Page 10 of Captured By the Bratva

After a short moment of silence, he stands and turns his attention to me. His sharp eyes lock on to mine, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. There’s something almost predatory in his gaze, a dangerous intensity that makes me instinctively step back. For some reason, I feel intimidated by him, almost scared.

Kirill walks towards me with purpose, his eyes never leaving mine. Caleb, sensing my unease, steps in front of me, his stance protective. “Move,” Kirill says, his voice a low, commanding growl.

For a moment, I’m frozen, but then I find my voice. “Caleb, it’s okay,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. I motion for him to stand aside.

Caleb hesitates, his eyes darting between Kirill and me, but he finally steps back, still close enough to intervene if necessary.

Kirill stops a few feet away from me, his gaze unwavering. “Violet Harrison,” he says, his voice smooth yet carrying an edge. “I’m Kirill Sharov.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Were you a friend of my father’s?”

His lips twitch into a semblance of a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

Kirill’s gaze remains steady, and for a moment, we stand there in silence, the weight of his presence pressing down on me. Finally, he speaks, his tone straightforward and devoid of emotion. “My condolences for your loss, Miss Harrison. Your father was a respected man.”

“Thank you,” I manage to reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, his men following closely behind. The sense of foreboding that had settled over me intensifies. I watch as they get into their cars, the sleek black vehicles blending into the gray afternoon.

Caleb steps closer to me, his face etched with worry. “Are you okay?”

I nod numbly, still trying to process everything. “Who is he, Caleb?”

Caleb sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kirill Sharov is a… powerful man.”

I glance back at the now-empty space where Kirill stood. “What kind of man is he?”

Caleb looks at me, his expression serious. “A dangerous one.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The day has been overwhelming, and the future seems uncertain. One thing is clear: my life is now entwined with Kirill Sharov’s, and I have no choice but to trust him.

Caleb stands close by, a protective presence, but I can sense his unease. I glance around and notice that Uncle Joe is speaking with some of the other mourners, unaware of the tension.

Uncle Joe makes his way back to me, his expression a mixture of grief and concern. “Violet, who was that man?”

“I… I’m not sure,” I reply, feeling the weight of my own confusion. “Caleb?”

Caleb steps forward, his face a mask of professionalism. “Nobody you need to worry about.”

Uncle Joe looks at me, clearly unsatisfied with the vague answer, but he doesn’t press further. The atmosphere is uneasy now, a contrast to the solemn but peaceful tone of the funeral before Kirill’s arrival.

As we move back toward the group, I feel the eyes of the mourners on me, their curiosity barely concealed. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I need to do next. It’s time for me to speak about my father.

I step up to the microphone, my hands trembling slightly. I take a moment to compose myself, looking out at the gathered faces, many of whom I’ve known my entire life.

“Thank you all for being here today,” I begin, my voice wavering. “My father, Jeff Harrison, was a complicated man. He drove me mad at times, and we were often at odds. He had a way of pushing my buttons like no one else could.”

A soft murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd, and I can see some small smiles of understanding. “Despite all of that,” I continue, “I loved him dearly. He was my father, and he always wanted the best for me. He worked hard to provide for us, to make sure we had everything we needed. And he taught me so much about resilience, about never giving up, no matter how tough things got.”

I pause, taking a shaky breath as I feel the tears start to well up. “I’ll miss him every single day. I’ll miss his stubbornness, his guidance, his love. He wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. Now, he’s gone, and I’m left with a void that I don’t know how to fill.”

The tears spill over, and I can no longer hold back the sobs. Uncle Joe steps up beside me, gently guiding me away from the microphone. He speaks softly, his words meant to comfort. “It’s okay, Violet. You did well.”

I let him lead me back to my seat, my body shaking with grief. The reality of my father’s death is overwhelming, and I feel lost, adrift in a sea of emotions.

Caleb, who would usually be the first to offer reassurance, stands a few feet away, his expression distant. He’s oddly quiet, and I can’t shake the feeling that it has something to do with Kirill’s presence.

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