Page 25 of Forced Bratva Bride

The gunshot cracked across the area, followed an instant later by a second. Both workers collapsed, dark pools spreading beneath them.

Larissa made a choked sound beside me, her hand flying to her mouth. I clamped my arm around her waist, pulling her back against me to keep her from bolting or making noise. Her body convulsed in a silent sob, her eyes fixed on the scene below.

On the dock, work resumed as if nothing had happened. Two men dragged the bodies away while others continued unloading crates. The manager walked away.

“Now,” I said quietly, my mouth close to her ear, “tell me again how your brothers don't hurt people.”

But when I looked down at her face, I saw something I hadn't expected. Not denial. Not anger. But rather pure, unadulterated shock—her skin was devoid of color, her eyes wide and glassy, and her entire body trembling against mine. This wasn't the reaction of someone confronted with a truth they already knew. This was the reaction of someone whose world had just been shattered.

“Larissa,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Larissa, look at me.”

She didn't respond, her gaze still fixed on the dock where her brother’s manager stood casually smoking now while men cleaned up the blood of his victims.

Something cold settled in my stomach—realization, soon followed by a peculiar sort of dread. She hadn't known. She truly hadn't known, and from the way she was breathing—gasping and panting for air—I could tell she was experiencing a deep, worrying panic.

“We need to go,” I murmured to my driver, who nodded and began moving back toward our exit point.

I tried to help Larissa to her feet, but her legs seemed to have lost all strength. Without thinking, I lifted her into my arms. She was light, I thought to myself. Had she been eating? Why the hell didn’t I check on her more? Her eyes remained vacant and shocked as I carried her off. For once, she didn’t put up a fight, and for once, I wished she would have.

That would have meant that today didn’t entirely break her. I was responsible for this, and a strong wave of guilt washed over me.

“I've got you,” I said, the words coming without conscious thought. “Don't look back. Just breathe.”

I carried her to the car, keeping in the shadows and when the driver opened the door, I placed her in the back seat. She adjusted herself to sit, but looked away from me. I got in on the other side, my chest constricting as I saw her trembling form.

As the car pulled away from the alley, Larissa finally moved, turning her head to look at me. Her face remained bloodless, but her eyes were red.

“They killed them,” she whispered. “Shot them like... like they were nothing.”

I didn't answer. What could I say? It was what it was in our world.

“You knew,” she continued, her voice hollow. “You knew what they were.”

“Yes.” There was no point in lying. Not now.

A shudder ran through her, and suddenly tears streamed down her face. My chest tightened with an unfamiliar sensation: worry for her, a feeling I had never felt before.

When I should have been satisfied for proving my point and showing her the truth about her precious brothers, I felt guilt.

Chapter 8 - Larissa

I couldn't stop shaking. My hands trembled uncontrollably, and no amount of clenching my fists could conceal it. Gio guided me into the house with a steady hand on the small of my back. I should have hated that touch from my kidnapper, but in that moment, it was the only thing grounding me to reality after what I’d just witnessed.

I’d never seen a man be killed before. Let alone two. The memory gushed back of the bodies falling to the ground, the blood pooling around them, and I let out a choked sob.

Beside me, Gio snapped his head in my direction with worry. “Come, Larissa,” he said gently, guiding me into the living room. “You need a drink.”

No. I didn’t need a drink. What I needed was to unsee what I’d seen, but I didn’t even have the energy to put my thoughts into words. I was so tired and prayed this was all a dream. Or rather, a nightmare I could wake from.

I sank into a leather armchair, my legs finally giving out, and I tried to take a few deep breaths to calm myself while Gio rummaged around at the bar.

“Drink this,” Gio said when he returned to my side. He pressed a glass of scotch in my hand.

I didn’t care that it was neat. I brought it to my lips and knocked it back in one go, welcoming the burn as it scorched down my throat.

Gio towered over me, watching me carefully. In some strange way, he reminded me of a mother hen. He took the empty glass from my hands and set it on the marble side table.

“Better?” he asked.

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