Page 69 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

The entire house reeked of gunpowder and sweat, the air thick with the scent of blood. My men had turned the tide; bodies were strewn across the concrete, groans of the dying ones echoing in the cold expanse.

“To think that there was a chance I was ever going to marry you,” I said to her. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

“You’re no better, Miron Yezhov,” she spat, eyes filling to the brim with tears. “You’re just like me, broken and fucked up. Does she know? Has your whore seen you in action? Has she watched you feed a man his own tongue?”

“I swear to God, Alina, I will—”

“Do absolutely nothing, Miron! What you fail to see is that we were made for each other. This world, it’s ours alone. She wouldn’t even last a day. You need me, and I need you.”

Alina sat on her knees in the center of the room, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, her mascara smeared like war paint. I raised my gun, had it trained on her, finger pressing just enough to feel the trigger’s resistance.

Her lips trembled, but her eyes were still defiant. “You don’t have the guts, Miron.”

I could have proved her wrong. Should have. But my gaze flicked to Hazel, standing just beside me, her face pale with fresh tears, her hands clenched. If there was one thing Alina said that made sense, it was that Hazel did not belong in this world, and for reasons I didn’t want to admit, I didn’t want her to see me like this. Not now. Not like this.

“You know I can do it, Alina. But I won’t.” I exhaled through my nose and lowered the gun a fraction. “It’s over,” I said. “I want you to stand up and leave. Get the hell out of here.”

Alina’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching at her side. Desperation shone in her eyes. She wasn’t built to lose. “Unbelievable. You’re letting me go.”

“We both know I don’t have the patience, so enjoy it for the next for seconds. Leave.”

She hesitated, and her eyes flicked back and forth, from the man standing in front of Damir with his hands up to Hazel leaning into my side.

I should have watched closely. I should have picked the hidden signal that passed in split seconds, giving the man permission to tackle Damir and snatch his gun. But I didn’t. So, when Alina yelled, “Now!” I did the first thing that came to my mind: protect Hazel.

The crack of a gunshot split the air, and I threw myself in front of her, wrapping my arms around her like a shield. A white-hot explosion tore into my side, searing deep, and I tried to look up, to see her face one last time, but the darkness rushed in too fast.

Damn it.

Hazel gasped, and my heart stopped cold.

Chapter 26 – Hazel

Before she gave birth to me, my mother practiced as a community-trained nurse. I grew up flipping through the photo albums to relive the beautiful life she’d lived through those pictures. She looked happy, with a permanent smile on her face and her head held high in accomplishment.

After I was born, as a single mother taking care of her needy daughter and herself, we didn’t have enough money, so she took up more jobs to handle the bills. Short story: She lost her job at the general hospital for inconsistency and giving too many excuses. But there was never a time when my mother made me feel she wished I wasn’t born. She took care of me, loved me—and still does.

She willingly gave up her job to be a mother and father to me.

My mother taught me that love was not always soft. That sometimes, it was made of sacrifice, of silent suffering, of giving away pieces of yourself with no promise of return. I used to watch her hands, worn, steady, tireless, as she mended, as she cooked, as she worked late into the night while the world rested. She never asked for thanks. She never needed it. Love, she told me, was not measured in words but in what you were willing to endure for another.

I didn’t understand then. Not truly.

But now, I sat in this plain room, enduring the rhythmic beep of machines filling the silence, and I finally knew.

And I couldn’t stop crying.

The sterile scent of the hospital burned in my nose, mixing with the iron tang of dried blood—hisblood.His face was too pale against the white sheets, his chest rising and falling in a slow, agonizing rhythm that felt too fragile. I clutched his hand in mine, my fingers trembling, desperate for any sign of warmth.

He’d stepped between me and a bullet. In a single moment, without any hesitation, he chose my life over his own. And I wondered, was it instinct? Or was it the same kind of love my mother spoke of, the kind that did not think of cost, only of giving?

“If you asked me, I’d say you’re wasting your tears.” I lifted my head, narrowing my eyes at the man who stood by the doors, looking indifferent. I recognized him from the brief glance we’d exchanged at Miron’s office at the club. “We haven’t met officially. Damir.”

“Hazel Sinclair.

He snorted, and I found it rude. “I already know who you are. I know a lot more than I honestly should.” Pushing himself off the wall, he ambled closer, stopping at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching me with something that barely passed as concern. “It’ll take more than a bullet to his arm to put him down.”

My breath hitched, and I sniffled. “He lost so much blood,” I whispered. “You don’t know what it felt like, watching the light go from his eyes as he collapsed into my arms. I thought…I thought I lost him.”

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