Page 42 of Forced Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva

Then I reach out and tilt his chin upward with two fingers. Gentle. Almost kind. “Tell me,” I say, voice soft. “Why did you do it?”

He wheezes a laugh. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. “Does it matter now?”

“It matters to me.”

He stares. Then shrugs, barely able to lift his shoulders. “Anonymous deal,” he croaks. “Money was good. Too good to refuse.”

His voice is sandpaper.

“I didn’t ask questions,” he continues. “Took the contract. Made the kill. Used the payout to build the first tier of my empire. Turned blood into gold.”

There’s a trace of bitterness in his voice now. Not regret. Not guilt. Just the grim weight of consequence.

I nod slowly. “You took the money. Killed my brother. Buried the truth beneath your wealth.”

He doesn’t deny it.

I lean in closer, my tone almost conversational. “And now,” I murmur, “I’m taking everything from you. Starting with your daughter.”

The words hang between us, sharp and final.

Richard Carter’s body reacts before his voice does. His shoulders jerk back, his breath catching on a dry gasp. His mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing comes. Just the slow, staggered rise of his chest as he tries to process it—truly process it.

“No,” he rasps. “First you marry her, now what?”

I tilt my head, not with sympathy, but with curiosity. “Well, we’ll do what married couples do. Obviously.”

“Monster.”

“She wears my name now,” I say. “She stood beside me, swore herself to me. She belongs to me in ways you can’t undo.”

Richard flinches like I struck him. “You’re using her. You’re using her to punish me.”

“Yes,” I say simply. “I have to say, I’m enjoying it.”

He tries to rise, to fight against the restraints, but the zip ties bite deep, and he chokes on a groan of pain.

“She’ll never forgive you,” he spits, and there’s blood on his teeth now. “You think you can twist her, but she’s stronger than you know.”

I lower my voice, crouching again until my face is inches from his.

“I don’t want her forgiveness,” I whisper. “I want her devotion.”

He goes still.

That’s the final blow. Not the bruises. Not the broken ribs. But the truth of it. The cold inevitability that Alina—his daughter, his heir, his symbol of legacy—will be mine in every way that matters. Not just in name, but in loyalty. In trust. In obedience.

I rise to my feet, brushing a smear of blood from my coat like it’s dust.

Richard slumps in the chair, the last of his fight bleeding out of him.

I’ve waited a decade for this moment, and it is every bit as satisfying as I imagined.

When I turn to leave, I don’t look back.

The air at the top of the warehouse stairs is cooler, crisper—less humid.. I pause at the final step, looking back once toward the darkness behind me. Richard Carter slumps in the chair below like a crumbled monument, wreckage left to rot in the shadows. His silence is louder than any scream he could’ve givenme. I don’t need more from him. He’s already given me what I came for.

Dima waits up top, arms crossed, face blank. He steps aside wordlessly as I emerge, falling in behind me as we move down the dim walkway.

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