Page 6 of My Bratva Stalker

Something low and unfamiliar unfurls in my stomach. Not fear. It’s something else altogether. Something I shouldn’t be feeling right now. Not in my situation, standing right next to my dad. And definitely not for this man.

My father clears his throat, breaking the moment, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Mr. Maksimov,” he says, stepping forward. “Thank you for this.”

Viktor Maksimov doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even glance at him. His stare remains locked on me, like he’s memorizing something.

My father hesitates before gripping Viktor’s arm in a firm but brief hug. “I’ll come check on her tomorrow—”

Viktor’s gaze snaps to him. My father stiffens.

His words die in his throat, and he clears it, dropping his hand. “I mean… I’ll call.”

Viktor doesn’t respond. But the tension in the air thickens, pressing down on me, making it hard to move, to breathe, to think.

My father turns back to me, softer now. “You okay, baby?”

I nod, and I don’t know why I feel safer now than I did before. I should be scared. I should be more nervous than I was sitting in my apartment, staring at my unlocked door, knowing someone had been inside. But here, under Viktor Maksimov’s watchful gaze, under the weight of his presence, I feel like nothing can touch me.

Maybe that’s why my father brought me here. Maybe that’s why he trusts him. Because Viktor Maksimov takes care of what’s his. And for now, I’m his to protect.

Viktor

She steps inside. The door closes behind her.

She doesn’t know it yet, but that’s the last time she’ll ever walk through it freely.

Her father thinks he’s keeping her safe. Thinks he’s made the right decision bringing her here. But there was never a threat. Not to her. Not unless you count me. Because I am the shadow in the dark. I am the reason she’s here. I am the one who erased her messages, chased off her dates, broke into her home just to touch her things, to breathe in her scent, to leave my mark.

And now, she’s finally where she belongs. Under my roof. Under my control. One step closer to being under me.

Her father speaks to me, but I barely hear him. I give him nothing—no nod, no handshake, no words.

I only watch her. Her deep brown skin glows under the chandelier’s golden light, her full lips parting as she glances around, taking in the house, the size of it, the weight of what she’s just walked into.

She should be afraid. She should be trembling. But she’s not. Not yet.

Although her breathing is uneven, her fingers twitching against the strap of her bag, and I feel it. The uncertainty. The hesitation. The awareness.

Oh, printsessa. You don’t even know what you’re feeling yet. You don’t even know why you can’t stop sneaking glances at my hands, my arms, my mouth.

But I know. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched you watch me. And it makes me fucking insane.

Her father turns to her. Hugs her tight. He cups the back of her head, presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Be good, Marie,” he murmurs, voice rough. “And keep me posted.”

She nods. “I will.”

Then he leaves. The second that door shuts behind him, she is mine.

She clears her throat, shifting her weight. “Um… thank you, Mr. Maksimov. For letting me stay here.”

I go still.

Mr. Maksimov. No. That’s not who I am to her.

I let the word hang between us, let her feel the weight of my silence. Then, finally, I correct her. “Viktor.”

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