Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 7 – Rosalyn

Ronan’s pale skin was ablaze with a fierce, burning redness reminiscent of smoldering coals when I walked in, tucking my purse between my arm, with Hannah following quietly behind. The tall double doors to the living room clicked shut behind me, and I clasped my fingers together, waiting for it.

The inevitable storm.

The house should have been quaking now, the floors trembling under the angry stomps of his polished leather shoes as he marched up to me to yell at my incompetence and spit on my face. The maids and guards should have peeked through the windows, shaking their heads with false pity, while they watched as he yanked on my hair and dragged me up the stairs to my room.

But he just sat there, glaring at me like he desired nothing more than to wrangle my throat. I was about to wonder why he couldn’t when I noticed the older man seated on the couch across from him. At the sight of his crooked lips smiling mischievously at me, my indifference flared to hate.

Tristan.

As always, he dressed like old money, in a pair of navy-blue suits, brown leather shoes, and his silver hair gelled backward on his wrinkly head. He looked more like a man heading closer to the grave than an aisle. I despised him badly enough to wish for the worst fate to befall him if only it would guarantee my freedom from getting married to him.

“We meet again, mi amor .” He bared a snaggletooth, lustfully raking his eyes up and down my clothes. Even in the presence of my brother, the disgusting man couldn’t hide his perverseness, leaving me to wonder why men like Tristan Gomez were lucky enough to live as long as he did. He tapped on his knees and gestured me forward. “My beauty queen. Come...come sit on Papa .”

I swallowed a gag with closed eyes, silently wishing for death to sit on him.

“Leave us at once.” With a brisk hand wave, Ronan rudely dismissed Hannah, and she signaled me with a curt nod before turning around and disappearing from the room. Thankfully, from his tone, he’d decided to ignore Tristan’s suggestion and refocus his wrath on the primary problem—my disobedience.

The fire in my brother’s eyes navigated me, and I felt my skin burning from the intensity.

“Now, where the fuck have you been?”

He yelled loud enough to snatch the sly smile from Tristan’s lips. It was loud enough to force me into submission and make me do what I always did—remain silent. Normally, I’d cower, beg, and fall to my knees to calm the storm. But today felt different. I felt different. Was it a side effect of losing one’s virginity, this newfound confidence? I didn’t know what it was that made me believe I had put up with Ronan’s temper long enough.

I clamped down hard on my jaw until it ached, avoiding eye contact as the words sifted through clenched teeth.

“I am an adult. I can do whatever the hell I please when I want. I don’t need a babysitter, and I sure as hell don’t owe you any bloody explanation.”

By the time I was done, my chest was heaving hard, and I felt… good . The rush of exhilaration was odd and foreign, prompting an absent-minded, half-hearted smile to my mouth. I caught a wind of movement and looked up to see Tristan rising from the couch. He clutched his walking cane to support him and winked when he walked up to me.

An ashen, bony finger crooked underneath my chin, tilting my head up so we met eye to eye. “I’ve always liked me some smart mouths. Makes dealing with them a lot more fun. But I can’t butt into this one, see? Your brother will just have to take care of this.”

“Exactly.” I flashed a smile at him. “This only concerns family.”

Mind your business. Leave me alone!

I wanted him to get upset. I wanted him to flare up at my level of disrespect and withdraw his intentions to pursue the marriage. But the glimmer in his beady eyes was an intentional announcement. He was not about to make the mistake of giving me what I wanted.

More skeletal fingers curled around my chin and soon, he was gripping my jaw, simmering with controlled anger. “Then I count myself lucky.” The hint of strong whiskey on his breath hit my face. “Soon, we will become one, and I’ll be free to smack you on your brother’s behalf when you cross a line. Enjoy your singlehood while it lasts, my beauty queen.” He moved his face closer until his lips brushed my earlobe. “You can try to evade this arrangement, but your efforts are feeble compared to my capacity. There is no running away, mi amor. Pronto seras mia.”

Soon you will be mine.

He walked away, leaving me in pregnant silence that promised nothing good.

Ronan rose to his feet as well and crossed the room in long, angry strides, fuming like a dog with puffed cheeks and vicious eyes, before the storm finally came. He spread his palm and landed it across my face. My neck snapped to the side, my vision quickly blurred, and my cheek stung with marks of his digit imprinted on my skin. Cue in my tears to fall. However, I didn’t let them. It was absurd to express shock at something I had expected.

That same resilience that prompted a response from me earlier permitted me only to cradle my face and sniffle in pain.

“Let that be a warning for the next time you forget to bridle that tongue of yours.” He snatched my arm and wriggled me as if I were a lifeless jellyfish. “When I’m talking to you, look me in the eye, filth!”

And he slapped me across the face again. It stung harsher, and the metallic taste on my tongue was the indication that I’d cut my lip. I didn’t dare wipe it off in front of Ronan. The last time I did, he’d dealt a blow to my jaw to make me bleed harder.

Growing up, I found it amusing that people thought wickedness and evil were unseen, abstract things. It was funny because I lived w ith wickedness, dined with it in its human forms. If Ronan Gallagher was not evil in the flesh, I didn’t know what was.

My purse slipped from between my arm to the tip of my fluffy flip-flop, and he carelessly trampled on it. “I don’t care if you pretend to go insane, but flaunt my orders again, and your face won’t be the only thing getting it, you hear me?”

I whimpered and… again.

“Did you fucking hear me!”

My ears were ringing now, a sharp, shrill buzz like an outer-space transmission, and I couldn’t stop the tears. There was no willpower to. Exhaustion racked my bones. I was tired of everything: of the beatings, the punishments, the hatred, and mostly, of living. All I did was cry, as I’d always done. I fought the searing ache in my chest, tried to nurse the pain on my face, and cried with a hazy vision and a bobbing head.

“Yes.”

He fed off my submission, his shoulders broadening with a new ego. “This wedding is fucking happening. You should even be on your knees thanking me because, for once, Rosalyn, you’re being useful. You, better than anyone else, understand the importance of this union, so don’t fucking screw it up, else? You’re either leaving this house as Tristan’s bride or in a coffin.”

The door opened behind us, and he seized the golden opportunity to make an even more dramatic exit, but not before ordering me to prepare myself for an event I had to attend with my fiancé the following day. I didn’t bother with the identity of the person who had entered inside. I crouched to the floor, blinking between blinding tears, to pick up my purse when someone else lifted it for me. Brushing my gaze up to the fitting black dress pants and shirt, I met hard, emotionless blue eyes staring back at me.

I sniffled.

I hated when anyone saw me this vulnerable and helpless, but having Aiden witness how pathetic I must have truly looked rubbed off wrongly. I squared my chin, trying to hold any shred of dignity I believed I had left.

“I don’t need your pity, O’Connor. Thank you for the purse.”

“What I feel right now is far from pity, Rosalyn.”

Maybe it was the gentle way he called my name or the furious flickers of anger dancing in his eyes that made me burst like an exhausted balloon retaining water. I didn’t prod to understand the reason for his anger. A man like Aiden was as loyal as they came. He said and did no evil against either of my brothers. However, he had taken extra consideration in matters where I was concerned.

There was no strength to even thank him, for mirroring my hurt and showing silent empathy. I turned around and walked away.