Page 1 of Bleed with Me

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Nina

“Iwon’t enter an arranged marriage!” I repeated at least for the tenth time, throwing my long dark brown hair over my shoulder.

But my father waved my protests off as if I were an annoying fly disturbing his calm day. My temper rose dangerously high, and the pressure built behind my eyes. My stiletto nails painfully dug into my palms because when I felt pushed into a corner, I often shifted into the crazy beast, ready to put everyone in their place.

However, my father was in a different league. His word was the law. As the new head of the Valentino crime family, he didn’t tolerate any disrespect or disobedience.

I would’ve thought that after the disaster my grandfather brought on our family, he would have bigger problems than caring about my marital status. Giovanni Valentino plotted against Zyon Zhumagulov and lost. His body was found a month ago at the bottom of the canal in a black bag, with a carved Z on his chest, the signature of the man who issued an order to eliminate him.

Mr. Zee, as people often called Zyon, ruled the underworld, controlling import and export, casinos on the East Coast, and enough politicians and cops to make himself untouchable. Everyone shit their pants after the carnage he unleashed on the city when Giovanni and Chester Kellerman tried to murder him. With patience and a clever plan, he wiped every enemy off the map and crowned himself king.

What a fucking brilliant asshole!

My father was lucky Zyon needed his connections in Chicago; otherwise, we’d all be dead or shipped away like the other families who conspired against him.

It was a mess. We were surrounded on all sides, and my father thought the best way to help us was to marry me to someone powerful to gain some allies. Still, the man he suggested was the worst possible option. I had to stop this madness before it was too late.

“You will do as I say, Nina,” my father said in a firm voice that allowed no more objections, but the words itched on my tongue. Obviously, he knew me too well to expect a new wave of protests and cut it off before I could even start. “Or you can pack your things and go search for your mother. She would be ecstatic to see you.”

Like, seriously?

My mother was a drug addict and a prostitute who offered me to her filthy clients when I was thirteen. It was the worst day of my life, and even years later, I still got chills remembering the evening when two men tried to force themselves on me.

Thankfully, the neighbor heard my screams, broke the window, and snatched me away. He took me to the police, who contacted my dad, who had no idea I existed. It was a crazy discovery for him, and his marriage didn’t survive it. Still, he took me in, and my life became much better. I endured shaming and bullying because I was illegitimate, but it beat hiding under the bed while Mom looked for someone to take her frustration out on every fucking time.

“That was a low blow, Dad,” I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest. He paid a fortune to the psychiatrist to get me back on track after the abuse I survived.

In my twenty-four years, I’ve never needed to return to her. I could provide for myself, but let’s not lie. I was used to the money, comfort, and safety my father provided. I loved fast cars, free nights out, and the bottomless credit card. My career was stuck, so I would have to work regular hours to keep my stomach full. I would need a new apartment, because the one I used was his. And the prospect of cleaning the house made me nauseous. My nails were too perfect to get dirty with calcium deposits.

Yes, I was Daddy’s spoiled princess and didn’t intend to change anything about it. I had the best life ever. So why the fuck did he have to come up with this nonsense marriage fuckery?

“Low blow is your disapproval, sweetheart,” Dad said gently, switching his tactics. I knew what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. “You should be grateful for the life I gave you and help me to keep it. Do I ask for so much?”

“Yes,” I snapped, glaring at him. “You ask me to sacrifice my happiness.”

“Your happiness will end the moment Zyon Zhumagulov decides I’m disposable,” he retorted, rubbing his eyes. His tiredness was obvious. He worked diligently to bring a deal to the table that would satisfy the dragon’s craving for revenge. But nothing seemed to be enough. “You’ll be lucky if his brother, Malin, allows you to work as a bunny in his luxurious strip club.”

Excuse me?

“There has to be something Zyon wants,” I said, helplessly letting my arms fall beside my body. Dad had already made up his mind and expected me to follow through. Yet he underestimated my will to dodge this bullet. The man he picked just wasn’t for me. Period.

“Your future husband has what Zyon wants,” he replied matter-of-factly, leaning into his massive black office chair. His curly brown hair stuck in every direction from the constant running of his hands through it. His white button-up shirt was rumpled, and the dark bags under his eyes only underlined the “I could use a drink or two” look.

“So this is your strategy?” I whined in frustration, tossing myself into the black armchair opposite him. “Getting something for Zyon by marrying me off?”

“I’m not happy about it either, Nina,” Dad sighed, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. “But Zyon demands proof of our loyalty, and your future husband would kill for an opportunity to do business with him. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Not for me,” I grumbled, shaking my head at my poor luck. “I’m the loser.”

“You can tip the scales in your favor.” He turned to me, giving me an encouraging look. “If someone can benefit from this situation, it’s you.”

My eyes narrowed as I watched his pale face, seeing many similarities between us. But I would never force my child to fight my battles.

“Sonny Carlile is crazy,” I pointed out, hoping his heart would soften if he knew what kind of man he wanted to give my hand to. “He bullied me at school, remember? He constantly reminds me that I’m a bastard. He hates my guts.”

“Those incidents happened years ago, sweetheart.” He rolled his eyes, leaning on his elbows on the table and rubbing his hands along his face. “He changed.”