Page 4 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

As we approach the grand entrance of the mansion, the heavy wooden doors swing open with an ominous creak. Standing inside are more armed men. The interior is just as imposing as the exterior, with high ceilings, expensive oil paintings, ornate chandeliers, and luxurious furnishings that seem out of place given the darkness of my circumstances.

My captor shoves me inside, and I stumble forward, trying to maintain my balance.

"Welcome home, Lilah," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as if taking pleasure in my confusion.

"Lilah?” I find it hard to get the name out. Like Mr. Ramsey’s daughter?

Every pair of eyes in the room turns toward us, assessing me with a mix of curiosity and indifference. I keep my eyes down, afraid of them, petrified. Their guns, though pointed at the floor, could turn against me any moment now. I’ve never seen a gun before in person. It’s disorienting and my heart hammers in my chest.

I feel something cold touch my lower back. I startle, panicking. Did he just put a gun at me? “Move, Lilah,” my kidnapper says, forcing me forward. The cold metal seeps through my being, sharp and pointy. My vision goes hazy and thoughts begin to race towards the end.

Desperately, I try to tell him I’m not who he thinks I am. This is no longer a case of an innocent mistaken identity. I’m in a house full of guns, any of which could turn on me at a moment’s notice.

“Let me go,” I shriek again, trying to turn back to look at my kidnapper, but one of his men from the side points a gun at me, motions at me to keep moving forward. “You’ve got the wrong person, I swear. My name isn’t Lilah. I’m not her. My name is Pippa. Pippa Anderson.”

He tightens his grip on my arm from behind and walks forward to stand beside me, smirking down at me. I look down and notice there’s no gun in his hand. It was his ring, cold and large, jamming into my lower back. I feel a little calmer, but not calm enough. "Your insistence is almost endearing, but your lies won't work on me,” he tells me.

He motions at some of his men, and they come at me with guns pointed straight. He releases me then and watches me with amusement, almost like he’s toying with me.

"Who are you?" I ask, unable to hide the quiver in my voice as I look between the men and him.

"Of course, you haven't had the pleasure of meeting me yet," he says, grinning wickedly before he introduces himself. "My name is Lev Zolotov, and you, my dear, have been taken as payment from your father for what he owes the Bratva."

My heart stops. The Bratva? I've heard stories about them—ruthless, dangerous, and not to be messed with. I’ve read the news of bodies showing up, murders around town with no perpetrator to catch, of the authorities hunting down members of the Bratva to no avail, given how ridiculously powerful they are. Panic churns in my stomach, intensifying my need to escape. But how can I possibly get away from these armed men?

As one of the men grabs my arm, I glance around at their faces, searching for any sign of sympathy or doubt. But all I find are hardened expressions.

"Please," I beg one last time, my voice cracking under the weight of my desperation.

"Save it for someone who cares," the man holding my arm grunts, yanking me down the hall and leading me behind Lev and the other armed men.

We reach a large, double-sided door. Lev pushes it open and turns around to push me through. "Get in," he orders, shoving me inside. "You'll stay here until you remember who you are."

I turn around, prepared to make a run for it, but Lev enters right behind me and shuts the door behind him, facing me with crossed arms. I look around, only to find that the room has barred windows.

Shit. There’s really no way out.

Chapter 3 - Lev

I lean against the closed door, taking in Lilah's reaction to the room that will serve as her temporary prison. Her eyes widen with terror, darting from one corner of the room to another as if searching for an escape route. She bites her full bottom lip, and I’ll admit, I feel a little sad for the girl. But just a little. I feel worse for my brother Boris, who doesn’t even know that his subordinate is stealing from right under his nose.

I have her here because I don’t want to trouble my brother. I can handle this myself with that traitor. His daughter just so happens to be collateral damage. This is what must be done to teach Lenny Ramsey a lesson.

"Welcome to your new home," I say with a sarcastic grin, trying to alleviate some of the tension building up in the room. I don’t deal well with unpleasantness. "Cozy, isn't it?"

Lilah's doe-eyed eyes snap towards me, the fear rushing into her eyes as though she’d almost forgotten I was here. "This has nothing to do with me, Lev. That’s your name, right, Lev?” she stammers, trying to form some kind of bond with me which I have no interest in forming.

“You can call me whatever you want, darlin’,” I grin at her.

A flash of hurt crosses her eyes at my lack of receptiveness at the olive branch she extends for us to reach grounds of familiarity. “Please, Lev,” she murmurs, clutching her hands together. “I don’t know why I’m being dragged into this mess.”

She doesn’t look me in the eye, probably terrified of me. I’ll admit, she clearly thinks she’s in grave danger, and I’m okay playing this game a little longer. It’ll be easier to keep her in check this way, and once Lenny clears up the accounts and she’s back home safe, who knows? She might even forgive me.

"Ah, see, here I thought it was quite clear," I say, kicking back against the door and standing upright to walk toward her. She cowers into herself, her eyes going wide, as I close the distance between us. "Your dear father betrayed my family, and now he'll pay the price."

"By kidnapping his daughter? Even though she in no way controls her father’s actions?" she questions back, chin lifted defiantly, showing a rare sign of anger at the injustice of it all. “That’s low, even for you.”

“Even for me?” I raise an eyebrow, noticing how she’s still trying to deny her identity, referring to Lenny’s daughter as she instead of me. “I didn’t know you were a fan. So tell me, what else do you know about me?”

---