Page 9 of Bratva Hostage

“Trying to find a weak point?”

She lifts her chin in that same defiant way I’ve come to expect from her, and her honey-colored ponytail slips over her shoulder. “None of your business.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets and take one step closer. “I believe it is my business if you plan to walk out of my homeand straight into danger after I gave your sister my word I’d look out for you.”

She scoffs. “You think I’m safer here, locked up like a prisoner?”

I clench my jaw. “You’re not locked up. You have the freedom to move around the estate.”

“That’s not freedom. That’s a gilded cage.”

She tries to brush past me, and I shift to block her path. The look on her face is positively murderous, and those hazel eyes blaze.

“If you walk outside, you could end up in your father’s hands again. He won’t show you mercy.”

She stares at me, and her outrage seems to soften for one moment. Then she exhales hard. “I’ve been forced to witness his violence, and now I’m forced to witness yours. It’s all the same.”

I grit my teeth because I don’t have a simple rebuttal. She’s right. Her father and I are part of the same world, even if we’re on opposite sides of it. “I’m not him.”

She lowers her line of sight to the floor, and I notice the faint tremor in her shoulders. “Then stop trying to control me.”

Something about the sadness in her voice fills me with the strangest urge to comfort her, and the need unsettles me. I’m not the sort of man who soothes. I’m the one who makes sure problems are dealt with.

I want to explain that I’m doing this for her protection, but that phrase has lost its meaning for her. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself from reaching out for her and say, “Step away from the door. If you want to go outside, I’ll find you an escort.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, but she steps back. Then, she makes her way down the hall and disappears around the corner.

I force myself to refocus on the security measures. I speak with two guards, adjusting their shifts and reminding them to keep their eyes open for any suspicious activity. The entire time, my mind drifts to Cecily. Part of me wants to applaud her bravery, but another part of me worries about how much she’s already endured.

She may be the daughter of an enemy, but I can respect her strength. As beautiful as she is, and as stubborn as she can be, it is her resilience that impresses me. My imagination conjures up a different scenario where I might have met her. If she weren’t Thorne’s daughter.

The thought is ridiculous, but then I start to wonder what her skin would feel like under my fingertips. Would her hair smell as sweet as it looks?

I shake my head, forcing those images away. This is not the time. My focus should be on protecting the estate. On protecting her. Not on silly little fantasies about what it might feel like to take her in my arms.

Late that evening, I patrol the second-floor hallway to check that every guard is in place. As I pass one of the large windows, I notice Cecily standing outside on the terrace. She tilts her head toward the sky, and her posture conveys a kind of quiet resolve. I know I should walk away. She deserves peace after everything she’s already been through. But I just can’t turn away.

I remain by the window and observe how her hands grip the railing. What would those delicate fingers feel like trailing along my chest, exploring my skin, and dipping lower?

I have a weakness for women who fight back. I always have. But the desire in my chest feels deeper than that, and a part of me knows this is not just a passing fascination. I don’t want to admit that I find her presence compelling in a way that makes no sense, but as I stand here, the truth is undeniable.

Whatever this is, I need to snap the fuck out of it. She’s here because Seraphina asked us to keep her safe. That’s the only reason I should care. My sister-in-law, Grigor’s wife, has earned that loyalty from us. I repeat that to myself, but it doesn’t change the pressure I feel in my chest when the moonlight hits her alabaster skin and steals my breath from my lungs.

I squeeze my eyes shut and whip my head from side to side before I find the strength to turn away from the window. Just as I do, the phone at my hip vibrates, and when I check it, I see Seraphina’s name. I step into an empty study and answer.

“How is she doing?” she asks before I even say hello.

“She’s alive. She’s angry. She wants out.”

Seraphina sounds weary. “I know. The poor thing. She’s been on the run with our father for so long. She thinks everyone has an agenda.”

I lean against the desk, and I release a long breath. “I found her earlier looking for a weak spot. I think she’s trying to find a way to run.”

Seraphina sighs. “Please be patient with her. She’s never been allowed true autonomy, and she doesn’t know how to handle this situation.”

I glance toward the window, where I can still make out a silhouette on the terrace. “I’m trying,” I reply, and I press my thumb against my brow. “But your father is still out there. If she leaves the estate, I can’t guarantee her safety.”

“I know. Please, just…keep an eye on her. Don’t let her go.”

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