Page 44 of Forced Mafia Bride

Stainless steel clanked on the floor, and the operation table rattled when they bumped into each other. They ran as fast as their legs could take them to the door.

I planted myself by her side, and on seeing me, she busted into a fit of uncontrollable tears. They ran down the sides of her face, soaking the pillow underneath her head. The turmoil of emotion I felt after setting my eyes on her again could hardly be expressed.

Quietly, my fingers began working the ropes bound around her wrist while my eyes did the scanning of herappearance. Even though she was a teary-eyed mess, her beauty remained untainted.

Watching her cry helplessly squeezed my chest in the most uncomfortable way. There were tiny patches of skin on her tangled head, some missing hair. I grated my teeth. Dark bruises on her cheeks, her jaw…everywhere. But something else was different. I worked the second rope on her wrist, observing her with more attention. She’d gained some weight.

No, that wasn’t it.

Twisting fully, my curious gaze dropped on the bulge protruding from her belly. A chill ran down my spine, like I’d been doused with cold water. Time froze, and reality distorted like a funhouse mirror. I refused to meet her watchful gaze.

“You’re pregnant.”

It wasn’t a question but rather a statement of the glaring fact.

She stayed quiet, but I already knew the answer.

“Is it mine?”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw her nod, and I gripped the edge of the mattress to steady myself. It was unnecessary for her to say anymore to vindicate herself. I knew she was telling the truth.

A baby.

My child.

A mix of emotions assaulted me. Elation, uncertainty, and responsibility. Having a child meant a lot of things, and for a man like me, an opportunity like this was equivalent to a new life, a chance to do something right. Then, there was the uncertainty about whether or not I was ready to be a father. I didn’t have the slightest clue. But I was sure of one thing: I had to ensure their safety.

Now, I faced her, giving her access to view the turbulent waves of conflicting emotions passing through my eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She whimpered and flinched when she tried to sit up. “Niko….”

“Lie the fuck down, then answer.”

She licked her lips and opened her mouth but stopped abruptly, looking at something past my head. Before I blinked or turned, her small hand reached for the gun between my belt, and the loud crack of a gunshot bounced off the walls. I looked behind me to see Ronan clutching a gun aimed directly at my head. A dot formed on his shoulder pad and quickly spread across. He applied pressure on it with his hands, doubting that Rosalyn had just shot him.

But the doubt in his eyes didn’t last very long. It morphed into determination, strengthened his finger hovering over the trigger.

And another thundercrack resounded in the small room.

I’d snatched my gun from Rosalyn and shot him, finally finishing him off. He deserved an ending crueler, but there was no time to be creative. We watched another dot quickly spread on his white dress shirt above his heart. His gun fell to the floor, and so did his knees. Blood poured in thick trails from his mouth, and he choked, falling face-first to the floor.

“Fuck you, Nikolai.” He coughed and wheezed, struggling to draw his last breath. “Fuck...!”

His head went limp on the floor, and the last word never made it out of his bloody mouth. I stared at him. Rosalyn did, too, the heat of her gaze searing past my arm as she took in the sight of him miserably lying on the floor, disheveled and lifeless.

When I looked back at her, her eyes housed unshed tears that waited to fall. What they shared couldn’t be called a sibling relationship. I had enough information to know they were more like strangers who had lived in the same house for over twodecades. But they shared blood and a connection, no matter how small, to the man she’d adored all her life—her father.

Ronan was still her brother, and I’d taken his life right in front of her eyes.

I narrowed my eyes at her, rubbing the red marks on her wrists. “If I didn’t kill him, it would have been us.”

And her eyes finally released the tears they held.

It could have been relief or grief or maybe a mix of both.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever know.