Page 24 of Bratva Prisoner
“Family business,” I grumble to myself as I pull on the clothes Harrison procured from my hotel room yesterday. “Right.”
The dining room feels absurdly formal for one person, so I take my coffee and toast to the kitchen instead and perch on one of the barstools while I try not to think about all the terrible things that could keep someone away from home for twelve hours. Car accidents, running into Troy, other women who hold his interest—the possibilities multiply in my head like a virus.
This is exactly the kind of spiraling I promised myself I wouldn’t do. Maksim is a grown man who can take care of himself, and whatever kept him out all night probably hasnothing to do with me or my situation with Troy. Getting worked up over his absence serves no purpose except to drive me insane.
“Miss Alyssa?” Harrison appears in the doorway with that impeccable timing he seems to have mastered. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”
“Has he called?”
“Not yet, but that’s not unusual for the nature of his work. Mr. Barkov often has business that requires his immediate and extended attention.”
The diplomatic way he phrases it makes me wonder exactly what kind of business requires someone to disappear without a word all night long. He made a joke about owning half the shipment routes on the East Coast that day he got me in his car. Now I’m wondering just how much of a joke that was.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” I announce before I can talk myself out of it. “Explore the neighborhood a bit.”
“Are you certain that’s wise? Mr. Barkov left specific instructions about your safety.”
“I’ll stay on public streets, stick to busy areas. What could happen in broad daylight in a neighborhood like this?”
Harrison doesn’t look thrilled, but he also doesn’t have the authority to keep me prisoner. After a moment of internal debate, he gives me a reluctant nod.
“Please take your phone and keep it turned on. If you need anything at all, call immediately.”
“I will.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking through streets that look like someone with unlimited funds and excellent taste designed them. Every house could grace the cover ofArchitectural Digest, surrounded by gardens that probably require teams of professionals to maintain. The sidewalks are pristine, the street lamps are clearly custom-made, and even the fire hydrants look expensive.
This is old money territory, the kind of neighborhood where residents don’t just own businesses—they own entire industries. The fact that Maksim lives here tells me more about his financial situation than any conversation we’ve had. Whatever he does for a living, it pays extraordinarily well.
The commercial district starts three blocks from Ravenshollow, and it’s exactly what I expected from a wealthy enclave. Art galleries, boutiques with names I can’t pronounce, and restaurants that probably require reservations months in advance. Everything is tasteful, understated, and completely out of my price range.
I stop in front of a jewelry store window to marvel at a diamond necklace that catches the morning sunlight and throws rainbows across the sidewalk. The price tag isn’t visible, which means it’s the kind of piece where if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice comes from directly behind me, close enough that I can feel breath on my neck. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as terror skitters through my bloodstream. I know that voice—I’ve been hearing it in my nightmares for weeks.
Troy.
My reflection in the store window shows him standing less than two feet away, wearing the same black jacket he always wears and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. How did he find me? How did he know I was here?
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, baby,” he continues. “You’ve led me on quite a chase.”
My hands start shaking, and my phone feels like it weighs fifty pounds in my purse. Should I run? Scream? Try to call for help? The street around us is busy enough that someone would hear me, but Troy looks relaxed, confident, like he has all the time in the world.
“Nothing to say? That’s not like you, Alyssa. You usually have plenty of opinions about everything.”
I force myself to turn around, to face him instead of cowering like a scared animal. The moment I do, his hand shoots out and grabs my elbow.
“We need to talk,” he says, though his grip suggests talking isn’t really on his agenda.
Before I can respond, someone else’s hand closes around Troy’s wrist with enough force to make him wince.
“I don’t think the lady wants to talk to you.”
The relief that sinks into my body at the sound of Maksim’s voice nearly buckles my knees. He appears beside us like an avenging angel, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit despite apparently being out all night. His presence immediately changes the dynamic of the situation from threatening to merely tense.
Troy releases my arm and takes a step back, though his eyes never leave Maksim’s face. “Who the fuck are you?”
