Married to the mafia boss Series

Anastasia

I hate being back in America.

I hate even more the reason why I’m back in America. My stupid leg. Stupid, stupid leg. If I never would’ve went skiing with some friends I never would’ve broken my kneecap forcing me to retire. I was supposed to be the best ballet dancer of the century. I had so much potential. So many offers. So much fame waiting for me.

My father insisted on me coming back to Boston. I left Boston when I was thirteen. Bolshoi Ballet has been my life since. I had contracts, agents, lead roles. All gone. My plans were always the New York City Ballet, but my father forbid me from going to New York City, he said it was too dangerous because it’s “Mafia territory.’

Even though Boston is just as dangerous with the war between the Bratva and Mafia going on. I’ve always hated my father for being apart of something so horrible. Why couldn’t he be a normal dad? I’ve lost so many friends and boyfriends because my father-scars, tattoos and all-scare the ever loving shit out of them. It disgusts me to think about all the people my father has killed, too. I’m not an innocent to this lifestyle. I have my anger and grudges and I’ve had them ever since Marco Ricci murdered my mother for no reason other than being associated with my father.

I’ll never forgive my father for that either.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Last I heard Marco Ricci is dead-good.

The penthouse my father put me up in is nice. It’d be even nicer if there weren’t guards watching my every move refusing to let me go anywhere alone. The first thing I wanted to do when I got home was to hangout with my friends. I couldn’t even go to the movies without two of my father’s beefiest men driving me there. They followed us in the movie theater, and sat right behind us.

My father has always been way too protective of me since day one. He’s babied and coddled me to the point where I never had a childhood. I wasn’t allowed to go to friends’ houses and I could only have certain friends-ones that he approved. Even when I went to Russia to study ballet he had guards watching over me, although the threat of the Mafia isn’t in Russia. There I was safe, my life seemingly normal, except I still wasn’t free to do whatever I wanted. My life was ballet and I loved it. I loved the seemingly endless practices, staying up all night rehearsing. I loved the escape.

I loved everything about ballet.

Now it’s all gone.

I never had a backup plan. Now I’m twenty years old without any clue what I want to do. The smartest option would be college, but I wouldn’t want to major in anything but dance. As for the other arts-I can’t do theater, and I can’t do music. Dance was the only way I could communicate with people.

My closest friends in Boston, Svetlana and Tatiana, who are both daughters of Bratva members, both attend Boston College. They’re entering their junior year. If I were to start, I would feel so far behind compared to them.

Looking at my phone, they both text me in our group message-

Svetlana: How about English? You love reading. Anastasia: And what exactly would I do with an English degree?

Tatiana: Teaching?

Anastasia: You know that’s not an option for me.

Tatiana: I mean it could.

Anastasia: No.

Svetlana: How about art? Become a painter.

Tatiana: I’ll buy your paintings.

I roll my eyes, they both know I can’t draw to save my life. Just as I type a reply, the door into my master bedroom swings open. I pull the blanket up and over to cover my chest. In my frilly pink nightgown, there in no bra underneath to cover the outline of my breasts where my nipples poke through the thin material.

At first I thought the men were my bodyguards, Antov and Ryurik, but with a much closer look at the two men, they are strangers holding guns. One points it at me as the other says something I don’t understand.

Panicking, I scramble out of bed but not before one of the men grabs me by the waist. I fight as hard as I can trying to shake him, screaming and hoping that someone will be able to hear me. They stick some type of cotton material in my mouth to muffle me as he carries me downstairs. The other man is by his side, gun ready and all.

I start crying scared out of my mind. My thoughts wander to my mother and how scared she must have been when she was taken, beaten, raped, and killed.

God, please don’t let that be my fate.

As they push me into the elevator I see Antov and Ryurik’s motionless bodies and I pray once more that they’re only unconscious. I’m still sobbing and this time, one of the men slaps me across the face. I hold my stinging cheek in shock. That’s when the one carrying the gun grabs something out of his back pocket. It looks like a brown sack. They throw it over my face making me completely blind.

I start to hyperventilate.

This can’t be happening.

Somebody please help.

Help me.

Help.