Page 41 of Captured By the Bratva

He leans back in his chair, considering my request. “What exactly do you need from me?”

“Your connections, your ability to influence people,” I explain. “You have the power to reach the major shareholders, to convince them that supporting me is in their best interest. You’re respected, even feared. They’ll take you seriously.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll use my contacts to get to the major shareholders. You are my wife now, and that carries weight. They will take you seriously.”

Relief washes over me, mixed with gratitude. “Thank you, Kirill.”

He nods, a strange mix of satisfaction and responsibility in his expression. “I’ll set up meetings with key shareholders. We need to present a united front. Your vision for the company, combined with my backing, will make a strong case.”

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “I know this won’t be easy, but with your help, I believe we can do it.”

“We will do it,” he assures me, his tone firm. “Joe’s influence needs to be dismantled carefully. We’ll gather evidence of his mismanagement, his divergence from your father’s vision. When the time is right, we’ll act.”

I nod, my eyes shining with determination. “I’ll start gathering information on Joe’s decisions, compiling everything that shows how he’s deviated from what my father would have wanted.”

Kirill watches me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “Good. We’ll work together on this. We have to be strategic. This isn’t just about removing Joe—it’s about ensuring that the shareholders see you as the rightful leader.”

I take a deep breath, my expression serious. “I understand. I’m ready to do whatever it takes.”

He nods, a newfound respect in his eyes. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll arrange the first meetings and get my contacts to support our move.”

As we finalize our plans, I notice a slight shift in the atmosphere. His eyes drift to my chest, and I realize that my pajamas are more revealing than I intended. The fabric clings to my curves, the neckline dipping low enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of skin. I can see his pulse quicken, his eyes darkening with an emotion that sends heat rushing to my cheeks.

I catch his gaze and look down, quickly pulling my robe tighter around myself. “Sorry,” I mutter, my voice tinged with embarrassment.

He clears his throat, trying to refocus. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice a bit rougher than usual. “We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”

I nod, still feeling slightly flustered. “Alright.”

As I get up and head to the kitchen to make a late dinner, I can feel his eyes on me, a mix of curiosity and something else that makes my skin tingle. I busy myself with the ingredients, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

“Look at you, already taking to the wife role so well,” Kirill jokes, his tone light but his eyes still intense.

I shoot him a playful glare over my shoulder. “Well, someone has to make sure we don’t starve, and I doubt you’re any good in the kitchen.”

He chuckles, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Touché, Malyshka. Touché.”

I find myself smiling back, the tension between us easing a bit. I open a bottle of wine and pour us both a glass. “Here,” I say, handing him one. “This should help us both relax.”

He takes the glass, his fingers brushing mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. “Thank you.”

As I start cooking, the aroma of sautéed vegetables and spices filling the air, I feel myself beginning to relax. We’ve already slept together, so why am I so nervous? It’s a lot to take in, I remind myself. The marriage, the company, the threats—it’s overwhelming.

As we sip our wine and I move around the kitchen, I catch myself flirting back. “So, do you always make your wives cook for you, or am I special?”

Kirill leans against the counter, his eyes never leaving me. “You think I have more than one?”

“I don’t know,” I say, laughing softly, feeling the tension ebb away. “Well, I’ve always liked a challenge.”

“Good,” he says, his voice low and approving. “I can put that to the test.”

We continue talking and laughing as I finish preparing dinner. By the time I’m plating the food, I realize I’m actually enjoying his company. The wine has worked its magic, making everything seem a bit lighter, a bit easier.

We sit down to eat, the food warm and comforting. It’s just carbonara, but I watch his eyes light up. I watch Kirill take his first bite, his expression shifting to one of pleasant surprise. “This is really good,” he says, sounding almost shocked.

I smirk, feeling a small sense of victory. “Don’t sound so surprised. I do have some skills, you know.”

“I can see that,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe I should let you cook more often.”

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