Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 19 – Rosalyn

A day was all it took to release the beasts from their cage. A day. Barely twenty-four hours even.

After Father’s funeral that night, they came hungry and angry—draped in the most expensive designer suits in the racks. Black on black, as always. They couldn’t even wait before ransacking Father’s closet to retailor his suits to their fit.

They stood by the door, cold steel blue eyes pinned on me, licking their lips in anticipation of the next phase of trauma they were about to put me through.

At the field, after I read the eulogy, I heard the men speaking. The older men. They put their hands on Sean, patting his back and muttering commendations in Irish. I knew what it meant. He was the next in line—the next to rule us since Father was gone.

“Get up.”

Sean’s voice had always been rougher around the edges than Ronan’s, but the latter had more sparks of craziness in his eyes.

“Why?”

I’d been crying, mourning the loss of my hero. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to go out. I wanted to stay right there in solitude to relive the perfect moments I had with him.

I dragged the comforter to my cheeks, burying the rest of my body underneath to hide myself from them. With Father no longer around to protect me, I needed to protect myself.

“Didn’t you hear what he fucking said, filth? Get the fuck up, right now! Your leader is talking.” Ronan stomped forward, yanked the comforter off me, and dragged me off the bed with his hands tightly hooked around my ankles.

I hit the floor, bruising my arms. They didn’t care.

I screamed, but of course, no one was coming to my rescue.

“Leave me alone! Let me go. Ronan!”

“After what you did to Father?” Sean hurled insults at me, a mix of curses in English and Irish. “Stupid! It is your fucking fault we lost him. All for your stupid party!”

“I didn’t…I wasn’t….” I choked on the tears, fighting to stay inside. Fighting to block their accusations from seeping in.

“Come on, let’s go.” Ronan dragged me roughly, and with tears in my eyes, I struggled to go back into the room.

My efforts were useless. Their strength overpowered mine. Like a feather-weight doll, they hoisted me from the ground, flinging me over Ronan’s shoulder. The world spun upside down, my head dangling and legs in the air, but I thrashed his back as forcefully as I could with my small hands.

“Put me down!”

“Shut your mouth!”

Fear had gripped me by the throat, making it unbearably hard to breathe. “Where are you…where are you taking me?”

Sean laughed, and Ronan put me down when we got to the door. Sean opened it, and Ronan pushed me with a force fierce enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The dark night sky rolled as I stumbled down the steps, hearing their cackles float over my head before my cheek connected with the cold concrete.

“Outside!” Ronan shouted. “There’s no way you’re sleeping on that bed, filth. You don’t fucking belong here.”

My tears kissed the ground when the door slammed shut behind them. And after that night, it became a norm. Dragging me off my bed and throwing me into the night. I made more friends with the nocturnal creatures than actual human beings.

****

Slowly, I opened my eyes, grogginess clinging to me like a shroud. I lapped my tongue over my lips as I took in my surroundings, trying to recall where I was. The last thing I remembered was…was Ronan lying dead on the ground. Lifeless blue eyes, white walls, and silence.

My eyes scanned around, revealing the opulent bedroom, lavish furnishings, and some rare art pieces hanging off a customized shelf beside Silent.

I recognized it. It was the weird art piece from the Bercyna—the same one I’d almost blown my wedding dress money on.

As if on instinct, my head snapped toward the door, and I saw him standing there. His imposing figure radiated an aura of quiet power. His eyes, intense and watchful, locked onto mine.

I felt a flutter in my chest, and I tried to speak, but my voice barely left the volume of a whisper.

“Nikolai?”

His footsteps were quiet as he ambled closer to the side of my bed. Brown hair fell forward, hanging over his eyes when he peered down to look at me. A few strands had grown from his hair, casting a soft youthful glow over his hard features.

I had to tilt my head back a bit to catch a better glimpse of his face and the hard glare he gave me. “Your lips are dry.”

I wanted to smile that he’d noticed but suddenly remembered there was really nothing to smile about.

“I’m thirsty.”

“Here.” He picked up a glass from the top of the nightstand and handed it to me. He had barely shown any considerable concern or anything out of the ordinary, but I felt warm tingles spread throughout my body.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

I took a sip and felt a delicious shock ripple through my skin when he held my head back and nudged the glass to make me drink more.

Quietly, I obeyed and dropped the glass, finding nothing better to do than fidget with my fingers. “Ronan is dead.”

His answer came in a heartbeat. “Yes.”

I gulped.

Guilt should have been a better emotion instead of the intense tide of liberation that immediately pulled me under after Niko’s confirmation, but I couldn’t shake it off.

Finally free .

“And Hannah?”

“She has Aiden, and a very eager Anatoly, tending to her wounds.”

Relaxing, I sighed in relief.

Lowering himself, he sat by the edge of the bed and surprised me by taking my hands in his. I watched his calloused thumb gently stroke the red marks on my wrists, and my pulse skipped.

He always looked so guarded yet thought, but his touch was gentle.

“I’m fine.”

His lips made the slightest twitch, but he didn’t look at me or smile. I wanted to see him smile. I wasn’t sure I’d seen a genuine one from him before, but I knew a big, bright smile would look good on him.

“I didn’t ask you anything.”

“I’ve learned to read between the lines of silence.”

Both our eyes fleeted to the artwork standing proudly on the shelf, and then cold brown eyes met mine. He stroked my wrists some more before letting go. “I’m proud of you for trying to stand up for yourself and doing what you could to protect my baby.”

Our baby, I wanted to correct but thought against interrupting him. Who knew what a man like Nikolai would say next after a commendation.

Nervously, I dragged the sleeves of my sweatshirt to cover the bruises on my wrists and nibbled on my lower lips. “I may be many things, but not a coward. I had to do something to keep my child.”

“You’re not a coward, and yet you ran away.” His eyes grew colder. “Why?”

Between the lines of silence, that question asked a lot more that I pretended not to hear. Why did I leave?

Why did I leave him?

I brushed the unspoken questions aside, not because they weren’t there, but because I just didn’t believe Nikolai was capable of feeling that intense weight of emotion.

I inhaled sharply, sucking in a deep breath. And when I let go, the burden on my shoulders lightened.

“You don’t know what it was like living with them, Sean and Ronan. No one truly knows what it was like. Except maybe Hannah and, um, Aiden, who witnessed a bit of their extremities sometimes.”

Looking at him was hard, so I focused on a loose thread on my sweatpants before continuing.

“It was literally hell. The things they made me go through…. After Father’s death, I was subjected to spending more nights outside than I lay on my bed. With time, I got used to it, and when they noticed I’d adapted, they thought of something else to hurt me. They blamed me for Father’s death, when in reality, I just found out that they had it all planned out. I thought that after Sean died, maybe the punishments would lessen, but Ronan proved to be capable of executing the business of the day on his behalf. Nothing really changed. If anything, the living conditions grew much worse.”

I swallowed. I really didn’t want to cry.

The tears hadn’t helped me in the past. They weren’t going to help me now.

“Living with them felt like being locked up in a cage with multiple chains and locks. I wanted out of that life. Out of that bondage. That was why, when Ronan came up with the plan to marry Tristan, I was willing to do anything to run away because I knew it would only get worse having that man control me. I…I, uh, reached out to you. I believed that, somehow, you were a key. One master key that would unlock all the others. But then you did the exact same thing: You locked me up.”

Confusion disturbed his features, but I allowed my words to sink in before I pressed further.

“Don’t get me wrong. Somehow, you saved me. Living with you was not as bad, but you were ready to declare and exercise ownership. Niko,” I scooted closer, aching to cup his cheeks or touch his lips but refrained from doing either, “I am not yours or anyone else’s. I don’t belong to you.”

To my amazement, he did what I couldn’t do. He cupped my cheeks, stroked my lips with his thumb, and let the walls down, permitting me to see the flood of desire and something else stir in his eyes.

“But you do belong to me, Rosa.”

My belly did a nervous somersault. He just countered everything I said with a simple statement and gave me his own nickname—no more “princess.”

Rosa was personal.

The thought might have been in my mind, but having him call me that sounded like he’d put me closer. Like I was his.

I should have been mad and kicked against his insistence, but I did the opposite and melted into his touch, like a limp noodle.

“You’re mine now.” He confirmed it. “You’re carrying my child, so you have to stay here. No more escaping, understood?”

Hearing that threw me into another wheel of confusion.

So, I’m his because of the baby.

Before he gave me a chance to nod in agreement like a brainless puppet that had been charmed by the strange tenderness of his voice, he said something else that stoked a burning fire I’d ignored for too long.

“I want you, Rosa.”

And there it was.

A broad daylight confession. A sharp hook, reeling me in like a helpless fish.

His thumb brushed my cheek, and his eyes held the most sincerity I hadn’t seen since the last time my father told me he loved me.

“You…. I…um…. I have never wanted any other woman as badly as I want you.” He eyed my lips, the timbre of his voice dropping to an even more husky tone. “When you ran away, I….”

He pulled back, his eyes suddenly snapping back to that cold, unfeeling glare, as if he’d been slapped back to reality with a wet cloth.

The absence of his hands on my skin left an unwelcome chill, and my eyes followed him as he rose to his feet. He pushed up his sleeves, flexing those hard muscles before his hands slipped into the pocket of his pants. He looked at me like he was about to school me.

“Here, with me, you’re free to do whatever the fuck you want: grocery shopping, go to the mall, go for a swim. If you want to play video games, virtual reality, or chess. If you want to have takeout or eat at La Coeur de la Vie. Whatever the fuck you want, with me, you have it. But….”

The sensual roll of French on his tongue distracted me.

I blinked. “There’s a but?”

“Of course, there’s a fucking but.”

I smiled, and he rolled his eyes. Despite all the shitty things we’d been through, I was able to finally smile. And that action with him came naturally.

“You are mine and no one else’s, Rosa. No other man gets to fucking touch you—not a single finger on your skin unless it’s in a professional way. No other man gets to kiss your lips. They belong to me. And your pussy. That too.”

With the heat radiating off my cheeks, I was sure I looked like a ripened tomato. He was vulgar, but the seriousness in his gaze was unquestionable. He meant every word, and I was unsure how to take what he’d dished, all at once.

But even just sitting there on that bed and watching him, I knew. The signs were everywhere, from the first time I met him till this very moment. When I escaped, he could have haunted me down so easily, but he didn’t. And when he found me….

I eyed the glass of water on the nightstand, the clean bedroom he’d put me in, the change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

This man had numerous opportunities to hurt me if he wanted. From the night at the auction, he could have killed and discarded me easily. But he didn’t. I remembered the first time I saw him, his piercing gaze slicing through me like a knife. I’d felt exposed, raw. Yet, simultaneously, I’d sensed a strange safety in his presence.

Instinctively, my hands covered my baby bump, and a lump formed in my throat when a larger hand covered mine. His hand.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been thinking when I ran away from him, but in this moment, I’d never been more convinced of anything else in my life than knowing that my baby and I were safe with him.

Knowing this, I was certain that I didn’t want my baby living the life of a bastard, growing up in such a tough world without his or her father. And moreover, somehow, no matter how much I tried to deny it, there was something there, lingering in the corners of my heart.

Somehow, this man who embodied danger and power had woven himself into my very being. Every time our eyes met, my heart stumbled. Every word he spoke, low and husky, sent shivers down my spine. I’d tried to run from this feeling, to flee from the intensity that radiated from him. But like a moth to a flame, I was drawn back.

During my days of exile in that rundown apartment, I thought about him more often than I’d ever admit.

Why? I’d asked myself a thousand times. Why can’t I get him out of my mind completely?

Whatever the reason, I couldn’t deny it anymore.

The lines between the gaps of silence.

I knew what his were, and the brooding silence spoke louder than words, assuring me he’d be by my side whenever I turned.

Undeniably, there was a lot to consider: his past and the secrets shrouding them. A man like himself had buried bones and tales. Some of them, I wanted to uncover, to know the ingredients that formed this man before me.

Curiosity? Desire? Whatever it was, it was there. But I pushed aside the doubts, focusing on the one truth I couldn’t put off any longer:

I wasn’t going to escape him, even if I wanted to.