Page 48 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

I felt my rage intensifying by the second, the weight of his betrayal settling heavily in my stomach, churning my emotions into a toxic storm. Why would he do this? Why would he turn his back on me?

I’d been harsh toward him a few times, but was that enough reason to plot with my enemy—to want me dead? Ilya knew everything about me; he’d been in charge of all that concerned me because he was the one person in the world outside my family whom I thought I could trust.

If Scarlett hadn’t warned me, Ilya probably would have succeeded, considering how much he knew about me. But why? Why did she warn me? Shouldn’t she hate me for all that I’d done—all that I’d put her through? For someone who’d mastered the art of deception, the worry on her face sure looked genuine.

I exhaled sharply and turned around, my hands framing her face with a swift motion. She flinched at first, her body stiffening, unsure of what I was doing until my lips crashed against hers. Slowly, she melted into me, her breath warm on my skin as she kissed me back. This was the confirmation that I needed. She wasn’t faking. She wasn’t deceiving me. No. Whatever emotions she felt for me were true and genuine; her kiss told me so.

“They can plot all they want, but no one can take you away from me,” I whispered, fingers caressing her hair. “You’re mine, Scarlett.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes boring deeper into mine, affection dancing in their depths. “What’re you gonna do now?”

I’d yet to come up with a strategic plan, considering how sudden this situation had snuck up on me. But one thing was certain: Ilya would pay for his betrayal. The Bratva brotherhood lived a code, one that clearly stated how unforgivable betrayal was. It didn’t matter the fuck it was; betrayal was punishable by death.

Ilya had made an enemy out of me. He’d bitten more than he could chew, and now he was going to pay. I would make sure of that.

“Daniel, what’re we gonna do? He said you’d be dead by tomorrow, and we don’t know where or when he’d attack you,” Scarlett said, her voice soft yet laced with urgency. “What’s our plan?”

The “we” and “our” in her statement was a clear indication that she had joined herself with me. It was a testament to the fact that she’d officially accepted me as her husband. My problems were now hers. The pain of Ilya’s betrayal couldn’t be compared to the satisfaction that came with hearing Scarlett say those words.

Nothing could ever separate me from her—not Ilya, not Liam, and not even her father, Sean.

Just before I could provide an answer to Scarlett’s question, something caught my attention—the muffled footsteps and thick voices outside the door. My eyes narrowed, my senses on high alert, and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. Something was wrong.Reallywrong.

And then,BOOM!

The front door got knocked down with a sickening thud, armed, masked men barging into my office, guns held up in front of them.

“Get down!” I bellowed, adrenaline kicking in as I sprang into action.

My hands wrapped around her waist, and with a swift motion, I shoved her down behind my desk, out of the line of fire. She gasped, hitting the polished floor just as the first shot rang out—a loud bang that forced a scream from her lips.

I moved with lightning speed, counting five armed assailants, all wearing masks.

The first one aimed at me—too slow. I lunged, grabbing his arm and twitching hard until he wailed in pain, his elbow snapping like a twig. Reflexively, he dropped his pistol, and I caught it midair, fingers wrapping around the handle.

I squeezed the trigger, firing three times—three precise shots to three different men’s heads. Before the one with the broken arm could reconcile with the pain of his newfound pain, a shot to his chest struck him down.

More barged into the office, pelting bullets all over the place, the sound of gunshots mingling with Scarlett’s fearful screams. I hid behind the towering bookshelf, the rich wood absorbing the shots fired at me. My eyes darted toward Scarlett, where she lay on the floor, palms over her ears, her body shaking like a leaf.

Soon, the shooting stopped for just a moment. Perhaps the bastards were reloading. This was my window, and I took it, sprinting out from behind the shelf, shooting down anyone in my eyeline.

I did a calculated somersault over one of the dead men, snatching his body off the floor and using it as a shield. The bullets thudded into flesh as the body sagged against me. I fired twice—each shot, swift and precise, taking down an opponent.

There were two hefty dudes left, and coincidentally, all our guns clicked empty. One of them unsheathed a blade and rushed at me, swinging his knife in my face. I dodged his advances, my fingers deftly snatching a sharpened pencil off the mahogany table. This was my makeshift weapon as I deflected the enemy’s attacks while calculating the best time to strike.

The other guy joined in—two against one, hardly a fair fight, but I was a worthy opponent. The air was charged with our thick grunts, mingling with the scent of sweat and blood. The fight was intense, blades slashing the air, kicks and punches connecting with bodies.

I sidestepped an attack, jabbing my pencil into the enemy’s eye with a precise strike. He wailed, staggering backward, blood spilling uncontrollably from his eye.

The other guy bellowed, a blur of rage as he speared into my side, tackling me hard. We hit the floor with a thunderous crash, the air jolting from my lungs.

I stole a glance at Scarlett, and my eyes widened when I saw yet another man lifting her body off the ground. She was motionless—passed out. My blood boiled with rage, but before I could make any moves, the previous guy unsheathed a dagger, its blade glinting in the light.

The knife arched down toward my throat, and in a split second, my hands snapped up, catching the man’s wrists just in time. I struggled against him, muscles straining, breaths hot and ragged as the steel trembled inches from my skin.

My attacker pressed down, the tip of the blade hovering mere inches above my pulse. One wrong move, one careless slip, and I was done for. I glanced toward the door where the other guy was heading out with Scarlett slung over his shoulder. Rage coursed through my veins, and with all my might, I turned my attacker over, my hands driving the blade through his throat.

His body convulsed on the floor as he drowned in the pool of his own blood. With hands crimson red, I rose to my feet, standing tall, triumphant over the dead men around me.

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