Page 9 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

“What is the meaning of this?” Dad growled, his face a mask of fury, and he withdrew a pistol from its holster.

“Hello, Sean, good to see you, too.” A tall man with an athletic build and neatly styled dark hair walked down the aisle, his calm voice dripping with sarcasm.

One of the masked men shot a gun in the air, and all of our guests dropped to the floor, screaming with their hands up above their heads. Chaos broke out in the church with these heavily armed commandos rounding people up, kicking and punching those who weren’t cooperating fast enough.

“The Bratva,” Liam muttered under his breath as he stepped out in front of me, his protective hands spread out like a shield. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice laced with urgency.

Honestly, I still wasn’t sure what was going on, and my brain completely shut down as I watched the chaos unfolding before me. Everything was happening so fast that it was difficult to process the situation.

“Russian pigs!” Dad charged at the previous speaker, the tall and handsome one.

However, Dad didn’t get anywhere close to him when two huge men restrained and disarmed him. One of them punched Dad in the gut, forcing a thick, painful grunt from him.

“Dad!” I yanked up the hem of my dress, fingers grasping the white lace, ready to advance further.

“Don’t,” Liam said, standing in my way, his back against me.

These armed assailants had completely taken over the place, and both families’ bodyguards were held captives. Panic set in, and our guests trembled on the floor, gasping and muttering words of prayer.

The leader of this invasion lit a cigarette clutched between his lips, his shoes clicking against the marble floor as he approached Liam and me.

“Son of a bitch. Stay the fuck away from my daughter!” Dad yelled, struggling against the strength of the hefty men holding him down.

“Language, O’Sullivan,” the man said, releasing a puff of smoke. “You’re in the house of God. You really should be mindful of your words,” he added, his voice calm yet menacing.

I’d never seen Liam so spooked before, never seen him so terrified of a fellow man. And that scared the shit out of me because that only meant that this man was a force to be reckoned with. They were Russians—the Bratva cartel—and he seemed to be in charge.

“Stay away from her,” Liam said, his voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.

The man’s lips twisted at the corners, and the next I knew, his fist slammed against Liam’s jaw, spilling blood from his mouth. My heart sank into my chest, and I stood there, frozen in place, too numb to speak or move. Dad cursed, yelled, and struggled, but to no avail, as this man beat Liam with his bare hands.

Liam tried, but he couldn’t land a single punch; it was clear that he was no match for this man, and his terror was justified. The man’s neatly styled hair was now slightly tousled from all that fighting. Well, I wouldn’t call it a fight, considering the little effort he put into beating the living daylights out of Liam.

He cracked his neck, getting off my fiancé’s motionless body. I watched him wipe his bloodied knuckles with a white handkerchief, and then he raised his head and met my gaze. The moment we locked eyes, my breath lodged in my throat, and a chilly shiver sprinted down my spine. His deep-set brown eyes bore into my soul, and I felt my spirit almost leave my body.

My heart was thrumming in my ears, and I struggled to breathe, unable to look away from his intimidating face. He walked toward the altar with deliberate slowness, his menacing footsteps sending tremors down my core. Halting in front of me, he tossed his cigarette away and stared at me with an unreadable expression.

He shifted his gaze to the trembling priest, who immediately did the sign of the cross with a shaky hand. “Now, you’re being dramatic,” he said to him. “But do well to extend my regards while you’re at it.”

That was his twisted way of telling the priest to say hello to God for him. What a dick!

He glanced at me again and then faced my father with a corny smirk on his lips. “You were going to give her away, weren’t you, O’Sullivan? How generous!”

Beneath the calmness of his voice was something so sinister it made my skin crawl.

He nodded at his men, and one of them rushed over to Liam’s body, searched him, and retrieved the ring from his inner pocket. Liam tried to resist, but he was too weak. Thank God he was still breathing; I thought he was dead.

“You sick bastard!” Dad cursed, his voice echoing through the walls. “I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you!” He struggled to free himself, but those men were stronger. “I’ll kill you, Daniel! I’ll kill you!” He bellowed at the top of his voice, his eyes red with fury as a lone vein lined his forehead.

That was his name—Daniel.

The ring, stained with Liam’s blood, was handed to Daniel, and he stood across from me—in the exact spot and position where Liam once was barely five minutes ago.

“What’re you doing?” Dad asked, his eyes wide with shock.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Daniel asked, calm and composed.

“No,” Dad murmured, shaking his head and attempting to stand.

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