustration. She knew she could depend on her aunt.
"Cucciola," Giulia replied, her voice firm yet soothing. "Getting married isn't a bad thing. In fact, look at the bright side of your marriage. You don't have to know him to get married to him. When you get married, you'll become a Koleva, and you'll be free from your parents' holding grip and would be able to decide things on your own."
Vera paused, the word Koleva—a powerful, respected female Mafia leader—resonating deeply. She momentarily imagined a life of independence and authority, freed from the strict rules of the Petrov house. It wasn't a bad idea, she conceded, if only the groom weren't a potential enemy. She would have power and above all freedom from her parents heavy hand.