Page 48 of Owned Bratva Bride
Marielle could die.
I should have left her to die.
That would have solved many problems in one. I wouldn’t have to worry about her sharing the information with the wrong people if I released her. Neither would I have to deal with the maddening effects of leaving her under my roof.
But the thought that she could die made my strides larger.
When I caught her, I held her there. I took all her yells and shoves.
I watched her break.
When she asked me why I didn’t hurt her, I was caught off guard. And that was something that never happened to me.
I told her the truth without considering how to filter it.
Her astonished blink told me my response wasn’t what she was expecting.
Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling, hands folded beneath my head.
It had been hours since then, but I lay sleepless in bed, the thought that I could have lost her reawakening things I thought were dead.
I was no stranger to the sound of gunshots; I heard it as often as students my age heard rock music.
So, I was sure. This was a gunshot.
Throwing my T-shirt on, I took the pocket knife I always had on my nightstand. I didn’t turn on the lights as I stalked out of my bedroom.
A scream followed the next gunshot.
I stilled.
That scream wasn’t just any scream.
It was my mother’s scream.
Moving stealthily, I became one with the wall as I moved closer to the sitting room.
My mother was on the floor, her sky blue satin nightgown stained with blood around the edge.
Three men were standing by her, all with guns pointed at her.
Where are my father’s men?
“Of course, he can’t always take you with him. The most feared Mafia boss leaves his wife behind, at last,” one of the men rambled.
“You don’t have to do this,” my mother told them, her voice firm.
The guy directly in front of her backhanded her face.
I felt the pain and fury in my bones.
If only I could get to my father’s room and get a gun. But, to get to the stairs leading to his room, I’d have to cross the sitting room. It was too bright for me to move without alerting the three bastards who stood over my mother.
Blood stained my mother’s cheek and lips.
“I absolutely have to do this. I’ve waited four fucking years to do it. Your husband killed my sister, the only person who gave a shit about me. And for what? She was just doing her job! She only delivered the explosive as instructed. Even after she ran away, your husband hunted her down. He ended her before she had a chance of building the family she wanted!” the guy directly behind her spoke.
He went on.
