Page 50 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
He shakes his head. “I’m not here to threaten you. Not tonight. I just want this to end—one way or another.” He leans in, lowering his voice so no one else could possibly hear. “Adrian might not want to kick you out. He might not want to kill you. I can’t stand this awkward dance between the two of you. It’s tearing the house apart.”
I bristle, but there’s no venom in my reply. “What do you want me to do? Pretend nothing happened?”
He shrugs, gaze unwavering. “You have a choice, Talia. You came here for a reason. You wanted revenge, you wanted answers, and maybe you got some of them. So either finish what you started. Burn it all down, take him with you, whatever it is you planned. Or forgive him. Stay. Make a decision.”
I swallow hard, the words like acid on my tongue. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” he insists, voice softening by a fraction. “It’s just not easy. You can’t keep living in limbo. None of us can.”
For a moment, the hallway feels like it’s closing in, the stone walls pressing tight with the weight of choice. I remember Eli’s name on the burned folder, the hard line of Adrian’s jaw as he watched me break, the way his hand lingered on my skin even after the truth came out.
I remember the pain, the anger, but also the longing—the part of me that still wants, that still hopes, that still aches for something more than justice or survival.
I meet Miroslav’s eyes. “What about you? You want me gone too?”
He shakes his head. “I want peace. For him. For this house. For all of us. We can’t move forward until you choose which way to go. Don’t waste any more time.”
His words hit harder than I expect. I realize how much the tension between Adrian and me has poisoned everything in this place. Even Miroslav, who thrives on discipline and order, looks weary. I can’t keep clinging to the past and wishing for a different ending.
I have to decide what happens next.
I nod, the gesture shaky but real. “Thank you,” I manage, surprised to mean it. “For being honest.”
He gives the smallest, grudging smile, then steps aside, finally letting me pass.
As I walk away, I feel the pull of two worlds. The girl who came here to find her brother and burn the empire down, and the woman who let herself want the man at the heart of all that darkness. Miroslav’s right. I can’t live in limbo forever.
I slip back into my room and sink onto the edge of the bed, letting the decision settle over me. My hands shake, not with fear, but with possibility. I stare at the hidden notebook, the one where I’ve written all the stories I can’t speak aloud.
Tomorrow, I will choose. Tomorrow, I will either confront Adrian with everything I know and make him pay… or I will forgive him, and let myself have whatever future we can build from the wreckage.
Either way, this house cannot hold us all hostage to the past much longer.
The city below is dark, quiet, the estate lit only by a few golden lamps and the distant red eye of the security gate. I hug my knees to my chest, forehead pressed to the glass, breathing in the chill and letting it anchor me.
Miroslav’s words echo in my mind, refusing to fade: either finish what you came for, or forgive Adrian.
My thoughts race in loops: Eli’s name, Adrian’s touch, the rage and longing that will not let me rest. I want justice. I want closure. I want to believe I could hurt Adrian the way he hurt me, but the truth is messier. The truth is I want him, even after everything. I want him to fight for me. I want him to trust me enough to confess.
I want to trust him back.
The sky lightens, just a fraction, over the city’s jagged rooftops. I realize that standing outside his door—waiting, hoping, then turning away—is its own answer. I can’t run from what I feel. I can’t keep punishing him for secrets he was never meant to share.
Tomorrow, I will choose. Not for Eli. Not for revenge. For myself.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Adrian
I do not sleep. The hours bleed together, each one heavy with the knowledge of what I have done—and what I must do next. I ignore the world beyond my study. I barely speak, save for a single quiet order to the only man I trust with secrets older than this house: dig up everything about Elijah Rivers’s final transfer. Find out where he is.
The information comes slowly, filtered through old codes, vanished aliases, and dead men’s names. My father’s world was one of shadows and silences; every truth is twisted, every file a riddle.
I have spent a lifetime unwinding the knots of this family. I follow the trail: charred pages, faded signatures, the ghosts of orders signed in back rooms, sealed with blood and fear. The deeper I go, the more I realize how little of this was ever really in my control.
It leads me to a compound far from the city, deep in a forest where the old rules still matter and the newest face is decades old. The gate is rusted, the guards old and silent, but they know my name. They remember my father’s promises, and they let me through with a nod. Inside, the place smells of pine, diesel, and gun oil. It’s less a prison than a fortress of forgotten loyalties.
In a dim, smoke-filled office, I find an old man—white-haired, sunken-cheeked, eyes sharp even after all these years. He wears the same black ring as my father’s inner circle. He stands as I enter, respect in his bearing, but a wary suspicion in the way he grips his cane.
“You’ve come for Rivers,” he says, not bothering with pleasantries. His Russian is old and soft, an accent from a time before my own.
