The Don and His Russian Bride

I

The chains rattled with each blow I took to the punching bag. The leather bag was brand new, causing crisp sounds to break through the quiet gym with every contact. Since I was used to the worn out bag I had practiced on back at home, I was still trying to adjust to the firmness of the new one. When I expected a soft spot to cave in from the impact of my fist, the stiff leather did not budge and rather sent a jolt of force up my arm.

The muscles of my arms burned from the amount of rapid punches and my core tightened to strengthen my hits. Loose tendrils of hair stuck to the sweaty skin of my forehead and the back of my neck. The efforts that I had been giving at the gym for the past half hour made my breath laborious. Though I was panting, my actions did not slow. The heavy bag would have been swinging from my assaults if Dimitri weren't holding it in place for me.

My father had never understood why I enjoyed spending so much time at the gym. He had once told me that fighting wouldn't be necessary when he had men to protect me. What he didn't realize was that fighting did the same thing for me that having a gun did for him. It made me feel powerful. Hiding behind Russian men with guns could never replace the rush of adrenaline that came from hitting something. In front of that punching bag, it seemed that no one could take away my strength.

"Katerina." I let my arms fall to my sides and I blew a streak of brown hair away from my face as I turned to look at the speaker. Standing in the doorway to the gym was Max, one of my father's closest men. "Your father has requested to meet with you in his study.

"If you couldn't already see, I'm a little busy right now."

"It would be best if you did not keep him waiting."

I rolled my eyes. My father had chronic impatience. It simply came with his title. As a leader to Bratva, an expansive and influential segment of the Russian mafia, he had grown accustomed to the people under him dropping everything to listen to his orders and follow them through without complaint. No one would dare challenge his authority by putting their priorities before his own, except me.

"You can tell him that I am in the middle of something. I will go see him when I am finished." Whenever my dad needed to talk to me, it had to be done according to his time. I was tired of it.

Dimitri stepped away from behind the punching bag. Dimitri towered over me since he was nearly six and a half feet tall. Despite his height and brooding strength, Dimitri didn't fit the persona of the mafia. He could handle a gun as well as anyone in the building, but he was kind and often unsure of himself. Many times I concluded that this wasn't the life meant for him.

"Rina, I understand if you need to go. We can always finish training later." With Max's presence, Dimitri hunched over as if he was trying to make himself smaller. He was of a lower rank and could not afford a wrong move if he wanted to move up positions. My father had already made it clear that he didn't trust Dimitri's intentions for befriending me. There would be major consequences for him if Max claimed that I refused to see my father because I was with him.

"Dimitri is right. It's better that you hear the news sooner rather than later."

"Fine." I pulled off my boxing gloves and unwrapped my hands. For Dimitri's sake there was no point in arguing further. I could kick and scream all I wanted, but my father would always get his way.

I could hardly imagine what my father planned on telling me. It wasn't every week that we had a heart to heart conversation. I could tell that it would be bad news because of Max's urgency. In the past, my father ran the same procedure when he told me I would go to boarding school or that there were bullet holes in my brand new car. Each time one of his men led me to his study so he could deliver the news.