Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 9 – Rosalyn

Father was not just a strict parent. He was a total disciplinarian, and to some, maybe a terror. He was a no-nonsense perfectionist who dedicated hours to making sure the expected results were as excellent as he wanted. But even with that tough exterior, he allowed me to dream beyond the life he had. He never restricted me to the walls he built or tried to kill my hope when we joked about careers, family, and having friends.

I was six when he told me he wouldn’t allow me to get close to boys until I was twenty. He was that protective. After his death, I imagined what he would have said to the man who managed to win my heart. Knowing Father, he would have threatened him before agreeing to give him my hand. There were some nights when I was holed up in my room, and I’d picture myself in a flowing white dress, a flower tiara, and white sparkly heels in Father’s arms as we walked down the aisle.

In those imaginations, the sun shone down on me, the wedding guests cheered and whistled, I had a huge grin on my face, Father smiled down at me with overwhelming love, and I could feel my insides almost bursting with happiness.

Today was my wedding day.

Father’s remains had become a part of the Earth six feet under. There was no flower tiara, flowing white dress, or sparkly shoes. As a result of my disobedience, Ronan picked out a frumpy, lacy wedding dress and matched it with a dull pair of unfashionable heels. “A man like Tristan wouldn’t give a fuck,” he said when I protested against his pick. “What he really wants lies beneath the clothes anyway.”

Since the beginning of the procession, I raised my head up for the first time and stared at the side profile of the man who should have been my brother. The man who should have protected and defended me at all costs like Father would have done. Instead, he was the one gladly leading me to my death.

He didn’t look at me or so much as blink, but his hold on my arm tightened as we walked down the aisle, communicating that he would be ready if I pulled a stunt. He hissed from the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenching.

“I’m not the fucking groom. Wipe those fucking tears off your eyes right now, Rosalyn, and look straight ahead. Don’t you dare ruin that makeup.”

Reluctantly, I lowered my head and touched the teardrops on my lashes, fighting to hold them back from falling. I’d been crying all morning and hadn’t realized that, even now, in this living nightmare, the tears refused to stop. The guests, a few from Tristan’s side of the family and more from us, were eerily quiet, and outside the church, even the sun had better things to do than shine down on this sham of a marriage.

By the time we got to the altar, I was already praying for the ceremony to end.

Tristan made a suggestive smile at my clothes, and my skin crawled. Who said the beast had any reverence for the sacred ground we stood on?

A tiny flicker of hope that had been burning in my chest waned off when the realization that he had abandoned our plan hit me. I shocked him with a Taser. What did I expect? I had spent almost all night waiting up, expecting something to happen. Maybe bombs, gunshots, angry shouts. But the night had been too peaceful.

The priest started with a short message about marriage and soon got to the part where Tristan and I were to exchange vows. Tristan jumped on the opportunity, and my eyes scanned the crowd. Ronan was glaring. He mouthed in Irish, ordering me to look at my husband while he was talking, but I ignored him and zeroed my concentration on Hannah. As always, she looked like a female John Wick, but today, she had an encouraging smile.

It did more harm than good.

More prickly tears sprang to my eyes, and I quickly tore my eyes away.

“It’s your turn,” Tristan offered.

I wanted to snap at him, scream, and scratch his face for ruining my life. But… who was I kidding? The sooner I accepted my fate, the better.

Deeply, I inhaled. Exhaled. Hannah helped me check through conventional wedding vows that I memorized, and now it was time to say it. To speak those meaningless but powerful words that would seal my future to this old man for the rest of eternity. Or until he died.

That’s an option.

Divorce could not be considered. If I dared, either Ronan or Tristan himself would have my head for it before signing the papers.

“Quit wasting time, mi amor. ” His tone held no affection, no love, no care.

I was choking, suffocating, drowning. I clutched my chest, barely being able to breathe when I formed the first words.

“I cherish to hold....”

The gigantic double doors at the entrance flew open, creaking on their hinges as they parted wide, allowing a sudden bright light to pour in. Before Ronan and I marched in, I might have just sworn that there was no sunlight, but judging from the golden glow ushering in men in black suits with guns, I wasn’t sure.

With guns.

Hushed whispers broke out from amongst the wedding guests. My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach, the vows dried on my tongue like withered leaves, and I barely remembered a line when the strange men cleared a path for….

“Yezhov?”

Ronan angrily thundered, rising to his feet and marching toward the taller man with folded fists. I cringed because, against the Russian who arrived fully prepared, Ronan was defenseless. We all were. The weapons were left in the trunks of the cars outside the church. It was unheard of to use guns inside. But the Russians had no respect for rules. How could they when they had played God from the beginning?

Ronan swung a fist. “What the hell!”

But he wasn’t fast enough. Two of Nikolai’s men accosted him, snatching his wrist and holding him in a deadlock while their boss strolled past. He struggled against them, and they forced him to his knees. I had a gut feeling that was only a mild part of this new plan to humiliate Ronan.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing here?” he yelled from behind him.

Nikolai did not answer. He kept his eyes on me the entire time, dusting a lint off his plain black jacket as he walked up to the podium. Despite my seething anger, my gaze lingered on his impeccable grooming, which seemed to be his trademark. His brown hair was sleek and perfectly styled, every strand falling in place with precision. The lines on his dress pants were razor-sharp, and the fabric seemed to drape elegantly on his frame. His shoes, polished to a high shine, reflected the light with a subtle gleam, adding to the overall impression of fastidious attention to detail. It was as if he had stepped out of a high-end fashion spread.

He prepared for this.

“Hello again, Tristan.” He smiled at my husband-to-be. “Pleasure seeing you again, and at this time. Guess what? It turned out I didn’t need an invite.”

Tristan, who had been frozen in shock beside me during the interruption, jolted to his senses. “How dare you?”

Like us, he lacked the necessary tools for a defense. Although, it was never heard that Tristan Gomez backed off from a fight. He began growling orders when a big man emerged from behind Nikolai and swiftly knocked him out with the butt of a gun to his forehead. I watched Tristan crumple like a sack of bones to the feet of the priest who had his eyes tightly closed while he muttered prayers of protection.

“Come on, let’s go.”

My head snapped back to him, my heart galloping in my chest at the sight of his palm stretched out. Was he crazy? Did he seriously expect me to just take his hand and strut out of the church like nothing happened?

The proposal was a kidnapping. A kidnapping b efore the day of the wedding. The Russians were to play it smartly to not look like suspects. But now… now there were guns and more men than I could count with my fingers, and it didn’t help that he was dressed more smartly than the groom.

I shook my head.

“Nikolai, what are you…what are you doing?” I whispered harshly. “ This was not the plan.”

He wasn’t fazed. He didn’t even bat an eyelash. If anything, he seemed annoyed. “No, it wasn’t. Let’s just say I needed a bit more convincing. I mean, you say you couldn’t stand him, but you’re dressed, and I’m guessing you had your vows perfectly memorized. And by the way, you make a beautiful bride, but this dress is hideous.”

I knew what it looked like—a trap. He thought I’d played him and decided to do things his own way. The plan still did not add up. He was here, and Ronan was present as well. He didn’t have to take me with him. One accurate shot to my brother’s head would have ended the feud between them.

“Niko, why are you doing this?”

His eyes hardened like ice rocks in the Arctic. A chill ran down my spine at the harshness of his tone. “No time for explanations, princess. You decide what it’s going to be. Come with me or stay here.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, and it felt like a fantasy veil had been peeled off my eyes because the man standing in front of me was not the same man I’d encountered at the Bercyna. He wasn’t the one who was all over me in the bathroom like I was oxygen, and he couldn’t get enough.

Whoever this was, I didn’t recognize him.

Since Sean’s death, I believed that Tristan and Ronan were the monsters. My desire for freedom had so blinded me that I ran into the arms of the enemy, who had turned out to be the real beast.

With the tears falling freely now, I spared a glance at Tristan lying unconscious on the floor and to Ronan, who glared at me with more hate than he had from the first day Father brought me to the house and introduced me to my brothers. I’d betrayed my family. I’d betrayed Hannah. But if I stayed, Ronan would use his last breath to make me miserable, and sealing the marriage to Tristan was the first thing he’d make me do.

The weight of my sins pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to take the hand of the man I should never have trusted.

Proudly like a peacock, he led me to the door, showcasing his latest conquest to make his enemy bite the dust. I bowed my head in shame, hurriedly falling in step beside my captor to escape the curses Ronan flung at me.