Page 9 of Bratva Prisoner
“Troy and I dated for about three months. He seemed normal at first—sweet, attentive, all the things you want in a boyfriend. But then I walked in on something I wasn’t supposed to see.”
She describes the scene in Troy’s apartment, the strange men, the money changing hands while her boyfriend stood in the center of it all like some kind of crime boss. My jaw ticks as I listen, imagining her terror in that moment.
“What kind of operation?” I ask.
“I don’t know exactly. Drugs, maybe? Weapons? Whatever it was, it involved a lot of cash and men who looked like they’d kill me for seeing it.”
“So you broke up with him.”
“That night. I thought that would be the end of it.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I was so naive.”
The stalking came next—the constant texts, showing up at her apartment, and following her to work and the grocery store and anywhere else she tried to go. When she went to the police, they brushed her off, which tells me they’d been paid to look the other way.
“I’ve been staying in different hotels every few nights, and I haven’t been to work in weeks,” she continues. “My savings are almost gone, but what choice do I have? Going home means making myself a sitting duck.”
As she talks, I watch her face. The fear is real; it’s obvious in the lines around her eyes and the way she keeps glancing toward the windows. But there’s something else too—relief. Like she’s been carrying this burden alone for so long that finally having someone to share it with is a physical weight lifted from her shoulders.
“How did he find you today?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was so careful. I thought I lost him after switching hotels last night.”
“He’s not working alone. Men like that… They have networks. Resources. Ways of tracking people that the average person doesn’t think about.”
Her face pales. “What do you mean?”
“Credit cards, cell phone pings, facial recognition software. If he’s connected to the right people, staying hidden becomes a lot harder.”
“Are you saying I can’t escape him?”
The desperation in her voice nearly breaks me. She’s been running scared for weeks, burning through her money and her sanity, all because some small-time gangster can’t accept rejection. The thought of her lying awake in cheap hotel rooms, jumping at every sound, makes me want to hunt Troy down and show him what real fear looks like.
“I’m saying you don’t have to run anymore,” I tell her. “Not from him.”
She squints at me and asks, “What does that mean?”
I reach over and take her hand. Her fingers are ice cold despite the hot day, another sign of how much stress she’s been under.
“It means you’re under my protection now. Troy and his friend out there? They’re about to learn that some people are off limits.”
“Maksim, you don’t understand. He’s dangerous. The men he works with—”
“So am I.”
She flinches as I make the declaration. Good. She needs to understand what she’s dealing with, even if it scares her a little.
“I don’t know what kind of small-time operation Troy thinks he’s running,” I continue, “but it’s nothing compared to what I do. He’s a minnow trying to swim with sharks, and he just made the mistake of targeting something that belongs to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
“You do now.”
The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me, but I don’t take it back. The moment I saw her terror, the moment I understood what she was running from, something fundamental changed inside me. She’s mine to protect now, mine to keep safe, mine to claim.
She stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees. A potential savior, or just another dangerous man trying to control her life? The distinction matters less than the outcome—either way, she’s staying with me.
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m telling you how this is going to work.”
