Page 2 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

The first three years after the death of my family, I was a wreck. I couldn’t think straight. I could barely function.

My business suffered because my mind was always overwhelmed with grief and hate. It was only two years ago, when I finally decided on the best way to get revenge, that I started to be able to focus again.

I’ve been painfully impatient since then.

At first, I just wanted to torture him in the same way that he had tortured my family. But the idea brought me no satisfaction. It would have been a temporary pain for Balakin—short-lived, perhaps a few weeks at most. I want him to suffer for the rest of his life, the way he is forcing me to suffer. I want him to wake up each day and hate the moment when he opens his eyes because he realizes that his life is a nightmare.

That’s why I came up with my plan, and the reason I am here in Boston.

I am not going to touch a hair on that man’s head. He will be completely and utterly physically unharmed, but I will drag his mental and psychological well-being into the depth of hell.

With everything that I know about Balakin, I can confirm that he has one thing in his life that has meaning to him—his daughter.

She is a pampered, stuck-up snob of a princess. She is daddy’s little angel, and he is obsessed with her. She goes everywhere he goes, gets spoiled and doted on, and it’s clear to anyone who watches them that he adores her.

So I am going to take her away from him.

Sasha Balakin is going to be my pathway for destroying his life.

Now that I am here in Boston, I’m going to kidnap her, force her to marry me, and then spend every day of the rest of my life making her miserable, right in front of her father. He will have a front-row seat to his daughter's horror, and there will be nothing he can do about it.

Oh I know I could take her, torture her, kill her and lay her body out for her father to see—torn apart and displaying every moment of pain she had to go through—but that would be a temporary pain for Danil. He would have the relief of knowing that his pride and joy, his beautiful daughter, is no long in pain.

I don’t want that.

I want him to spend every day of the rest of his life worrying about what is happening to her on that day. What unimaginable things she is going through.

He can’t find peace. He can’t be allowed to have the peace of knowing his daughters torment has ended. Her continuous torment will be his torment for the rest of his life.

Once I came up with this plan, I worked with a single focus. I rebuilt my business, lifted myself up higher than I ever was, motivated by my own hatred of that man. I created an unstoppable force with the single goal of being his worst nightmare.

I wander out of my office toward the kitchen. I need coffee.

My shoulders are so tense lately. I know it is because I've finally moved into my new mansion in Boston—I'm so much closer to achieving my goals, but the move has made me even more agitated with impatience.

I want Sasha in my hands already. I want to get things going now that I’m here.

Walking past the empty rooms of my residence, I note more unpacked boxes.

The house staff are only starting tomorrow, and then it will be sorted out. For now I just need to ignore it as best I can. It’s only one more day.

The moving company at least set up my gym equipment on the top floor, so I can get a good workout in this afternoon. I don't want strangers going through my belongings, so I’d rather have my own trusted staff doing that.

I have very few people that I trust in my life.

Ivan is one of them.

My very limited house staff consists of my chef, my housekeeper, and my security team, who have all been with my family for over a decade.

I moved them and their families to Boston with me.

I walk into the kitchen and flick on the coffee machine.

It hisses softly as the water heats up, and I rinse the same mug I used earlier because I don’t care to scrounge around in the kitchen boxes for a fresh one.

I think I’ll go out in the morning tomorrow and let everyone else deal with this while I am not in the way; then, when I get back in the afternoon it’ll be done.

Coffee begins to shoot in a high-pressured stream into my mug, and the smell dances in the air, pulling my thoughts into some kind of order.

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