Page 15 of Bought & Bred By the Bratva

So I came here.

Downtown. My office. Neutral ground.

I told myself I’d get ahead on business. Focus. Reset.

I was wrong.

The door flies open.

No knock.

No call ahead.

Just Ioann—red in the face, arms swinging like he thinks he still matters here.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” he snaps.

I don’t answer.

Just lean back in my chair, hands folded. Calm.

He storms in further, eyes wild.

“She’s my ex. You realize that, right? She’s younger than yourson.This is fucking sick.”

Still, I say nothing.

He starts pacing, throwing his hands like that’ll make his words land harder.

“You’re sleeping withmy leftovers. Is that what this is? You lose your grip, so you steal from me? From yourown fucking blood?”

That’s when I stand.

He doesn’t stop.

“This is disgusting.”

I cross the room.

“She’s too young for you.”

I grab him by the collar.

“You’re too old for her. You’re—”

I slam him against the glass wall.

The frame behind him rattles. A photo crashes to the floor.

He gasps as my arm locks across his throat.

Tight. Controlled.

He claws at my wrist, kicks out once, but I don’t flinch.

I lean in, low enough he hears me through his panic.

“If you weren’t my son,” I say, voice flat, “you’d be a dead man.”

---