Page 73 of Bratva Daddy
I moved closer, perching on the edge of his desk. Near but not touching, declaring space while acknowledging connection.
"It's fucked up, Alexei. This whole thing is so broken I don't even know where to start fixing it."
"Maybe we don't fix it," he suggested carefully. "Maybe we just accept that it's broken and build something anyway."
"On a foundation of stalking and kidnapping?"
"On a foundation of seeing and being seen. Everything else is just context."
I laughed, but it had edges. "Context. You watched me for three years and kidnapped me, but sure, context."
"You threw books at my wall and then called me Daddy while I fucked you against the bathroom counter after I killed six men," he countered. "We're past normal, Clara. We've been past normal since the moment you walked into my office wearing my shirt and demanded answers instead of cowering."
The truth of that settled between us. We weren't normal. Weren't healthy by any standard definition. But maybe that's what made us work—two people too damaged for normal love, finding something deeper in the darkness.
"My father. The operation. He needs to pay for what he's done. For Mom, for me, for everyone he's hurt. Prison, not death."
"Prison," Alexei confirmed. "Though Dmitry's disappointed."
"Dmitry's always disappointed when he doesn't get to kill someone."
"True." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "So we move forward?"
"We move forward," I agreed, then added the harder truth. "With everything. The operation, us, this completely fucked up thing we're building."
"You're staying?" The hope in his voice nearly broke me.
"I already chose you," I said simply. "I chose you when I signed that contract, when I called you Daddy, when I let you see me in little space. Finding out about the surveillance doesn't change that choice. It just . . . adds context."
I slid off the desk, moved between his knees, let him pull me closer but kept my hands on his shoulders, maintaining some control.
"But no more secrets," I said firmly. "No more hidden folders or surveillance I don't know about. If you're obsessed with me, I get to know about it. All of it. Every thought, every plan, every moment you watch me when you think I'm not looking."
"Deal," he said immediately, hands settling on my waist with careful pressure.
"And I get to read everything," I continued. "Every note you've made, every photo you've taken. Three years of surveillance—I want to see it all."
"It might disturb you."
"I'm already disturbed," I countered. "Might as well know the full extent."
He studied my face, and I let him see everything—the anger that hadn't fully faded, the violation I still felt, but also the desperate gratitude for being seen, the relief of being known, the twisted recognition of finding someone whose darkness matched mine.
"I love you," he said suddenly, the words hanging between us like a confession at gunpoint.
"I know," I said, because I did. Three years of surveillance had been a love letter written in violation and care. "I love you too. God help me, but I do. You're mine. My stalker, my kidnapper, my Daddy, my savior. All the contradictions, all the darkness, all of it. Mine."
"Yours," he agreed, pulling me down for a kiss that tasted like exhaustion and promise.
"Breakfast?" he asked against my lips. "I know exactly how you like your eggs when you haven't slept."
I laughed, genuine this time. "Of course you do."
Chapter 15
Clara
TheinstantIwoke,I knew something was wrong.
