Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 27 – Rosalyn

Three Months Later

Midnight.

The city outside our penthouse apartment slept, but I was wide awake, patting Cian on my chest while watching rain pelts mercilessly hit the glass and purple lightning streaks flash through the dark skies. The soft glow from the nightlight cast shadows on the walls, making the room feel larger than it was, and the cold only made me miss him more.

For three months, Niko’s absence weighed heavily on me. It was past midnight now, and he still wasn’t home. He had been working late for weeks now, always caught in something. There was always an excuse. His world was full of barricades, things he didn’t want me to touch or be a part of, and it was frustrating.

I sighed, gently rocking the baby as he slowly quieted in my arms. “Who’s Mommy’s champion?” I kissed his nose, and his tiny face scrunched up for a moment before his breathing steadied. I looked down at him, my heart swelling with love. He was so beautiful and perfect, but I couldn’t shake the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

“I miss you, Niko,” I exhaled, blinking back tears. I’d been crying a lot more these days than I did when I was pregnant.

My body ached in ways I didn’t know it could, and every time I caught my reflection, I barely recognized myself. I knew I didn’t have the best life, but I’d tried to be vibrant when I could, full of energy and life. Now, my skin was pale, my eyes heavy with the weight of sleepless nights. And my body....

I felt bloated. Ugly.

It had changed, softened in places that used to be firm. I felt foreign in my own skin, like I was trapped in someone else’s body. And I wondered....

Maybe that was the reason why. The reason he stayed away.

There’s no Katherine. There’s no lover. There’s no other fucking woman.

Those were the words he’d spoken into my ears months ago, and I’d held onto them like they were life itself. But I couldn’t shrug off the prickly claws of doubt.

He wasn’t the one that had carried a child for nine months. His body had changed, yes. But he only looked hotter and way sexier than the first time we met each other. Nikolai could walk into a room full of women, and they’d all stand in a line if guaranteed to have the opportunity to say hi to him. How much more joining him in bed?

I tried not to think it, but the thought crept in regardless. Maybe he didn’t like me anymore. Maybe having a baby had made me less appealing to him. My body wasn’t what it used to be, and my attitude had shifted too. I was tired all the time, snapping at him when he did manage to come home.

How could he still want me like this?

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the sleeping baby. I wiped them away quickly, frustrated with myself. I should be stronger than this. I should be able to handle things. But every time I looked around and realized I was doing it all on my own, the loneliness swallowed me whole.

I rose from the bed, taking Cian to his crib in an adjoined room with ours, and then I moved to draw the curtains. At some point, after Cian was born, Nikolai used to be by my side, our bond strong enough to be unbreakable. Now, it felt like there was a canyon between us, and no matter how much I reached out, he was always too far away.

I wanted to talk to him, but every time I tried, the words got stuck in my throat. What if I was right? What if he was pulling away because of me?

I knew what would happen: My heart would break into a million pieces, never to be mended again.

Cian stirred again, and I hurried to his side, patting his back to soothe him, wishing I had Niko’s hand on my back now, rubbing and massaging until all the aches disappeared.

I’ve got you. We’re going to do this together.

I needed him. I needed Nikolai to be here, to remind me that we were still a team, that I wasn’t going through this alone. But he was always busy, always working. And I was left here, night after night, wondering if I was enough anymore.

Walking away from the crib, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I was fine. The hours had slipped by, one after the other, and I completely gave up on any hope that he was coming home tonight. But even when you expect disappointment, it doesn’t hurt any less when it comes.

The blankets felt heavier tonight, pressing down on me as if they could smother the frustration bubbling in my chest. I could hear the rain pour outside through the muffled windows, but inside, everything was still.

Picking my phone, I glanced at the time: 2:03 A.M.

I let out a breath.

The anger had burned out hours ago, leaving behind something colder, something quieter.

If he wasn’t going to bother, why should I?

Just as I was about to close my eyes and force myself to sleep, I heard the lock turn and the front door creak open.

The sound jolted me awake. My heart leaped for a second, but I quickly reminded myself not to care. Not to let this change anything.

I listened carefully as his footsteps padded through the house, soft but unmistakable. Keys jingled, and he dropped something on the floor, muttering a curse when it made noise.

He was trying not to make noise, probably assuming I was asleep. The thought only deepened the knot in my chest. How easy it was for him to come and go, slipping into the quiet of our home as if nothing was wrong.

I stayed still, my back to the door, feigning sleep as he approached. He came into the bedroom slowly, his movements careful, like he didn’t want to wake me.

He smelled like rain, and my heart clenched. If a woman’s scent was on him, the rain would have dampened it.

The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, his weight pulling at the covers. I felt his hand brush against my shoulder—tentative at first, then firmer, as if testing the waters.

“Rosa,” he whispered.

I didn’t respond. I kept my breathing steady, eyes shut, willing myself to stay silent. Let him sit in this. Let him wonder what’s wrong for once.

He sat there for a while, waiting, maybe hoping I would turn over and say something. But I didn’t. I just kept my face buried in the pillow, the silence thickening between us. He shifted after a while, the mattress creaking under him, and finally, he sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the dark.

That’s when I felt it. All the anger I had swallowed down all night, all the hurt I had pushed away, came rushing back. My eyes snapped open, and I turned to face him, my words sharp and cutting before I could stop myself.

“What’s wrong? You’re seriously asking me that?” I sat up, pulling the covers tighter around myself and struggling to keep my voice low for the sake of our baby. “You come home at this hour without so much as a text, and you want to know what’s wrong?”

Niko didn’t answer. His face was calm, unbothered, which only made my frustration worse.

“Do you even realize what it feels like? To be sitting here, waiting for you, wondering if you’ll bother to show up at all?” I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my hands gripping the blanket as if that would stop the trembling. “It’s like you don’t even care anymore. It’s been three months, Niko. Three months since I felt you: your touch, your kisses, your presence in this goddamn house.

“ What’s wrong? I should be asking you that! What’s wrong, Niko? Don’t you want me anymore? Don’t you love me anymore? I mean, it should be simple, right? If there’s someone else out there—”

“Don’t.” His icy time cut me off like a sharp knife. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Surprisingly, I laughed, feeling myself drown in the pain. “ Don’t? I wrote paragraphs, and you’re choosing to respond with one line?”

His eyes never left mine, but he didn’t say a word. Not an explanation, not an apology. Just that maddening silence.

I wanted to scream. To shake him.

How could he just sit there, acting like I wasn’t tearing myself apart trying to understand this? But I knew how this went. I had been here before.

“So, you’re not going to say anything? You’re just going to sit there and let me do all the talking?” I let out another bitter laugh. “Of course you are. That’s how this always goes.”

Still nothing. He just stared at me, his face unreadable, as if he was waiting for me to get it out of my system. That familiar frustration gnawed at me, the one that always came when I realized I was fighting a battle with someone who wouldn’t even pick up a sword.

Finally, I shook my head, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “You know what? Forget it.”

I laid back down, turning away from him, the silence between us stretching into something colder.

Eventually, I heard him move, the bed creaking as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his shirt. I knew because I heard the soft fabric drop to the floor.

Typical.

I had just poured my heart out, let all my anger and frustration spill, and he chose now to take a shower? I hated how he always kept that mask on—cool, collected, and unreachable.

For a moment, I thought he was just going to walk away. Just like he always did when things got too messy and he restrained himself from yelling at me. But then, he let out a long, slow breath, the kind that felt heavy with things left unsaid.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been dealing with?” His voice was low, almost too low for the weight of the moment.

I frowned, turning around to face him. My anger flared back up.

“What does that even mean? Don’t turn this around on me, Nikolai. This isn’t about your work—this is about you disappearing for hours without a word and leaving me here wondering what the hell is going on. This is about you neglecting me.”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something raw, something deeper than the icy calm he always wore like armor.

Lightning tore through the skies around, leaving a heavy rumble of thunder in its wake.

“I’ve been trying to keep everything from falling apart,” his voice tightened. “Between the Bratva and the Irish breathing down my neck, I can’t just walk away and pretend things will solve themselves. Every day, I’m trying to make sure we’re not dragged into another war, Rosalyn. I am doing everything possible to make sure you and Cian are safe. I am building a life for us, a life that can guarantee your protection. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean all your father’s men are on my side. Aiden gives reports. Plus, the Mexicans have been stirring trouble. There’s a lot, Rosa, and I don’t get you mixed in because you shouldn’t have to worry about these things. I’ll handle it.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words.

When I opened my mouth to say something, nothing came out. I had no idea it had gotten that bad. Sure, I knew his work was dangerous; I’d seen Ronan act like a crazy person to keep his empire from falling.

But Niko never talked about it. He always kept me in the dark, telling me not to worry. I guess now, it was different.

His eyes were dark, almost wild, and before I could respond, he grabbed me by the waist, pulling me close to him. The suddenness of it knocked the breath out of me.

“Did you say I don’t want you? That I don’t love anymore? Fuck , Rosa. Do you even know how it drives me wild when I think about you?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm against my ear. “While I’m out there, every second I’m away, you’re all I can think about, Rosa.”

His words, raw and unfiltered, sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt his heart pounding against mine, the tension between us shifting into something electric, something that made the air around us hum.

“Nikolai…” I whispered, my voice trailing off as his lips brushed against my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Sometimes, I hated how easily he could do this—how he could push me to the edge, make me furious, and then pull me back with just a touch, with just a few words.

He pressed me back onto the bed, his hands firm but gentle as they slid down my hips, the anger between us dissolving into something much more primal.

“I think about the taste of your lips twenty-four-seven.”

His lips found mine, and he kissed me, urgent and needy, and I felt that familiar rush—the one that always came when he let the mask slip when I saw the man beneath the calm, calculated exterior.

“I crave you,” he muttered against my lips, his voice rough with need. “Every single day, Rosa. I need you. I just want to be close to you, to touch you, fuck you, taste what’s mine. You drive me mad.”

I let out a soft gasp as his hands moved between my legs, cupping my sex through my cotton pajama shorts, the heat of his touch igniting something deep inside me.

“What did I tell you, huh?”

Lost in the smell and taste of him, I scrambled through my memory to know what he was referring to. “What?”

“There’s no lover, Rosa.” His tongue flicked against mine. One hand on my throat and mouth to my ear. “It’s just you.”

It was always like this with him—a storm of emotions that left me spinning, breathless, but somehow always wanting more. He moved with purpose, his mouth finding mine again, stealing away any protest I might have had.

In the midst of it, his hand slipped to my stomach, resting there for a brief moment before his eyes met mine, dark and intense.

“I want you to give me another baby,” he said quietly, and his voice was steady despite the fire between us. “I want to see you carrying my child again.”

His words caught me off guard, sending a shock through me that was almost as powerful as the heat of the moment.

“What?”

My breath hitched, and I stared at him, searching his eyes for any trace of uncertainty. But there was none. He was serious. His gaze held mine, as if he had thought about this a thousand times before saying it out loud.

He whispered, his lips brushing against mine, softer this time. “I want us to build more. I want another piece of us in this world. What do you say?”

The way he said it, with such certainty, such longing, made my heart pound even harder.

I didn’t know what to say, how to even respond, but in that moment, words didn’t seem necessary. The fire between us burned too bright for that.

His hands tightened around me, pulling me closer, and whatever anger or doubt I had felt earlier melted away as his lips claimed mine again, his touch reminding me of the depth of what we had, of the intensity that always lingered just beneath the surface.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the Bratva, not the Irish, not the Mexicans. Not even the hours I spent waiting.

It was just us, tangled together in a mess of passion and need, and the world outside our door faded away.