Page 2 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

The sky was too blue for a funeral.

That was my initial reaction when I stepped out of the black car and into the hot afternoon sun.

Not a single cloud was brave enough to make an appearance. The wind was gentle, the breeze too weak. The birds chirped as if they weren’t about to witness another soul going home today. As if the world didn’t know or care that Yulia died.

The graveyard was big and over-manicured. The grass was too green, cut to within an inch of its life. White chairs were carefully arranged as if for a wedding, not a funeral. The entire arrangement was flawless, groomed in a way that seemed to go against nature.

Just like the people gathering around it.

Men in glossy, black suits walked back and forth, muttering in Russian and hushed English, sunglasses hiding emotions, not that they had any to begin with. Their voices were tinged with respect they never gave her while she lived.

And there they were—the Yezhovs.

A wall of impassive, looming darkness in custom black. Bratva royalty. They hung back a bit from the rest, watching everyone with unreadable eyes. They looked as if they owned the ground that they walked on, as if they could flick a finger and cause the entire city to kneel.

My stomach churned.

I walked slower than I had to, allowing my heels to grind into the gravel as I trailed my parents in the direction of the crowd. My father’s hand was a rigid presence on my back. Support, or warning. Honestly, I couldn’t say which, and I really didn’t care.

I spotted Rurik Yezhov near the front. My sister’s husband. Her abuser. His head was bowed like he cared, a hand on the casket like it wasn’t his fault she was in there.

He was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled. As though sorrow had clawed into him. But I would not have it. I knew what he was doing behind those doors. I knew how he used to talk to her when no one else could hear. I knew how she fell silent after she became a Yezhov wife.

My sister, Yulia, who was so full of life, had become a shadow of herself the moment she became that monster’s wife.

Hatred clawed at my chest, and my heart weighed heavily with rage.

I despised him, and now he had the audacity to act as though he had lost something precious. As if he wouldn’t have gotten rid of her since the night of their wedding if he could.

My clenched fists dug into my hands as I glared at him with way more disgust than I ever thought I could feel.

“From dust we came, to dust we shall return…” the priest started, his gaze bouncing between the Bible in his hands and the crowd in front of him.

I could hardly hear him above the pounding in my head.

I couldn’t cry.

I wouldn’t give the Yezhovs the pleasure of seeing my tears. No one would admit it, but I was certain they’d done something to Yulia. Her death was…just too mysterious to not have been planned.

So, I looked at the casket instead. It was dark brown, shiny, with a gold cross carved across the top.

Yulia would have loathed it. She never liked gold. Said it reminded her of being trapped.

I stood wedged between my parents, both of them stiff and silent.

My father stared straight ahead, impassive, like a statue chiseled in ambition. My stepmother, Lillian, snuffled softly, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. The gesture was faker than the love she supposedly had for me and Yulia.

Yulia.

The thought and sound of her name felt like a stab to my chest. I couldn’t believe this was it; her chapter was closed, and I would never see my sister again.

They said she’d fallen and died of a heart attack, but I didn’t believe it. It made no sense; I’d spoken to her only an hour before, so how could I believe their bullshit?

I couldn’t believe it. I refused to believe it.

Not for a damn second.

Yulia was thirty-two. Healthy. Beautiful. Stronger than most people ever gave her credit for. She didn’t just die; she was broken. Slowly. Quietly. Brutally.

I felt it in my bones. I saw it on her face each time I visited, and she had that sad smile.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her casket. My heart was racing in my chest like it was trying to scratch its way out. I should’ve done something. I should’ve said something. I should’ve known better.

I was furious. With her. With them. With myself.

And then I felt it—that strange tingle down the back of my neck as if I was being watched.

I shifted my head a little, not far enough to turn and look back without being noticed, and there he was.

Matvey Yezhov.

Standing a few feet away from the rest of his family, hands in his pockets, casual posture, but somehow more threatening than all of them combined.

His suit was immaculate, black-on-black, as if he’d been sliced from shadow.

His jaw was set, lips tight in a grim line, and those dark, soulless eyes were pinned on me.

Not the coffin.

Not the priest.

Me.

He did not look away when I caught him. Scratch that, he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me like he was entitled to it. Like he was attempting to look beneath my skin.

My breath hitched for a second, and then I looked away. I shouldn’t have felt anything. Not warmth, not anxiety, not the insane, furious twist in my stomach.

But I did.

Matvey was the cold one. The quiet one. The dangerous one who never spoke unless it was to decide something that would be final.

I’d seen him before, of course, at events, from across tables, across rooms, always just far enough away to forget.

Yet here he was today, looking at me as though I were the only thing that didn’t fit into his world.

And for the first time since Yulia passed away, I felt something different from sadness.

I felt like I was being watched by a predator.

***

I wandered from the crowd after the service

No one noticed. They were all too occupied making empty condolences, drinking glasses of whatever champagne the Yezhovs thought was suitable for a funeral, and acting like this was another ordinary day or party.

They all acted like the woman who’d just been laid into the earth didn’t matter and was now a forgotten figure in history.

I needed air.

The hedges, cut into smooth shapes, swept into a narrow stone path at the back of the cemetery. It was still, dark, and half-hidden behind towering trees. I walked along it, heels sinking a little into wet grass, a hand brushing against leaves at the edge.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But voices disrupting the quiet peace I was looking for drew my attention.

It was deep, low male voices, and they were familiar.

I halted behind one of the tall hedges, heart racing in my chest as I identified the other of the colder, gravelly voices.

Matvey.

I hadn’t heard him speak much. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him speak at all to begin with. The deep, baritone of his voice sent shivers down my spine.

I edged nearer, trying not to snap a twig. My heart missed a beat as I heard the second voice, another man, a bit older, smoother, with the same Bratva accent as Matvey.

“…she did what she was required to do. The alliance lasted during her lifetime.”

Matvey answered more tartly. “It’s not a question of whether she was helpful. She was one of us.”

“She was a Carter. She married into our family. You play the game. Yulia understood that, too.”

The air around thickened, and my legs threatened to give out. They were talking about Yulia.

“It was part of the deal,” Matvey said to him, his voice softer now. Underneath it was steel. A threat, on a very thin leash. “We secured the alliance all thanks to their marriage.”

There was a pause. The other man laughed then. A dark and bitter laugh that echoed through the emptiness. “It was a waste. A strategic move that ended up a damn waste. The youngest one might be worth looking into.”

I moved backward, and my heel got caught on a rock. I let out a shaky breath, hoping they hadn’t heard me, but Matvey’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

With my heart racing in my ears, I spun around and walked away quickly. Just short of a run, but almost. I couldn’t stand to hear one more thing. My hands were trembling, my skin hot and cold simultaneously.

They’d used her.

Yulia didn’t marry for love. She married to seal a deal, and now she was dead. Her body was barely cold underground, and they were already speaking about me as if I were next. As if I were nothing more than some pawn on their freaking chessboard.

As if Yulia didn’t matter beyond their stupid alliances.

A wave of anger surged through me.

I didn’t care how powerful they were. I did not care if Matvey was the scariest man on this planet or that his gaze made me feel things I knew were wrong.

I hated them.

All of them.

My chest was too tight to breathe by the time I got to my parents in the waiting cars. I didn’t even wait to hear them talk.

My stepmother’s eyes narrowed on me. “Honey, are you okay? You look a mess.”

I ignored her and shifted my attention to my father. “Tell me the truth,” I said, my voice cutting, shaking. “Why are we still connected with them rather than seeking revenge?”

“Connected with who?”

I inhaled, reminding myself not to blow up. “The Yezhovs. They murdered Yulia.”

My dad tensed up. My stepmom’s jaw dropped open.

“You’re getting emotional,” Dad said matter-of-factly, pulling at the cuff of his suit. “Yulia died of cardiac arrest. That’s what the doctors said.”

“No,” I broke in, moving in on him, jabbing a finger into the air between us. “She died because you handed her over to them. And now they’re discussing me. Like I’m next. Like it’s my turn to marry into that—”

“Enough,” my father interrupted, his voice low and menacing. “You have no idea how far our pact with the Yezhovs goes. You do not say another word about this.”

Lillian’s voice was softer, but not more pleasant. “We’re just trying to keep you safe, dear. You have to trust us.”

Trust?

They hadn’t kept her safe. They’d wrapped her up in finery, presented her to her killers, and left her to rot behind silk and gold.

I didn’t utter another word. I simply turned and walked away, climbed up into the automobile, and slammed the door so forcefully that it rattled the windows.

When I got home, I went directly to my room and locked the door. Then I pulled the curtains shut.

I dropped to the floor with shaky hands and Yulia’s ghost beside me.

I should have seen it coming. She was my sister. I should have been capable of preventing it and keeping her safe. I failed to protect my only sister from those monsters.

Papa and Lilian were fiercely loyal to the Yezhovs. Maybe things would have been different if Mama were alive. Now, there was no one to tell Papa right from wrong; he’d just trade me off as long as it benefited him, even when he knew this could be the last time he saw me alive.

Even when he knew how dangerous the Yezhovs were.

Yulia had told me all about them, how they bathed in blood and crime, how scary and infamous they were for their brutality.

Now that Yulia was dead, I wondered what would happen to the alliance between my family and the Yezhovs. Would they go on to find a better ally who would be willing to pawn off his daughter the same way Papa did Yulia?

If they did, Papa sacrificing his only daughter for the sake of business would be a waste, and I wouldn’t have any reason to be in the same space with my sister’s murders.

With all of my heart, I hoped the alliance fell through.