Page 11 of Bratva Prisoner
Great. I’ve gone from being stalked by a small-time criminal to being protected by someone who might actually be a mob boss. This might be a new personal record.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask as he turns onto a street lined with trees that probably predate the Revolutionary War.
“Home. My home.” He glances at me again, and this time, his expression gentles. “Alyssa, I need you to understand something. I meant what I said back there about keeping you safe. You don’t have to be afraid anymore—of Troy, of his friends, of anyone. You’re under my protection now.”
The sincerity in his voice does something funny to my chest. When was the last time someone promised to protect me and actually meant it? When was the last time someone with the power to back up that promise even noticed I existed?
“I know you don’t know me very well,” he continues, “but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
Can I? Three weeks ago, I thought I knew Troy well enough to trust him with my heart, my body, and my future. That ended with me discovering a criminal enterprise in his living room and subsequently running for my life. My trust meter isn’t exactly functioning at peak capacity right now.
But there’s something about Maksim that feels different. Maybe it’s the way he carried me to safety without a second thought or the authority with which he dismissed Troy’s threat. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s asking for my trust instead of demanding it.
“I’m trying,” I admit.
“That’s all I can ask for.”
We turn through a set of gates that look like they belong at the entrance to a country estate, complete with stone pillars and wrought iron scrollwork. The driveway winds through perfectly manicured grounds that stretch as far as I can see,dotted with trees and flower beds that look like they require a small army to maintain.
Then I see the house, and my jaw hits the floor.
Calling it a house feels like calling the Taj Mahal a nice building. The mansion in front of us is straight out of a historical drama, all soaring columns and elegant stonework that speaks of old money and older power. Wings stretch out on either side of the main structure, connected by covered walkways that frame courtyards filled with fountains and sculptures.
“Holy fucking shit,” I breathe, then immediately clap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize. I had a similar reaction the first time I saw it.”
“You didn’t grow up here?”
“God, no. I grew up in my mother’s family estate downtown. This belonged to my grandfather, then my father. Now it’s mine, for better or worse.”
He parks in front of steps that sweep up to double doors that look like they could stop a tank. A man in a perfectly tailored suit appears as if by magic, opening my door before I can even reach for the handle.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” he says with a slight bow that makes me feel like I should curtsy or something. “Welcome to Ravenshollow.”
“Ravenshollow?”
“The name of the estate,” Maksim explains, coming around to join us. “Harrison, this is Alyssa. She’ll be staying with us for a while.”
“Of course, Sir. Shall I prepare the blue guest suite?”
“Perfect. And Harrison? We’re not expecting any visitors for the foreseeable future. Anyone who shows up unannounced, outside of my family, of course, should be turned away.”
“Understood, Sir.”
The exchange happens so smoothly that I realize this isn’t the first time Maksim has brought home unexpected guests who need protection. That should probably worry me more than it does, but right now I’m too busy trying not to gawk at my surroundings like a tourist at Disney World.
The interior of the house defies every expectation I had about what rich people’s homes look like. Yes, there’s marble and crystal and gold leaf everywhere, but it doesn’t feel cold or museum-like. Instead, it feels lived-in, comfortable, like someone actually calls this place home rather than just using it to show off their wealth.
“This is the main foyer,” Maksim declares unnecessarily. “The living areas are through here; the kitchen is that way, the library is upstairs.”
“You have a library?”
“Two, actually. One for show, one for actual reading.”
Of course he does.
The tour that follows is a collection of rooms that are each more spectacular than the last. A dining room with a table that could seat thirty people. A kitchen that looks like it belongs in a five-star restaurant. A conservatory filled with plants that must cost a fortune to maintain. A billiards room complete with a full bar and leather chairs.
