Page 16 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

"Thanks for the reminder," I retort, rolling my eyes. "As if I could forget with your goons lurking around every corner." My heart races with determination at the thought of finding a way out despite the obstacles he's set.

"Feisty as always," Lev chuckles, following me as I make my way down the grand hallway. The house is enormous, with high ceilings and richly decorated walls. It's breathtaking, really, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm impressed.

"Where do you suggest we start?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "I assume there are certain rooms I'm not allowed in?"

"It’s all for you to explore, barring my office. My bedroom’s locked, but if you like, I can give you a tour," Lev smirks, his stormy blue-gray eyes narrowing playfully.

Heat crawls down my neck at the thought of him showing me around his bedroom. I look away, not wanting him to see the effect he has on me.

“A tour of your bedroom? Hard pass. It’s probably a mess, like yourself,” I reply, shooting him a pointed look. "And personally? I'd rather clean out a septic tank."

Lev laughs, his deep chuckle filling the hallway. "You're quite the charmer, Pippa. But you don't know what you're missing." He winks, and my cheeks flush despite my best efforts to remain composed.

"Anyhoo,” he whistles, taking a step back from me now. “Feel free to explore anywhere else. Perhaps you'll even find something worth your while. Now, I’ll be leaving you to catch up on some work. The kitchen’s down the right of the hallway up front, in case you’re hungry for breakfast.”

He leaves me with a little nod, and I watch him walk away to his office. For a second, I wish he’d have stuck around to show me the place.

You’re being silly, Pippa, the rational side of my brain screams at me.

My curiosity piqued, I wander through the house, taking in the opulent surroundings. As beautiful as everything is, it only serves to remind me how out of place I am here.

Eventually, I stumble upon the library, and my heart skips a beat. The room is massive, with shelves upon shelves of books stretching all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. It's a sanctuary—one I could easily lose myself in for hours.

I’ve been bored sick. A book could help.

I explore the shelves and come across a non-fiction section filled with books on crime and criminology. My eyes scan the titles, and I catch my breath as I see one on access codes and lock-picking techniques. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can barely contain my excitement. Is this really happening? Have I just stumbled upon the key to my freedom?

I grab it and find the nearest couch, ready to read every damn page if I have to.

***

My heart races with anticipation as I close the book, having understood the basics. Ideally, I need a tension wrench, but if I don’t have one, I can use a paperclip, or a hairclip to break a lock.

I pull out the hairclip I have on and hold it in my hand. This one innocent clip is now my most prized possession.

I exit the library and walk through the house until I reach the main door. But when I reach it, I pause.

What the hell am I thinking? I can’t just pick the lock to the main door and walk out. The place might be swarming with guards.

Feeling like I just faced a setback, I decide to walk away. I walk aimlessly, my mind in a loop, and soon realize I find myself outside the kitchen. I’m standing in a dark room filled with groceries, crockery, and more. It’s some sort of huge pantry.

If I walk a little ahead, I’ll enter the kitchen.

And I want solace.

I stand in the open pantry, close my eyes and lean against the wall next to a large crockery cabinet. Think, Pippa. Think. There must be more ways in and out of the house, and I need to find one that’s not being watched.

I make a list of all the exits that could exist. I chew on my bottom lip, mentally calculating the possibilities. As I mull over my options, a concealed wooden door just opposite me catches my eye. There are no shelves on it. My heart skips a beat—could this be my ticket out? A loading door, perhaps?

A house this large must have an entry and exit for supplies. Have I just accidentally found it?

With cautious steps, I approach the door, listening keenly for any signs of movement on the other side. I hear none, but see cracks of light peering in through the wooden slits.

Oh my god. Right beyond this door lies my escape.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I grip the hairclip tightly in my hand and break it into two. I insert the tip from one into the bottom of the keyhole and apply pressure to my right, the direction in which a key would move. Then, I take the other half and put it into the top of the keyhole, gently lifting each wafer one at a time, while maintaining pressure at the bottom.

My brow beads with sweat. I pray under my breath, hoping no one sees me. After what feels like an eternity, I hear that sweet, coveted click.

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