Page 7 of Married to the Bratva

The rain eases slowly as we slowly leave the city behind, the buildings giving way to dark stretches of road bordered by skeletal trees. The windshield wipers slow, the rhythmic sweep fading into the background.

“What do you think I’m in on?” she says suddenly, her voice muffled but steady.

“Two hundred million dollars was stolen from me by your fiancé. He has it locked up in an encrypted file I can’t access. I need that file decrypted. You’re good at cybersecurity. You can unlock it for me.”

“Newsflash,” she says. Her head shifts, the bag moving slightly as she tries to face me. “I just caught him getting a blowjob from my best friend. I’m not exactly inclined to help him or you right now.”

“You’ve got two choices. You can help me or I can torture him to death. What’s it to be?”

5

SOPHIE

“Put me down,” I demand as I’m dragged out of the car after a lifetime of driving.

He ignores me, hoisting me up and over his shoulder.

“Get off me, you fucking?—”

“Stop talking,” he interrupts, the calm authority in his voice silencing me better than a roar ever could.

I bite my lip, swallowing the thousand questions and curses I want to throw at him.The air shifts around me, colder and damp, and I can tell we’ve moved inside a building.

The sound of rain dulls, replaced by the soft echo of footsteps on marble. The air smells different—wood polish, leather, something faintly metallic.

The chill in the air makes the wet fabric of my dress cling even tighter to my skin, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.

“Can you please take this thing off me,” I ask, my voice breaking the silence.

His footsteps stop. The grip on me loosens slightly, and for a second, I think he might actually do it. “That piece of shitwedding dress?” he says. “I’m tempted, not going to lie, but business must come first.”

“I meant the bag on my head, asshole.”

“How about this? I’ll remove it if you promise not to try anything stupid. Do I have your word?”

I laugh bitterly, the sound bouncing off what I imagine are cold, empty walls. “You’re kidding, right? You kidnapped me, and now you expect me to play nice?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Do you agree or you want to stay in the dark? I don’t give a shit either way.”

I hesitate. The bag is suffocating, the dark pressing in on me from all sides. The urge to fight is there, a scream clawing at my throat, but I can’t do anything while I’m blind. He has all the power right now, and I hate him for it.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “I won’t fight.”

He sets me on my feet with a strength that feels effortless, like he could crush me in the same motion if he wanted to. There’s the touch of a sharp knife by my wrist, and then the bonds fall away, one by one.

A moment later, the bag is pulled from my head, and I blink rapidly, my vision swimming as it adjusts to the glaring light of the room.

And then I see him.

Not a man—no. That word feels too ordinary, too mortal. He’s something else. A force. A God. Every inch of him exudes raw power, a kind of predatory dominance that seems to pull the air from the room and replace it with his will. My stomach clenches in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

His face is sharp, perfectly symmetrical, like an artist’s masterpiece carved from marble. His jawline is impossibly strong, the kind that could make a woman’s knees weak, even when those knees should be focused on running for their life.

High cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that looks as though it was sculpted for cruelty and sin in equal measure.

His skin is pale but not unhealthy—it only serves to make the dark stubble shadowing his jaw more striking, more unforgiving.

And then there are his eyes.

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