Page 1 of Captured By the Bratva

Chapter One - Violet

The sleek black town car glides to a stop in front of our townhouse, its engine purring softly before shutting off. I glance at my watch—eleven o’clock sharp. I’m late. Again. James, our ever-faithful chauffeur, steps out and rounds the car to open the door for me with a courteous nod.

“Thank you, James,” I say, offering him a warm smile as I step out onto the cobblestone driveway. The Harrison townhouse stands tall in the cityscape, all clean lines and perfectly manicured lawn. It’s impressive, sure, but I’ve always found it a bit intimidating, like living in a showhouse.

“You’re welcome, Miss Violet,” James replies. “I hope you had a good evening.”

“It was lovely, James,” I say, stretching a little after the long ride.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. James has been with us for as long as I can remember, a constant presence in my otherwise chaotic life.

As we stand there, the city hums around us, the distant sound of traffic and the occasional shout breaking the relative silence of our residential street. I look back at James, feeling a twinge of guilt for keeping him out so late. “I’m sorry for making you stay out so late. I know it’s past your shift.”

James shakes his head with a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Violet. Your father pays me well to make sure you get home safely. Besides, I’d rather be out here than home watching late-night TV.”

I laugh softly at that. “Well, thank you anyway. I really appreciate it.”

He nods, his smile widening. “Anytime, Miss Violet. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a sigh, I start up the steps to the front door, the weight of my father’s inevitable disappointment already settling on my shoulders. I know I shouldn’t have stayed out so late, but I need the freedom. Besides, it’s not like I was doing anything reckless—I was just doing what every other twenty-three year-old does… having fun.

I push open the heavy door and step inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and Father’s expensive cologne greeting me. The house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the air-conditioning.

I take a moment to hang up my coat and slip off my shoes, enjoying the cool feel of the polished concrete floors beneath my feet. The townhouse, with its open floor plan and sleek furnishings, always feels a bit impersonal, like a show home rather than a place where people actually live. It’s home, and it’s safe, especially with everything going on lately.

Speaking of which, I can hear the low murmur of voices coming from the living room. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable lecture. The wood floors muffle my footsteps as I make my way towards the sound.

The living room is as sleek as the rest of the house, with high ceilings and walls lined with abstract artwork. My father, Jeff Harrison, is seated in his favorite leather armchair, a glass of bourbon in hand. His silver hair catches the light, making him look every bit the distinguished businessman he is. Beside him, on the sleek leather couch, sits Caleb Fanning, his right-hand man and my best friend. Caleb’s blond hair is neatly styled, and his blue eyes twinkle with a mixture of amusement and concern as he sees me enter.

“Violet,” my father says, his voice a deep, authoritative rumble. “You’re late.”

Caleb gives me a look that clearly says, you’re dead. I can’t help but roll my eyes at him before turning back to my father.

“Actually, Dad, I’m back on time,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s exactly eleven.”

“The rule is to be home before eleven,” my father counters, his tone brooking no argument. “Not at eleven.”

I resist the urge to groan. “Why are you putting these sanctions on me? I’m twenty-three!”

“It’s for your safety,” Dad says firmly.

Caleb, ever the instigator, decides to chime in, playfully adding fuel to the fire. “Yeah, Vee. It’s for your safety,” he says, smirking a little. “Can’t have you getting into trouble out there in the big, bad world.”

I shoot him a look of pure annoyance, but he just grins wider, clearly enjoying the little spectacle. “I don’t need a babysitter, Caleb,” I snap, my patience wearing thin.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts, still grinning.

“Enough,” my father says, cutting through our bickering with a single word. “Violet, this isn’t up for discussion. You’ll follow the rules I’ve set, and that’s final.”

“Why are you so concerned all of a sudden?” I ask, my voice rising in frustration. “You’ve never been this strict before. What’s changed?”

“Things are different now,” my father says, his expression tightening. “There are… concerns that you don’t need to worry about.”

“Telling me not to worry is only going to make me worry more,” I insist. “Especially when you start acting like this. What’s going on?”

“It’s not your concern, Violet,” he repeats, his tone final. “Now go to your room. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Fine,” I mutter, turning on my heel and heading for the stairs. “Good night.”

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