Page 2 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

“Agreed,” she says, her voice emotionless.

A hollow pit forms in my stomach as I watch the two of them—this man I’m supposed to call my father, and the woman who raised me—exchange a look that makes me feel like nothing more than a bargaining chip. My mother’s hand rests on myshoulder for a moment, but it’s not a comforting gesture. It’s light, fleeting, as if she’s already preparing to let me go.

Kace pulls out a drawer from the desk, revealing a stack of money. He counts it out methodically, the soft rustle of bills the only sound in the room. My mother doesn’t flinch or hesitate. She takes the money when he hands it to her, stuffing it into her bag without a second glance.

Then, without another word, she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the long corridor. I want to scream after her, ask her why she’s leaving so easily, but my voice doesn’t come. I stand rooted to the spot, my throat tight, watching the door swing shut behind her.

It’s just me and him now.

Kace stands from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me. I feel small under his gaze, even though he’s not particularly harsh or angry. He’s simply… there, looming over me like a shadow I’ll never escape.

Finally, he speaks, his voice softer than before but no less commanding. “Your full name from now on will be Sophia Preston.”

Preston. My last name now. It feels foreign on my tongue, like it doesn’t belong to me. I don’t argue. I’m too numb to say anything. I just nod, staring down at the polished floor, waiting for something, anything, to make this moment feel real.

He walks around the desk, his footsteps heavy, until he’s standing right in front of me. For a second, I think he might touch my shoulder, or say something reassuring, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me.

“You’re mine now,” he says quietly. “My daughter.”

The words hang in the air between us, thick with unspoken meaning. I don’t know what being his daughter means, not yet. I don’t know what he expects from me, or what life with him will look like. But as I stand there, a strange sensation settles over me—something I’ve never really felt before. It’s not quite comfort, but it’s close. Safety, maybe. Or belonging.

Kace isn’t a warm man; that much is obvious. There’s something in his eyes—an acknowledgment, a claim—that makes me feel like, for the first time, I have a place. A real place.

My life before this moment was chaotic, filled with uncertainty, with a mother who treated me more like a burden than a child. The world I come from was loud, messy, and uncaring. Now, standing in this opulent mansion, I feel a flicker of something unfamiliar—a quietness, a calm I’ve never known. Maybe it’s the certainty in Kace’s voice when he said I was his. Maybe it’s the weight of the name Preston, a name that carries power.

I shift on my feet, unsure of what to say, unsure of what I’m supposed to do now.

Kace seems to notice my hesitation, and for the first time, his lips twitch into what might be considered a smile. It’s not a warm one, not by any stretch, but it’s not cruel either. “You’ll learn quickly,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “Everything you need will be provided for. You’ll want for nothing.”

I nod, the words sinking in. I’ve never had much, never known what it’s like to want for nothing. The promise of stability, of certainty, is both terrifying and strangely appealing.

He studies me for another long moment, then gestures toward the door. “Go on. Explore the house. You’ll be living here now.”

My feet move before my mind can catch up, taking me out of the office and into the hallway beyond. As the door closes behind me, the weight of what just happened settles in fully. I’m not the same person I was an hour ago. I’m no longer just Sophia—I’m Sophia Preston.

I walk through the grand hallways, the silence around me almost unsettling. Everything here is so different from the life I knew. The walls are lined with expensive paintings, the floors polished to a shine, and every room I pass looks more elaborate than the last. It’s overwhelming, but there’s something else too—something quieter. For the first time in my life, I feel like I might be… safe.

There’s a warmth growing inside me, small but undeniable. I never received much affection, never knew what it felt like to be cared for. And while I know Kace isn’t the kind of man who will offer love freely, there’s something about knowing I’m his daughter that fills a void I didn’t even know was there.

I’m not sure what kind of father he’ll be, but for the first time, I feel like I belong somewhere.

This is my new life.

Chapter One - Maxim

The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I step out of the car, a chill in the air biting at my skin despite the heavy coat I wear. The sky hangs gray and oppressive above me, mirroring the somber mood settling over the gathered men. It’s our family’s graveyard—isolated, quiet, surrounded by trees that sway gently in the cold breeze. A place reserved for Sharovs, where our history is buried beneath the earth.

I glance around, seeing familiar faces—Ivan, standing tall and composed as always, his sharp green eyes scanning the rows of gravestones with that same calculating look he carries everywhere. Artem is beside him, silent, his presence as steady as a shadow. My brother, Timur, is with them too. The others—brothers, cousins—all stand close by, their expressions a reflection of the loss we all feel. We are here today not for business, but for family.

Our grandfather lies in the open grave before us, the elder of the Sharov family. He wasn’t just the patriarch; he was one of our best, leading the Bratva with a ruthless hand and a wisdom that earned him respect, even among our enemies. Today, we bury him, the man who shaped us into what we are now.

My chest tightens as I take in the sight of his casket, lowered into the ground. The weight of it all presses down on me. His absence leaves a void, not just in our family, but in the entire organization. His wisdom, his strength… it’s gone now. Even in his old age, he commanded respect. He was the glue that held our fractious family together, the one everyone feared and admired in equal measure.

Ivan steps forward first, placing a handful of earth into the grave, a final gesture of respect. One by one, we follow, thesilence heavy, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. There’s a reverence here, a quiet acknowledgment of what we’ve lost. No words can fill the gap left by a man like him.

I stand back as the others take their turns, but my mind is already elsewhere. As they move away from the gravesite, murmuring in low voices, I find myself walking past another grave, just a few rows down from where my grandfather now rests. The name etched into the stone pulls me in, its letters hard and unyielding.

Arlo Sharov. My father.

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