Page 13 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

And now I want more.

Without a plan or idea of what I am going to do, I drive towards her uncle’s house. I assume his security is shit. His ego is so big I guess he just assumes no one is bold enough to come for him.

Either way, I’m not after him—I want her.

She is all I want.

That continuous, all-consuming obsession that is growing worse on a daily basis.

I drive without noticing anything around me because she is all that matters.

Parking just around the corner from his place, out of sight, because her uncle might recognize my Mustang, I climb out of the car and walk around the back of the property.

I was right.

His security is shit, and breaking in is far easier than it should be. I’m almost disappointed, as I was up for a bit of a challenge.

I climb the back wall onto the balcony that I know leads to her bedroom. I know because I’ve watched her before. Many times.

Pressing myself against the wall, I try to stay out of sight as I peer inside, but Clara isn’t in there. I know she’s home because her car is here, parked in one of the garages. I can see it on the tracking app.

I push the palm of my hand against her window. It eases open.

You silly, innocent girl. Didn’t you learn to be more careful after that time you got kidnapped? Anyone could just walk into your room now.

And I do.

I push the tall window wide open and step into the room over the low window ledge, ducking under the half-lowered blinds. She has an LED strip light running along her ceiling, a row of pink lights set on low, letting off a warm and welcoming neon glow that fills the space. I would love to see how this color reflects off her skin.

It smells like her in here.

Sweet, warm scents of magnolia. A hint of rose. A touch of vanilla.

I walk quietly over to her bed, running my hands over the crumpled unmade sheets, across her pillow. The bed is cold, but I imagine her body laying naked, tangled in the sheets, perhaps a glow of perspiration on her skin after a very satisfying night together.

A grin spreads across my lips.

One day she will realize that she belongs to me and no one else, and then she will stop putting up such a fight.

My grin is replaced with a scowl as I pull my hand back to my side, away from her silky sheets.

She will be mine, because I am going to make sure of it.

“No, Giorgio, that isn’t what happened.”

Clara’s voice carries from downstairs. She sounds upset. I creep over to the bedroom door and crack it open further so that I can hear what is going on. From here, I can see them, and they both look agitated. Giorgio looks particularly pissed off.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Clara. You went on a date with Alexei Dubrov and someone I know saw you. They saw you at the restaurant. So why the fuck are you lying to me?”

Except she isn’t lying. We definitely have not been on a date yet.

“That Alexei boy is nothing but trouble, and you have to go and be rebellious by interacting with the most unstable of all the Dubrovs,” Giorgio spits angrily. He’s pushing his luck with his words. “I am going to lock you in this house and only let you outside with supervision.”

“I didnotgo on a date with him. Whoever told you that is giving you false information. I was on a date with Brandon—the oneyouset up.”

Giorgio seems to ease up at the mention of this Brandon asshole.

“Brandon would be a good husband for you. He’s rich. He’s good in business. It will be excellent for you to marry him if I can get a piece of his client list.”

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