To Avenge My Daughter, I Married My Mafia Brother-in-Law

A coldness crept up my spine and exploded in my chest, dissolving into a dead, numb stillness.

I stood like a statue outside Oscar’s study, the expensive Persian rug inside visible through the partly open heavy oak door.

The door wasn’t shut all the way, and the voices leaking out were like ice daggers, each word piercing my eardrums.

“Oscar, are you sure no one will dig into this?” Dexter’s voice trembled with a tremor barely concealed. He was Oscar’s lieutenant and one of the Webster family’s inner circle.

“No one will, and no one dares.” Oscar’s reply was cold as iron. “Gloria still believes Rose died from a stray bullet in a street fight.”

Rose—my daughter who died too young.

It felt as if my blood froze; an invisible hand gripped my heart so hard I could barely breathe.

“What about the family doctor who handled it?” Dexter pressed, worry sharpening his tone. “Did you make sure their mouths are sealed?”

Oscar chuckled disdainfully, a sound filled with contempt for life. “I paid them enough to keep quiet for a lifetime. Besides, in this city, who dares defy the will of the future Don of the Webster family? Unless they want their clinic to vanish as well.”

Secret? What secret? My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst my ribs.

“You ordered the execution of your own daughter for a liver transplant,” Dexter said, voice lowered, edged with disbelief. “All for Ava?”

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop the sound of a dying sob. Rose…my poor Rose…her death was not an accident but a carefully plotted murder—for Ava? My own sister!

“Do you think I wanted this?” Oscar’s voice sharpened like a snake’s tongue. “I had no choice! Ava’s life was at stake, and Rose was the only perfect match. A life for a life—when it comes to the Webster family’s interests and future, Ava is worth far more than that frail child!”

His words were sharper than any bullet, shredding my soul to pieces.

I staggered backward until my spine hit the cold wall, yet I felt no pain.

My child, my Rose. She hadn’t died, as Oscar had told me, from a stray bullet in a gang crossfire. She’d been taken from me by her own father—stripped of life coldly and deliberately—to save another woman.

“Oscar,” Dexter pleaded, “Rose is your blood.”

“And Ava is the partner I chose—the woman who will help secure the family’s position!” Oscar cut him off, voice absolute. “Rose was born defective; she wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. Besides, she wasn’t a son. Her sacrifice served the greater ‘family strategy.’”

“But there were other matches on the list—if we’d waited one more day—” Dexter tried, a last-ditch struggle.

“I won’t gamble Ava’s life on that trivial day!” Oscar snapped, leaving no room for argument. “She has to live.”

Hot tears finally overflowed and blurred my vision.

My hand shook as I pulled the still-warm pregnancy report from my coat pocket.

That afternoon I had come home hopeful from the hospital, eager to tell him the news—that we were going to have another life, something that might fill the hollow left by Rose’s departure.

Now that thin sheet of paper felt like a branding iron, burning my fingertips.

I gripped the brass doorknob so hard my knuckles went white.

“Ava?” Dexter seemed to give up arguing and asked instead, “If Ava knew you’d sacrificed Gloria’s daughter to save her…how could she accept that?”

“She shed a few tears for that poor little thing,” Oscar replied in a nauseatingly casual tone. “But she understands—the child was never going to live long. Her death ensures the future mistress of the Websters survives. It’s an honor for her.”

Regret gnawed at my heart—because of my foolish naivety, my daughter’s life had become the price paid to save my dear sister.

“I just hope Gloria stays in the dark, or Oscar, you’ll bring trouble.” Dexter warned softly.

“She won’t know.” Oscar’s voice brimmed with confidence and a jeer. “She’s too naive, too easy to control. Even if she found out, what then? A woman with no family backing and no child—what can she do in a world ruled by guns and money? She’s powerless.”

Powerless?!

I bit down hard on my lip, tasting the faint tang of blood, as if my heart were being torn apart from the inside.

I wiped the tears from my face and slipped away from the Webster building—the symbol of their power—my chest aching as if I might suffocate.

I got into the car, started the engine, and drove aimlessly into the neon night.

Tears blurred my eyes again and again, wiped away roughly by my hand, while the cruel conversation replayed in my mind.

I drove until I didn’t know how long, and when I finally came to my senses I found myself parked outside a silent cemetery—the private burial ground at the city’s edge where Websters rested. I had avoided this place for so long because the grief there could swallow me whole.

The night wind bit, and I tremblingly opened the car door, stepping toward the place I had avoided touching.

Rose’s small headstone looked lonelier than ever under the pale moonlight. My legs failed and I fell to my knees before the cold stone, tracing the letters with trembling fingers:

Rose Webster

Beloved Daughter, Forever in My Heart.

Memories crashed over me, tearing at my broken heart—the night Oscar came home drenched in blood, wearing a brand of sorrow I had never seen before. He told me:

“We were ambushed by a rival family,” he choked out, his performance flawless. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t even see who fired—Rose just fell…”

I had screamed and fainted in terror. When I woke, Rose was already buried. Oscar said he’d used the family’s resources to handle things quickly so I wouldn’t have to see my daughter cold and broken.

Now the truth was clear. He’d hurried to bury my child not out of mercy but to hide his filthy crime.

“I’m sorry, my baby…” I sobbed, forehead pressed to the stone. “I didn’t protect you. I was too stupid to see who they really were.”