Page 10 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Air flooded back into my lungs, and I bent over, dragging it in.

"Elena. This wedding matters to the family. But Isabella left. And that was on you. So you are going to take Isabella's place and finish this wedding."

I froze. "What?"

"You are going to marry Kiryan. You are going to be his wife. The Rossi family has fed you for twenty-three years. Now you are going to pay it back."

Cold seeped through me, inch by inch.

"I don't want to marry him like this."

It was the first time I'd said what I wanted to his face, clearly. His eyes turned dangerous.

"You don't get to refuse." There wasn't a trace of negotiation in his voice. "From now on, you aren't leaving this house. Not one step. And you aren't telling anyone why Isabella left. You are going to put on her dress and seal this alliance."

I stared at his icy face and finally understood what Isabella had meant by "making my wish come true."

Chapter 4

Elena

Three days later, I sat in the dressing room and stared at my face in the mirror. No freckles. No bruised-looking shadows under my eyes.

Lydia had caked on foundation and concealer until my skin looked as flawless as Isabella's.

"Elena, what the hell is your body?" she said from behind me, yanking the laces tight. "Who the hell had ribs this wide? You looked like a goddamn shark."

My breath cut off. I forced shallow little inhales so the boning in the strapless bodice didn't crush my chest into something unrecognizable.

"Sorry," I said. "It just... it's really tight."

"Of course it is." Lydia smacked her lips. "This dress was Miss Isabella's size. She barely ate to keep it that way."

I bit my bottom lip and had nothing to say.

Isabella had always been perfect. Born to work a room. Father's prized daughter.

And me? I had been the spare.

She had left, so I had swallowed my pride, put on her wedding dress, and married her fiancé— the man I had been stupidly in love with for years.

The fact that I was about to marry Kiryan made it impossible to breathe like a normal person. I should've been happy. I should've been floating.

Instead my eyes kept burning.

I had pictured myself beside him a thousand times. I just hadn't pictured getting him like this. Now everyone would think I'd stolen Isabella's life like some desperate little thief.

"Jesus Christ, Elena." Lydia finished tying me in and let out a dramatic groan. "What are you crying for now? Stop making more work for me. You've always liked Mr. Morozov, right? You got what you wanted. So what the hell are you crying about?"

She wiped my tears away with an annoyed swipe, then jabbed a makeup brush into my face like she was scrubbing a stain. I sat there and took it, still as a doll.

I didn't think I'd ever gotten to choose anything. Other than my paintings, almost nothing in my life had ever belonged to me.

The gown cinched me into an exaggerated curve—too-small waist, too-full hips, my breasts threatening to spill out with one wrong breath. I didn't dare inhale too deep. My ribs already felt like they were being tested to the breaking point.

"Elena. Everyone is waiting," my father's voice came from the doorway.

He stood there with a dark, tight face, his suit pressed razor-sharp without a single wrinkle.