Page 1 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

Chapter 1 – Daniel

Liam Callahan, the bastard who broke my younger cousin Alina’s heart, was still roaming the streets of the city like he’d done nothing wrong. The son of a bitch still went around his daily life as though everything was fine. Everything wasn’t. He’d crushed Alina emotionally, and no one messed with a Tarasov without consequences. Liam was about to learn that the hard way.

I sat in my living room, the chandelier’s warm glow enveloping my features as I scrolled through the internet, my face contorted in anger. The news about how Liam exploited, used, and discarded my dear Alina had gone “viral,” as the kids of these days would describe it. The news was all over the internet, and the more I read, the more my expression darkened—the more I thought of ways to make that spoiled brat suffer.

Liam Callahan was a high-ranking member of the Irish Mafia, a notorious gang known for the fear and chaos that followed wherever they went. The Mafia lived by a series of codes, and Liam, by exploiting Alina Tarasov, had broken one of those codes. He deserved to be punished, to be made an example out of, but to my greatest surprise, the Irish Mafia hadn’t made any moves to caution or bring Liam to justice.

They’d been quiet since the news got out, and I could tell that their silence was a subtle way to sweep this mess under the rug.

Bad idea.

Sean O’Sullivan, the Irish Mafia boss, knew better than to piss the Russians off. He always said that we were a force to be reckoned with, led by entities straight out of hell, entities called the Tarasov brothers. He knew how dangerous our organization was and what the Bratva was capable of. Yet, he had refused to address the situation. Sean O’Sullivan hadn’t made any public comments on the incident, nor had he attempted to reach out to the Tarasovs.

“People who play with fire should always expect to get burned,” my father used to say.

Sean O’Sullivan was digging his own grave without even knowing it. Or perhaps his silence was a message—a message to tell us how unafraid of us he was.

A faint, evil smirk twitched on the corners of my lips as my eyes narrowed, my grip tightening around the tablet in my hand. Sean had bitten off more than he could chew, Liam had messed with the wrong girl, and now, I was about to rain fire and brimstone on those motherfuckers. The thought of exerting my fury gladdened my heart, and a sense of satisfaction washed over me.

The door opened, and a set of cold footsteps walked toward me, a newcomer’s boots clicking softly against the fine, polished marble floor.

I raised my head, and my eyes settled on him, Ilya, my most trusted lieutenant. In this line of work,trustwasn’t a word we threw around carelessly; it was something that had to be earned—something so delicate yet extremely important. Ilya was one of the few individuals in the world who I trusted with all my heart. The man had proven his loyalty to me and the Bratva over the years, and no one but him could do the things he had done for our cause. No one.

Ilya had a rigid frame and a pair of cold, dark eyes that accentuated his ruggedness. Across his face was a deep scar, one he got while defending me from an enemy’s dagger in a fierce battle years ago. Casual or official, it didn’t matter what attire he had on; Ilya would always look scary as fuck, and his stern look only made things worse.

His skin was covered in ink, each telling a story of his victims—those who met their demise at his hands. Word in the streets was that Ilya was a demon from the pits of hell, serving his master, the devil himself: me.

He towered over me, his expression dangerously softening as he stared in silence, his tailored suit highlighting his masculine build. I recognized that look. That was a face he wore each time he was about to drop a bombshell on me.

I was already dealing with a lot at the moment, and the last thing I needed was more infuriating news.

“Well?” I asked, knitting my brows as I awaited his response.

Ilya brushed a thumb over his nose and said, his voice tinged with a hint of suspicious amusement, “O’Sullivan’s daughter is set to marry in three days.”

My eyes narrowed, my expression darkening as I wondered what deluded Sean into thinking that he could have a celebration—a nice time—in a few days while my family was wronged by one of his own. He must be high on something.

“Guess the groom,” Ilya added, his lips twitching at the corners as though he couldn’t wait for my reaction.

For a moment there, my brain abandoned me, and my head was blank.

“Liam fucking Callahan,” he revealed, his eerie smirk retained.

I was quiet for a while, and soon, a slow, menacing grin crept into my face as an idea hit me. Ilya cocked his head, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment—not exactly the reaction he was expecting.

This was a good thing. This union between the Callahans and the O’Sullivans was the perfect opportunity to strike. The universe had presented my enemies to me on a golden platter, and there was no way in hell that I was going to let this opportunity pass me by.

These were powerful families, and everything to them was business. Their bank accounts, names, reputations, and positions in society were always first—everything else was secondary. The union of the O’Sullivan daughter and the Callahan son symbolized power, alliance, and the promise of a future. In other words, the marriage was political, one from which both families would benefit.

That was, of course, if there’d be a marriage at all.

I leaned back on the sofa and crossed my legs, my calm posture exuding confidence and composure. I knew exactly what to do—how to make them dance to my tune.

As powerful as they were, they wouldn’t see me coming. They wouldn’t know what hit them until it was too late.

My lips curled into a self-satisfied grin, and I let out a soft sigh, finding comfort in the twisted ideas that flooded my mind.

This should be fun.

---