Page 51 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

The attack was so sudden, and he was the only one against all those armed men. What were the odds that he had emerged triumphant in the end? Ilya must have moved up the timetable. According to him, Daniel was supposed to be dead by tomorrow, meaning we were still supposed to have some time before the attack. Or maybe this was what he meant all along, but I didn’t understand it earlier.

I heard the front door open, and my heart sank. I looked around the room for anything to use as a makeshift weapon. With a swift move, I dashed into the closet and picked up a heel from my collection of footwear—the one with the sharpest edge. By the time I returned to the room, the front door was open, and a figure stood by the entrance, their form shrouded by the darkness of the hallway.

“Stay back!” I warned, raising the heel over my head, ready to strike with a cautious hand held out in front of me. “Stay back, or I swear, I’ll bury this in your head,” I added, my tone laced with determination and venom.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” his familiar voice replied as the figure stepped out of the shadows.

My eyes narrowed, a sense of relief washing over me. It was him—he was alive. “Daniel!” His name fell from my lips, my gaze fixed on his form.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teased, his tone mild and gentle.

His shirt was stained with blood—some of it dried, some of it fresh—and his knuckles were raw and bruised. But it was his eyes that unnerved me the most. They held a depth I’d never seen before—something dark, something exhausted, something almost…broken.

The heel dropped from my hand, and I stood there, watching him in silence, eyes roaming his exhausted body, wonder flickering in their depths. “How…how are you…?” I stuttered, struggling to fathom the fact that he was actually here, standing in front of me.

His lips curled into a faint grin as he closed the distance between us, his hand caressing the hair that framed my face. “I’m a hard man to kill,printsessa,” he said, his breath warm against my face.

I hesitated for a moment, holding his gaze, watching the glint of pain he tried to mask. This wasn’t physical pain. No. It was grief. “And Ilya?” I asked, my heart pounding in anticipation of his response.

Daniel paused, his expression flat and devoid of emotion. “He left me with no choice,” he said, blinking a few times as if to hold back whatever he was feeling. “I had to do what I had to.”

I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat, watching the way his shoulders slumped, a rare hint of vulnerability flashing in his gaze.

Ilya was dead. I knew that for sure, and that was the reason for Daniel’s grief. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling right now—the hurt, the pain of betrayal, and the tough call he had to make. As heartless and monstrous as Daniel was, I bet killing Ilya was one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make.

“He was my most trusted man—the only one who knew everything about me,” Daniel added, his voice heavy with pain. “He wasn’t just my lieutenant…. He was my brother. He was family.” He paused with a tightly clenched jaw.

Daniel had never struck me as one to talk about his feelings, and now that he’d shown me a glimpse of his soft side, I was speechless. I literally had nothing to say.

I stepped forward, throwing my hands around his neck in a warm embrace, my body pressing against him in a silent offering of comfort.

At first, he was hesitant, his frame rigid and unyielding. Then, slowly, his hands sprang up, grabbing my waist tightly and pulling me closer as if seeking deeper contact. He leaned down, burying his face into the curve of my neck, and I felt his uneven breaths against my skin, the weight of everything he’d just done pressing down on him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered with a tone laced with sincerity, my palm caressing the back of his neck.

Daniel pulled back to look into my eyes, the darkness in his slowly disappearing. “Don’t be,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Ilya made his choice, and I made mine.”

There was no regret in his voice. There was only pain— the pain of Ilya’s betrayal that had cut deeper than Daniel would care to admit.

We stood there in the warm, golden lights of the hanging chandeliers, holding onto each other—not with words, not with promises. But with the unspoken truth that, despite everything, despite the blood and the violence and the past that should have torn us apart, we still chose each other. And neither of us was letting go.

His strong and gentle hands, once possessive, now wrapped protectively around my waist, securing me like a precious jewel. I melted in his arms, feeling safe and secure—untouchable.

***

A few days had passed since the incident that was orchestrated to tear us apart actually brought us closer together. Things had been good so far. Daniel and I were recovering, mending the physical and mental mess caused by Ilya’s betrayal.

The process was slow, but we were making progress, and the most important thing was that we had each other. It was me and him against the world. I was with Daniel every step of the way, his wife in every sense of the word.

I was no longer ashamed to be a Tarasov, no longer in search of ways to escape this place. I’d finally come to terms with my reality, and I’d accepted my fate. However, there was one thing that I’d yet to admit to myself: my growing feelings for Daniel Tarasov.

The reason for my holding back was still unclear to me. But maybe it was because I wasn’t ready to face this particular truth yet. Confessing those three little words would change everything. From the look of things, it would be a good change, considering how far Daniel and I had come. But I hadn’t summoned the courage yet. Besides, there was still one more thing that I wanted to discuss with my husband: the release of my father.

That fateful morning, I was reading a book in the master bedroom when a knock on the door stole my attention. I shot a quick glance toward the entrance where Sofiya stood, a sly grin playing on her lips.

“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted me.

“Morning, Sofiya,” I responded, squinting at the suspicious smile she wore. “Everything alright?”

---