Page 6 of The Russian's Forced Bride
Besides us, the only other people here were Eleanor and Lara, my friends who sat on my right. Eleanor’s hands were clasped around mine as she stared straight ahead, occasionally turning to check if I was okay.
But I hid my pain well—or so I liked to believe. Thinking about Dad almost made me scoff out loud. Maybe if he weren’t so obsessed with the Bratva, he would’ve made more friends instead of enemies. They didn’t even respect him enough to attend his funeral.
Thunder rumbled outside, snapping me back to the reality that Father was gone. When I left the waiting room, the doctor told me Father was looking for me. He was dying, but it seemed like he couldn’t leave until he told me what he needed to.
And he did.
“Trust…Bratva…only,” he had coughed out, face ashen and almost ghost-like. I barely recognized him.
Immediately after he had said those words, his body went limp and cold. I stared at his lifeless body for minutes, unable to accept that I had just watched my father die. And now, I still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he was dead, but I couldn’t cry. Not now, and not ever. I wasn’t raised like that.
Time raced by as if in a marathon. One moment we were all sitting in the cathedral, and the next we found ourselves at the cemetery, his casket now dropped into the mouth of the six-foot grave that seemed eager to swallow him whole.
The sound of dirt hitting the wooden box echoed like gunshots, making me flinch and rushing me back to the explosion that had echoed in my ears during our call. Its thunderous boom had sunk into my flesh and bones, causing me to grow pale.
A hand suddenly tugged at my sleeves, and I turned to see Jacob, his brown eyes filled with worry as he pulled me closer to him, dressed in a long black coat.
“You can leave if you’re not feeling okay,” his deep voice whispered in my ear, but I shook my head, pretending to smile.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
His eyes searched mine for a moment before he nodded in understanding. But instead of letting me go as I expected, he kept holding me, the warmth of his body and the fresh scent of his cologne soothing my nerves.
After Father was properly buried, the small crowd that had gathered at his grave began to disperse. Alice, without looking at Jacob and me, headed straight to her car parked outside the cemetery, while Jacob, Eleanor, Lara, and I kept staring at his tombstone.
“If you want, I could stay in Chicago for a few days,” Jacob said, gently ruffling my hair like I was a child.
His eyes were red with tears and kind, but beyond that, I could tell he was uncomfortable even being here. Like me, he was good at masking his true feelings.
I shook my head, glancing at my friends who patiently waited for me, then looked back at him with a small smile forming on my lips.
“Thank you, Jacob,” I found myself saying, like we were parting ways forever. With Father gone, Jacob wasn’t bound to ever return home—like he’d always secretly wished. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
He drew in a sharp breath but said nothing.
But now that Father was gone…would I truly be okay? Or had I become the Bratva’s next pawn?
And was my family, though broken, even safe?
***
A week had passed since Father’s death, and it seemed as if the world never paused to notice his absence.
Death is a funny thing; the world, even funnier.
Ever since Dad’s burial, I’d been cooped up in bed at his mansion, only leaving to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the table—all courtesy of Alice’s demands.
My room was freezing, even with the heat on and the velvet-shaded duvet covering me. A storm was outside, pounding against the large windows, with lightning flashing through the dark, stormy clouds and lighting up my room slightly from the bedside lamp.
It wasn’t that I was depressed. Dad wasn’t the best father in the world, after all. He had kept me trapped in a cage with my wings cut off for as long as I could remember. It was just a foreboding feeling of dread that kept me rooted in one place.
I was scared that if I stepped outside the house, I’d be blown to bits or shot dead right then.
Whoever had killed Dad was still out there.
I sighed, tossing around on the grand queen bed, whose soft silk sheets made me feel trapped. I felt so lonely inside, even though I was surrounded by opulence. My room alone could fit three offices with its length, yet I felt suffocated by everything.
Maybe being killed wasn’t so bad after all.
