Page 1 of Forced Bratva Hostage

Chapter 1 - Andrei

It’s been a year since I felt any kind of freedom.

Being in hiding has been draining, frustrating and lonely. But at the end of it all, it's going to be worth it. I had to stay out of sight. Everyone has been hunting me; some because they want to know I’m okay, and others because they want to make sure I’m dead and stay dead.

Grigoriy’s family, the Andreevs, are the only ones I’ve felt any guilt towards. On so many occasions, I wanted to reach out to them and let them know I’m okay, but I can’t trust anyone. I can’t risk it.

I’m doing this all for Grigoriy, my best friend. Everything I’ve spent the last year planning is for him. Because he didn’t deserve to die like that.

That fucking Enzo family took his life over egotistic bullshit. They didn’t have to be so harsh. But they wanted to make a show of it, a warning to others, as it always goes in the bratva world.

Grigoriy deserved more. He deservedlife.

I shift my legs, moving a little because I’ve been sitting still for hours, watching their estate from up on the hill behind the main road that runs out of town. I wonder if the Enzos are aware that someone can see into most of their property from up here.

Moving the binoculars from my eyes, I rub my hand over my face and stretch my back, arching it and yawning loudly.

It’s three in the morning.

I’m used to being up until the small hours of the night, until the sun starts stretching its rays into the dark blue sky.Moving about in the dark is safer. I can get more done and stay out of sight.

Down at the estate beneath me, Boris Enzo is still up, drinking and talking to that asshole right-hand-man of his, Van. Mafia bosses and their henchmen—they’re inseparable, with co-dependency vibes that make me roll my eyes. Van goes everywhere with Boris, like his little puppy dog, except that he’s more like a rabid hellhound, frothing at the slightest hint of violence.

They’ve been talking for most of the night. It seems like they’re plotting something.

But Boris is not my main point of focus.

The girl is. Because she is the key to my revenge.

In the bedroom on the top floor, far to the right, there is a girl sleeping. His little sister, Tatiana. At just twenty-one years old, she’s had her entire life controlled by her half-brother.

Boris is highly protective of his little sister. She’s a pampered princess, locked away in her tower, given everything her heart desires except for a life of her own. Fuck—I’d go insane. But hey, some people are fine living in the shadow of others.

I’d never seen her before I started deep-diving and researching Boris after I stopped working for him. I was shocked when I found out he had a sister, and that he’d managed to keep her completely hidden, even from people like me who have a knack for finding out everything people don’t want others to know.

Boris kept her secretly tucked away from the world and his enemies. I worked for him for many years, in that same estate I’m watching now, and that means that I know almosteverything there is to know about this asshole and those around him.

Everything except that he had a sister.

As soon as I found out about her, I knew she was the key to my revenge.

Once upon a time, I was Boris’s go-to guy for anything and everything. Information, weapons, connections, introductions, both messy and quiet tasks—anything he needed. I know this city and everyone in it, and Boris reaped the benefit of that.

Not anymore.

After what they did to Grigoriy, I bailed on them, disappeared into the night, and no one has seen me since. It’s the luxury of knowing the city so well—Icandisappear.

Not for much longer, though; it’s almost time for a little surprise party. A welcome back celebration with a twist.

I grin, squinting towards Tatianna’s bedroom. The light is off, and the curtains were drawn closed a few hours ago when she went to bed. On some nights, she wakes up late and pulls them open to watch the sky or read on the windowsill, but tonight she seems to be sleeping all the way through.

I may as well head home and get some sleep, too.

“Soon,” I grin, standing up and stretching again. My body is aching from a lack of movement.

At least you’re alive.

It’s a thought that haunts me often. At least I’m still living, breathing, here to complain about life or pain or the crushing weight of guilt I feel on a constant basis.

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