Page 13 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"It is an honor to witness your wedding," an elderly man said. He was short, with kind eyes. "Your wife is stunning. Very poised."

"You are too kind," I said, dipping my head. "Thank you for being here."

Kiryan's expression didn't shift, but the hand at my waist tightened suddenly. Even through fabric, I felt the pressure of his fingers.

"A Rossi daughter receives the strictest training," he said smoothly. "Elena knows exactly how to behave tonight."

When the man walked away, Kiryan grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the ballroom.

The lounge was quiet. Empty.

"That sweet, obedient act might've fooled the guests," he said, flinging my wrist away like it disgusted him, "but it doesn't fool me." His eyes looked like they were about to burn. "Tell me where Isabella is."

"Isabella left a letter and disappeared," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "My father and I don't know where she went."

He stared straight into my eyes like he was weighing every blink.

"What did she say?"

I dropped my gaze. I couldn't answer. He drove me backward until my spine hit the cold wall, the chill soaking right into my bones.

"That night, Isabella came to my room," he said. "She only knew you came out of it. She didn't know what happened inside." He slammed a palm into the wall beside my head. The impact made my shoulders jump. "I warned you to bury that shit. So what the fuck did you say to her? Why did Isabella vanish right before the wedding?"

My heart crashed against my ribs.

He wasn't asking why Isabella left. In his head, the answer was already carved in stone.

And Isabella had gone to his room after I left. She'd figured it out herself, then played it like I'd confessed. She'd bragged she'd never loved Kiryan. She'd taken him because she knew I did.

I could've told him all of it. But the second I pictured the way he looked at her, I knew any truth coming from my mouth would sound like a cheap lie.

Isabella had set the board perfectly. I'd walked into the wrong room. I hadn't kept fighting him. She'd left, and I'd put on her dress.

Even I looked at those facts and saw a careful, ugly setup.

"I just did what my father ordered," I said at last, hollow. "I got through the wedding."

"Elena," he said, low, "you still remember my warning from that night?"

He stopped asking about Isabella, and the air in my lungs turned colder.

Of course I remembered. That line sat in my head like a bomb that never stopped ticking.

"Say it," he ordered.

"You said—" I swallowed hard. "If I told anyone, you'd shove it back into my chest... then you'd put me in the ground."

I said it slowly. Every word sharpened the memory—his voice, the insults, the threat.

"Good," he said. "At least you didn't forget." His thumb pressed to the pulse in my throat like he was counting my heartbeat. "Then you understand this: I don't give a damn how many excuses you have. I care about results."

"That isn't fair."

His eyes narrowed. My pushback clearly hadn't been expected.

"In my world, there isn't any fair," he said, leaning in. His hard, mature face blocked the light overhead. "If I issue a warning and do nothing after it gets ignored, everyone will know my word means nothing."

In that moment, I didn't see a groom.