Page 18 of Captured By the Bratva

I can’t argue with him. The reality of the threat is all too clear now. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice shaking, “for saving me.”

He nods, his expression still dark. “You’re under my protection now. I take that very seriously. From now on, you do as I say. Understood?”

I nod again, the weight of his words sinking in. This man, with his dark, violent nature, is now my guardian. Despite the fear he instills in me, there’s a strange sense of security in his presence.

As I stand there, the adrenaline fading, the trauma of what I witnessed hits me hard. My body starts to shake uncontrollably, and I wrap my arms around myself in a vain attempt to steady the tremors.

Kirill sighs, glancing down at the lifeless body on the ground. The scene is brutal, blood pooling on the pavement, a stark reminder of how close I came to death. With an air of casual indifference, he pulls out a cigar and lights it, taking a long drag. I watch him, my mind reeling. How can he be so calm, so composed in the face of such violence?

He exhales a cloud of smoke and turns his attention to me, his green eyes narrowing as he studies my trembling form. He bends down to my level, his face inches from mine. The proximity makes my heart race, and I’m struck by the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you understand now?” he asks, his voice low and commanding. There’s no gentleness in his tone, only a cold, hard edge that makes me shiver.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Yes,” I whisper, barely able to find my voice.

Kirill’s eyes bore into mine, and he nods, satisfied. “Good. At least you aren’t completely hopeless. You know how to learn from your mistakes. Maybe seeing what you did will knock some sense into you.”

I bite my lip, the reality of his words sinking in. He’s right; I saw it with my own eyes. The man who tried to kill me wasn’t bluffing, and the danger is all too real. There’s something else in Kirill’s presence that unnerves me—a dark allure that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s terrifying and captivating all at once.

He holds out his hand to me, and I hesitate for a moment before taking it. His grip is firm and steady, and he helps me stand up straight, my legs still weak from the shock. As I look into his eyes, I see a flicker of something I hadn’t noticed before—an almost predatory intensity that both frightens and fascinates me.

Kirill’s hand lingers on mine for a moment longer than necessary, and I can feel the heat of his touch. It sends a jolt through me, and I quickly pull my hand away, embarrassed by my reaction.

“You need to stay close to me from now on,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can’t protect you if you keep trying to push me away.”

I nod, my heart pounding. “So you keep saying. I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“Good,” he replies, taking another drag from his cigar. “We’ll get you home. You need to rest.”

As we walk back to his car, I can’t shake the mixture of fear and fascination I feel toward him. He’s dangerous; there’s no doubt about that, but there’s also an undeniable magnetism in his confidence and power. It’s a paradox that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and inexplicably drawn to him.

We drive in silence, the tension between us palpable. I steal glances at him from the corner of my eye, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to run as far away from him as possible, but another part of me feels a strange sense of safety in his presence. It’s as if his very darkness is a shield against the threats that lurk in the shadows.

The adrenaline from the encounter begins to fade, and the reality of what just happened crashes over me like a tidal wave. Tears well up in my eyes, and no matter how hard I try to hold them back, they spill over. I start to cry, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I can’t keep it together anymore. The fear, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Kirill remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. It’s as if he’s pretending he can’t hear me, and for that, I’m strangely grateful. I don’t want comfort, don’t want to be told everything will be okay when I know it won’t. I just need to let it out, to release the pent-up emotions that threaten to consume me.

After a few minutes, I manage to choke out, “Why is this happening to me?” My voice is broken, filled with anguish.

Kirill doesn’t look at me, but his voice is calm and steady when he replies, “Because you’re important; your father was a powerful man with many enemies.”

“Why now?” I feel a fresh wave of tears coming on.

“They see you as a way to get what they want,” Kirill says simply. “Power, control, revenge. You’re caught in the middle of it.”

I let his words sink in, feeling a mixture of despair and resignation. I curl up in the passenger seat, pulling my knees to my chest, my tears flowing freely. The car’s hum and the rhythmic passing of streetlights through the windows become a lullaby of sorts, soothing me despite the turmoil inside. My sobs gradually quiet down, turning into occasional sniffles.

Kirill’s presence, steady and unyielding, anchors me. There’s no judgment in his silence, no attempts to offer hollow reassurances. He just drives, giving me the space to process my emotions in my own way.

“Do you really think you can protect me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “It’s what I do.”

There’s a certainty in his voice that’s both unsettling and comforting. Despite everything, I find myself wanting to believe him. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my job.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling a little bit of the tension ease from my body. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, the emotional upheaval draining my energy. I find myself drifting, the steady motion of the car and the soft, muffled sounds of the city lulling me into a state of drowsiness. My thoughts blur, the fear and confusion giving way to a heavy, overwhelming tiredness.

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