Page 16 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

I eye the food, wondering if I made a mistake coming in here. To maintain boundaries, wouldn’t it be better if I ate in my room? But before I say a word, Mark leans in and decides to serve me himself.

“I haven’t poisoned the food,” he says, setting the plate aside and proceeding to pour coffee into a delicate China cup before me. “I swear it’s just breakfast.”

But as I meet his intense gaze across the table, I know nothing with Mark is ever “just” anything. But how wrong could breakfast go?

I pick up my fork.

Just as I'm about to take my first bite, the door bursts open. Three impeccably dressed men saunter in, their boisterous laughter filling the room. My fork clatters against the plate as I startle, nearly choking.

”Ah, brothers!” Mark greets them, his demeanor shifting subtly as he gives me a wary look before turning back to them. “Join us for breakfast?”

My eyes dart between the newcomers, taking in their striking resemblance to Mark. Their genes are strong, it seems.

”Sure,” says the tallest one, running a hand through his dark hair as his eyes flicker over to me.

”Who are you?” another asks, staring right at me.

”Manners truly are a lost cause on you, aren’t they, Denis?” the taller one states. He looks at me and introduceshimself. “Vladimir. And that,” he tilts his head towards the third and probably oldest amongst them, “is Abram.”

”Quinn,” I offer.

Abram nods at me while Denis winks with a devilish smile and plops himself down in a chair.

”Where’s Lara?” Mark asks, passing around the dishes to his brothers, who have all made themselves comfortable around the table by now.

”Lara's gone shopping.”

”Again?” Mark chuckles, shaking his head. “Our sister could buy out Saks Fifth Avenue if we let her.”

”Thank goodness it’s on the Orlov Amex now.”

”And we Zolotovs are no longer footingthatbill,” Denis says, and all four men begin to laugh.

I freeze mid-chew, my ears perking up at the name. Zolotov. As in the infamous ZolotovBratvafamily? From what I learned during my research on notorious criminal families while arranging a marriage for a Mafia princess, the Orlovs operate some of the most exclusive nightclubs worldwide, alongside their more sinister dealings in the underworld. I never got the chance to find out more, though, since the Mafia Don insisted on an Italian for his daughter.

As they continue their casual chatter, my mind races. The way they toss around names I've only ever heard whispered in the shadowy corners of my dating agency sends an icy shiver down my spine. The Zolotovs, the Orlovs—I realize, with a start, that I'm sitting at the epicenter of a global criminal empire, casually nibbling on crepes as though it's an ordinary day.

Mark's hand brushes against mine as he reaches for the coffee pot, snapping me back to the present. His touch leaves atrail of fire on my skin, but this time, I don’t just see him as Mark. I see him as MarkZolotov, the most feared member of the Bratva family in both Russia and America, who also happens to be the man who kidnapped me tokeep me safe.

”Everything alright?” he asks, his voice low and intimate.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As I meet his gaze, I realize I've stumbled into a world far more treacherous than I could have imagined. And Mark Zolotov, with his criminal ties and magnetic pull, might just be the most dangerous part of all.

”Mark, I think she thinks you’re a ghost,” Denis says, watching my pale face transfixed on Mark. I’m immediately pulled back into the present and put on a smile as his brothers begin to tease Mark.

”He’s a mirage,” Vladimir chuckles.

”An abomination,” Denis adds.

Mark picks up a grape and chucks it at Denis, who opens his mouth and catches it.

“Impressive, you didn’t choke,” Mark observes.

”A pity, really,” Vladimir adds, and I let out a snort.

”She agrees.” He waves in my direction while Denis frowns, and I chuckle.

They tease each other mercilessly, trading barbs and inside jokes that have me stifling unexpected laughter. To my surprise, Mark gives as good as he gets, his usual arrogance replaced by a dry wit that catches me off guard.

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