The Yakuza's Mute Bride Novels & Stories

If the only way out of this marriage was money, then I would find a way to earn money, on my own, with skills that belonged entirely to me and owed nothing to anyone’s approval. I thought about the certification sitting untouched in an old folder for six years, the one my mother had never once asked about, the one that existed because I’d wanted it, quietly, before I understood that wanting things quietly was the only kind of wanting I was allowed. That was where I started. Bridge City Interpreting occupied a clean, unremarkable suite on the second floor of an office building on the north side, not flashy enough to have its name lit up outside, not small enough to be a single desk crammed in

The whole place was decorated giving it a dreamy look , smiling faces, little kids watching the bride as she walked down the stairs ( Imagine her walking) which each step she lost something that belonged to her . Her dream , her family, her happiness and lastly her old life . The pavillion was set up in a grand manner where both the priest and the groom was waiting for the bride . All the things which were necessary were decorated in a plate which had vermilion , mangal sutra to signify this holy nuptial unholy for the bride . As she sat behind Drake she couldn't help but notice that the man looked so happy as if he was not forcing her at all . Tearing her eyes away she composed herself

Andreas introduces me, and this is where they turn around. The Eastern scents now made sense to me; they’re Japanese. The older male steps forward; he looks perfectly polished in an expensive suit, but I can sense a danger about him even as he tries to hide his tattoos: the slicked-back salt and pepper hair, the scars on the side of his face and knuckles. This man is Yakuza; I can tell by the way he tries to shoulder the weapons strapped to him. “Fenriz Vega, it is a pleasure to meet you finally.” He says in perfect English with a faint Kanto accent and steps forward with his arm outstretched. “Kaen Tsukishima.”

Joonjae's eyes widened in shock. Shujin's mouth was covered in red blood while her hands held a half eaten rabbit with its insides ripped out. Upon seeing Joonjae, the woman let out a wheezing laughter and violently bit into the dead animal's stomach, tearing it out with her teeth. "Hwang Joonjae," she giggled, her teeth stained with red blood and limbs. "We meet again."

“It actually is.” Why didn’t she ask for the Russian version of shut up? This was the appropriate time to use that line. His fingers dragged across the middle of her back, eliciting a shiver she blamed on the cold. She had to cover up. When his hands finally landed on her ass, her entire thoughts came to a standstill. “Get off,” Camilla screamed. But the man only squeezed. “Stop touching my butt.” “Why not?” he said, his smiled too big for someone who had murdered her driver. He cupped her ass, and her stupid toes curled in response. “We will be married soon.”

The dress, well, it wasn’t the one I would have chosen, but it exuded the wealth and power that I was about to marry into. But no amount of perfection could hide the ugly, horrific truth. This marriage was a lie. And I was a captive bride in all but name. It had all started when I was trying to help my best friend Ilsa, a detective with the LAPD, and her husband Roman, don of the Marchetti Mafia, save a young Russian girl—Sveta Orlov—who had been ripped from her family at the expense of her maniacal father. Since I was the only one that Ilsa knew who spoke Russian, they had brought her to me, and I had helped concoct a foolproof plan.

Intrigued, I leisurely walked towards where they were heading. I was filled with curiosity when I saw a couple standing in front of an old lady, all three of them covered in white gauze. The crowd around them was completely silent, creating an eerie atmosphere. The man declared, "I, Ambrose Rita, accept Yulia Henzi as my mate!"

BECOMING THE MAFIA'S BRIDE SERIES 2 -TIME SKIP: 17 YEARS LATER- ๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑๑˙❥˙๑ FIONA'S POV

Stefano knew that and that was why he made the deal. Stefano continued piercing Connie's body with the knife until she died. Elisa felt like vomiting at the sight in front of her. Stefano at that moment looked like the grim reaper. His crisp white shirt was covered in blood. She felt stupid from not reading all the signs that he was in the mafia. The unspeakable business, the secrets even at the wedding reception, his side of the guests being kind of strange. Everything about him screamed something dangerous but she refused to listen and now because of her, an innocent woman has paid for it with her life.

Her voice broke and she began to cry. It was a pitiful sight. He watched a woman walk up to her. He could not hear what the woman told the bride, but it seemed to make her cry more. “Is that the perfect mafia wife you were just describing, Sam?” Egan said quietly. “What?” Sam looked at him in shock.