Page 62 of The Bratva's Captive

So hung up on the conviction that Maximhadto be the bad guy as the ruthless Mafia boss who killed others, I resisted the potential that he could also be good. That the sense of security and safety he made me feel was a blessing, not a trick.

“Ah!”

I lifted my head at the sound of a man crying out. Venturing near the kitchen area, I hurried ahead to see if someone was wounded. I was sure the Ivanovs had many enemies. All criminals did. But I also doubted that any of them could get in here, past all the guards.

“Hello?” I called out as I jogged toward the sound of pain.

This first floor of the mansion was open for me to access, not that anyone was ever around. Maxim’s brothers tended to stick with staying at their apartments in the building. I had yet to see this grandmother. The only other humans I saw were the maids, butlers, soldiers, and cooks.

That was who I found wincing in pain now. Hunched over near the stoves in the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, was a cook. He seemed young, and I was ninety-nine percent certain he’d told me his name was Roger. None of the staff spoke with me past the most basic pleasantries, but I didn’t hold that againstthem. They were just doing their jobs. I had no doubt Maxim had likely told them all not to speak with me.

“Are you all right?” I ran up to him, worried about the blood dripping from between his fingers as he held his other hand tightly against his chest.

I didn’t worry about someone else here hurting me. No gunshot had gone off. Nothing indicated an intruder. Besides, all the shattered chunks of glass strewn all over the counter were proof enough that something had shattered and cut him.

“Oh, Miss Black. No. It’s all right.” He tried to turn and hide his injury from me, as if it would be a grave mistake to let a “guest” like me be bothered by his incident.

“Roger. You’re bleeding all over.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I’ll be okay.”

He took a step back and nearly slipped on the spilled oil on the floor.

I reached out to catch his elbow, stopping his fall. “Roger?—”

“It’s Ronny, actually.”

“Ronny, careful.”

“No.” He shook his head as I tried to guide him away from the broken glass and toward the sink to rinse his cut hand. “You’re a guest and?—”

“I amnota guest,” I snapped, not caring if I was too snarky. A guest? Maxim kidnapped me, and nothing would ever change that fact. Ifeltlike a guest, but hearing someone else actually call me that was weird. The less I thought about why I was here, the better. “Just let me help you.”

“No, I insist.”

“Iinsist,” I replied curtly. “And you’re going to sit your ass down on that stool there and let me see.” Nevaeh used to tease me whenever I let myinner-city bitchcome out, but I knew it was nothing more than impatience. I didn’t like to suffer fools, and Ronny was being ridiculous.

He obeyed, leaning on me as I guided him over the broken glass and helped him not to slip. Moving with me, he cringed as he held his fingers of his cut hand. “The oil vial must have gotten too hot and… it slipped right out of my hands.”

“Easy,” I said. “I’m sure you’re not the first cook who’s been human enough to drop something in the kitchen.”

“I know, but…” If he wasn’t busy leaning over the sink so I could rinse off his hand, he probably would’ve shrugged.

“Is there glass in the cut?” I asked, leaning with him, my arms parallel to his as I took over rubbing my fingers over his bloody hand to clear the site.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I… I’m on blood thinners. I have a genetic condition. That’s why I’m just a cook and not a soldier. I can’t take much blood loss and?—”

“Easy,” I snapped, realizing he was on the verge of panicking. This poor, scared man. I shook my head and focused on cleaning his hand and bandaging it.

“What the fuck is going on?”

I jerked my head up, seeing that Maxim had arrived home.

He scowled, watching me close to Ronny as I helped him clean his bloody hand off.

Blood covered him, too. It was smeared on his face, his hands, and over his shirt, but he moved too fiercely and boldly for me to assume he’d been hurt.

That was someone else’s blood on him. As I sobered to the reminder that he was a ruthless man, a killer, I almost winced at how furious he was to see me helping this cook.

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