MAFIA’S ASSASSIN BRIDE Novel – SIX YEARS AGO: THE RECRUIT. SCARLETT POV. I never wanted this life—I didn’t ask for it. Becoming an assassin? That was never in the plan. Funny how life works. One second, you’re holding your baby girl, the next, you’re holding a loaded gun with someone else’s blood on your hands. I’m Scarlett Brooks. I was seventeen and pregnant. Yeah, I know—young, reckless, naive. I got careless with a boy who swore he loved me. Promised we’d run away from the system together. Said we’d build a better future. But the moment I got pregnant, he vanished. Just like everyone else did. We grew up in an orphanage—me and him. A place where you learn early that love is temporary, but pain? That one sticks.
The night I gave birth to Daniella, I almost died. Just a bleeding, screaming girl, surrounded by nurses and panic. And before I could even hold her long enough, the system came knocking. They said I wasn’t fit to keep a child. No job. No home. No future. But they didn’t understand—Daniella was all I had left. The only reason I still wanted to keep living. I begged. I pleaded. I fought. Nothing worked. Until they gave me one last offer: “If you can at least pay your hospital bills, perhaps we’ll consider.” I tried everyone—old friends, strangers, even people I should’ve avoided. No one helped. Doors slammed in my face. I was running out of time. And just when the world gave up on me, I made a choice—Plan B. It was reckless, illegal—dangerous. I didn’t know it then… but that one desperate choice? It was the beginning of the end.
The memory of that evening still haunts me. I pressed my back against the cold metal of the truck, my fingers trembling around the grip of the gun. My heart pounded so loud. It was easy to see the luxurious hotel entrance from where I hid—a place for the rich. They’d come and go like royalties. I didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was—I was desperate. Then she arrived in a sleek red car. Beautiful, slim and elegant. Most likely in her forties. Her bodyguards followed her. She was perfect. I stepped out, gun raised with trembling hands. “Give me money, and I’ll go! I need enough money.” My voice cracked, a mix of desperation and fear. The guards pointed their guns at me immediately. “Put the weapon down!” One barked.
The other spoke through his radio. But the woman raised a hand stopping them. Then stepped forward, and said, “You’re too young for this, kid. What’s your name?” “Alex,” I lied, my voice unsteady. “Don’t come any closer.” She smiled. “I don’t think you’re a killer, Alex. You’d have done it by now.” She was right. My hands trembled, I could barely even hold the gun. “I’ll give you the money,” she said, lowering her hand. “Just put the gun down, kid.” I exhaled shakily, my fingers barely brushing against the trigger as I was slowly taking it down. BANG! A gunshot pierced through the woman’s chest. I froze. My ears rang, the world slowed and the woman gasped, her body jerking as a red stain bloomed across her chest as she collapsed. The bodyguards aimed at me, but immediately— BANG! BANG! Bullets pierced through their heads. I didn’t know who fired those shots. My breath seized.
The police arrived immediately, and they began shooting towards the direction of the shots. I dropped to my knees, covering my ears, shaking. It was chaos and ambush. Then, rough hands grabbed me, slamming my face to the ground. “No! No! Stop!” I screamed in terror. “I didn’t shoot her. It wasn’t me!” I struggled. Then I heard a sharp cracking sound. Before I could turn my head, something pierced my back. The pain tore through me. My jaw clenched. I convulsed. Voices around me faded. Then—there was darkness. **** The room was dead silent. My body ached. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open. Everywhere was white—so white, I could barely spot any other color. The light above burned into my vision, causing me to blink repeatedly. “Where am I?” I whispered. A calm voice responded. “Scarlett Brooks. Orphan. A single mother.
Age—seventeen. Criminal record—one count… murderer.” Panic gripped me. I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pain. A man sat in front of my bed, legs crossed, holding a file. He looked to be in his late twenties. He had pale skin, dark silky hair and was almost perfect. But there was something calculated about him. “Who the hell are you?” I snapped. He stood up with a smile, stepping forwar. “Oh! Where are my manners?” He extended a hand toward me. “I’m Bryan Adams.” My eyes went to his hand, then I ignored. “Oops,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets too. “Where the hell am I?” “In heaven,” he replied, sharp.