Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 1 – Rosalyn

Fourteen Years Ago

“We’ve been through this already, Lyn. No harm will come to you, not while you have me. I will always be here to protect you.”

Only Father called me that—Lyn. His little Rosalyn. Even my seven-year-old self knew there was no man I would ever admire more than him. He was my everything, my idol, my protector, and my defender from the bad bullies—the bullies being my half-brothers, Sean and Ronan. They were the real definition of mean.

Today, they’d taken turns dunking my glitter-colored scrapbook and fluffy unicorn into a bucket full of water while I was tied up to my table-for-four party plastic chair with a cloth gag over my mouth, sniffling and whimpering in vain. Another one of their special torture techniques they’d cooked up in their young adult minds.

Those two only grew worse and more aggressive as they grew older. At twenty-five, Sean was at the peak of early manhood, and Ronan was twenty-two. You would think their hearts could accommodate the tiniest bit of compassion for their seven-year-old sister, but no, they couldn’t. They hated me.

Sean said it out loud once. He’d barged into the room, red as chili pepper, with flaming blue eyes and messy red hair, pointed at me, and told me he wished I was never born.

I’d cried, as I always did. I wept profusely that cold night, and when Father returned from one of his many trips from Galway, I told him another one of my sob stories.

Today was no exception. The second he appeared outside the house in the car, though Sean detested the idea of Father showing up for me, they’d quickly untied me, forced me to bite my tongue, and dried up my wet cheeks so Father would not suspect a thing.

I did as they’d asked. I couldn’t stomach Ronan’s threats of slicing one of my ears off while I slept any longer. Yes, they could be that mean.

I’d fled into the car and Father’s muscled arms, buried my face in the warmth of his neck, and inhaled his thick scent of pine and sandalwood. Then, I burst into tears and told him everything.

Father’s eyes had gone hard, hard enough for me to liken them to granite. And he’d promised me that he would talk to them when we got back.

Knowing what he meant by those words, I looked at him and felt my heart swell with pride and overwhelming gratitude to my savior. I’d always thought it unnatural to be obsessed with one’s parents, but my seven-year-old mind worshiped him.

When I thought of superheroes, the first image that sprung up in my head was the picture of Father, whose broad shoulders always filled up his suits nicely, and that jagged knife scar slashed from his left cheek to his strong jaw. When I asked him how he’d gotten it, he said it was best to leave ugly memories buried where they belonged—in the past. I left it that day. But curiosity made me ask Ronan, who was more than willing to fill my ears with the tales of Father getting a knife rammed through his cheek in a street fight when he was younger.

Despite the horror, his imperfections didn’t matter to me. Father was tall and handsome. Even the teachers at school whispered about him with pink cheeks when he dropped me off or attended PTM.

But he also had a voice that boomed like thunder when he was mad and a temper as fiery as his red hair. He didn’t need a cape when he had guns as tall as I was, and one time, I overheard one of my brothers say he didn’t save lives. Cedric Gallagher might have been a gruff, hard, angry man to everyone else, but never to me. To me, he was the only person in whom I found strength and experienced unconditional love.

Unbuckling the seatbelt, I pushed myself up on my cushioned chair seat, resting on my knees when I leaned forward to place a kiss on that irregular scar that ran down across his cheek. “I love you, daidí .”

His lips made only the slightest twitch, and his eyes hinted at humor.

“Get off me, leanai . You’re only saying that because I finally agreed to take you to that blasted birthday party.”

Huffing, I rolled my eyes and dropped back against the seat with a lazy smile playing on my lips. He was wrong; I loved him regardless. Just as much as I knew he loved me. Although, I did pressure him to let me attend the party. I pressured him for weeks, from the first day Serena gave me an exclusive handwritten invite to her birthday party, and ignored the countless times he told me a stern “No” upfront.

But today, he’d made an exception, and I knew it was his grand gesture to help me forget my brother’s cruelties.

My heart swelled more as I turned my face away from him.

“Serena’s turning six today. It’s not a blasted party; it’s a big deal. The whole school is going to be there, including the popular kids.”

We were flying across the freeway when I saw a number of cars in front of us hit their brakes. Once again, traffic came to a complete stop.

Beside me, his snort came out in a deep, short laugh. “Wait until you’re sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-five.” He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. “Every age is a big deal. You decide how special you want it to be.”

And I turned to him, held his eyes, smiled at him, and opened my mouth, ready to tell him just how happy I was that he’d taken time out of his busy timetable to do this for me.

But the words never made it out.

Instantaneously, something slammed into us with a force enough to snatch the breath from my lungs. I lurched from my seat forward, aiming to bash my forehead against the windshield. But he was there, my superhero,

His hands left the wheel, wrapping me in his arms like a shield.

The playfulness had vanished from Father’s face, and for the first time ever, I saw the quick flash of worry mar his features. My heart raced. My pulse quickened at the sound of screeching tires.

Time seemed to slow as our car crumpled like an accordion, flipping in the air as it somersaulted to the side. Glass shattered, metal groaned, and the airbag exploded in my face.

Fear gripped me by the throat, strangling me until I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to cry, and I held onto Father’s jacket, burying my head in his shirt, blocking out the rest of the world, the frightening sounds, and staying in that perfect bubble where it was just me and him and nothing else.

Through it all, Father’s arms held firm, protecting me from the wreckage. I felt his body absorb the impact, his chest crushing against mine as he took the brunt of the crash.

And when the car stopped, in the end, it was just silence. Deafening silence.

I raised my face from his shirt, unable to move because Father held me tight in the midst of the rubble, but I was able to breathe and see a glimpse of what we had become—a crumpled ball trapped between disfigured car seats and a smashed interior.

It didn’t smell like pine and sandalwood anymore, but fumes and engine oil. And something metallic.

I touched Father’s face.

Blood ran down the sides, from his hair to the scar on his cheek. His eyes were closed, his thick lashes soaked with more blood, and he didn’t move.

I touched him again.

The panic was back, squeezing my heart and lungs harder than before, dragging me under the depth of turbulent waves. Scorching tears stung the back of my eyes until they pricked like needles, and when I spoke, I was scared by the weight of reality in my own voice.

I tapped his cheeks and smeared my palms with red, my heartbeat accelerating by the second.

“ Daddy. Daddy, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. No “Jokes on you!” or “I’m here for you!” or “Did I scare you, Lyn?”

Nothing .

He was not breathing.

I lay there, stunned, speechless, not wanting to believe that my superhero’s armor was destructible.

I heard the sound of my heart rip to shreds. I heard the oxygen battle to pass through my lungs. I heard the still voice telling me he was gone, but I refused to believe it. I refused to….

Everything went black.