Page 50 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

The other men remove their hats as they stand around the dead body, their faces solemn. It’s some kind of Italian tradition, honoring their fallen men, even in the middle of this chaos.

Don Fernando steps forward, his gaze cold and calculating as he looks at me. “You fought well,” he says, almost as if he’s impressed. “Now it’s time for you to go.”

He pulls out a gun, leveling it at my head. The metallic click of the safety being disengaged echoes in the room, and for a moment, everything slows down. My breath catches in my throat, and all I can think isthis is it.This is how it ends.

The barrel of the gun feels like an extension of his cruelty, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable.

Then, suddenly, the sound of gunfire shatters the silence. It’s loud and relentless, and I flinch as the air fills with the deafening crack of bullets. I open my eyes just in time to see Don Fernando stagger backward, his expression one of shock as a dark stain blooms across his chest. He falls to the floor, his gun clattering from his hand, lifeless.

One by one, the rest of his men are shot down. Chaos erupts, but I’m frozen in place, too stunned to move.

I barely register the moment when the shooting stops. Slowly, cautiously, I turn my head toward the door, and that’s when I see them.

Maxim stands there, flanked by Artem and Timur, guns still in hand. Their expressions are hard, cold, and unyielding, but Maxim’s eyes lock on to mine. His face is tense, but the moment he sees me, something flickers behind his gaze.

I exhale shakily, relief flooding through me as the realization hits.

The room falls into a tense silence, the sound of gunfire replaced by the eerie stillness of death. I stand there, frozen, watching the bodies of Don Fernando and his men slump lifelessly to the floor. My breath is ragged, my heart pounding in my chest as I process what just happened. My hands are still trembling, covered in the blood of the man I killed.

He came for me.

A part of me didn’t believe he would. After everything—after the coldness, the distance, the way he treated me like nothing more than a pawn—I doubted he’d care enough to come. Maybe he’d think I was just another complication to deal with. Now, seeing him here, his gaze full of something I can’t quite place, I realize how wrong I was.

As he gets closer, I notice the shift in his eyes. Genuine concern flickers in the depths of his usually guarded expression, his sharp, calculating demeanor softened by something I never expected to see from him.

Worry.

He stops just in front of me, his broad figure towering over mine, and for a moment, I think I’m going to collapse right there. My knees feel weak, my body trembling as the adrenaline begins to fade. Without saying a word, Maxim lifts a hand to my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle as his fingers brush away the blood and grime from my skin. The warmth of his hand seeps into me, and for the first time since I was taken, I feel like I can breathe again.

“Are you hurt?” he asks quietly, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension.

I shake my head, though the tears are already welling up in my eyes. “It’s not my blood,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I…I killed him. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and there was so much blood—” My words falter, and before I can stop myself, I break down, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once.

The fear. The helplessness. The guilt.

Maxim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest, and for the first time in days, I let myself fall apart. I cry into his shoulder, the sobs wracking my body as the horror of what I’ve been through finally catches up with me. I killed a man. I took a life, and now I have to live with that.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, gripping his shirt with trembling hands. “I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want any of this.”

Maxim’s hold on me tightens, his hand resting on the back of my head as he strokes my hair soothingly. “You did what you had to do,” he murmurs, his voice low and comforting. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word feels foreign, almost impossible to grasp after everything I’ve been through. I never thought I’d feel safe again. Not in this world, where danger lurks around every corner, where trust is a luxury no one can afford.

Here, in Maxim’s arms, I feel it. Even if it’s just for a fleeting moment.

I pull back slightly, my tear-streaked face meeting his intense gaze. His hand is still on my cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of my tears. He looks at me like I’m something fragile, something he needs to protect, and it’s confusing. This isn’t the man I thought he was.

“You saved my life,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His eyes flicker, and for a moment, I see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Of course, I did,” he replies softly, like it was never even a question.

And that’s when it hits me. I had spent my time in captivity wondering if he would even bother. I thought I was just a pawn in his game of revenge, that he saw me as nothing more than a means to an end. Seeing the way he looks at me, feeling the way he holds me, I realize I was wrong.

Maybe Maxim does care. Maybe he always did, and I just couldn’t see it through the layers of anger and mistrust.

As much as that thought comforts me, it also terrifies me. Caring means I can get hurt. I’ve already been hurt more than I ever thought possible.

“I didn’t think….” I trail off, swallowing hard. “I didn’t think you cared.”

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