Page 21 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

I blink, startled by his bluntness. He’s staring at me with an unreadable expression, not cruel or mocking, just… matter-of-fact.

“If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” he adds, as if that’s supposed to reassure me.

“That’s comforting,” I mutter, my voice shaky. I take another step back, my body tensing. I can feel my pulse racing in my neck, the fear creeping back up with every word he says.

Artem chuckles softly, the sound surprising me. It’s not cruel, more like a weary laugh, as if he’s tired of this whole situation too. “Look, I get it. You’re scared, but there’s no point in starving yourself.”

I narrow my eyes at him, unsure if I should believe him. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe this is just another one of Maxim’s games.”

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies me for a moment. “Maxim doesn’t play games. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t bother with tricks. It would’ve already been done.”

The calm, businesslike tone in his voice sends a chill through me. He’s not trying to scare me—he’s just being honest. That’s what makes it so terrifying.

I swallow hard, feeling the lump in my throat grow. “So what happens to me?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “Are you going to keep me here forever?”

Artem doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “That’s not my call,” he finally says. “You know that.”

“Then whose call is it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Maxim’s?”

Artem nods, pushing off the wall and walking toward the door. “Just eat, Sophia. Trust me, you’ll need your strength.”

I shake my head, my voice wavering with anger and fear. “I don’t want your food.”

He pauses at the door, turning back to face me. “Suit yourself. Starving yourself isn’t going to change anything.”

“Why are you doing this?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “ I mean, why are you helping him?”

Artem raises an eyebrow, seeming almost amused by the question. “I’m not helping Maxim. I’m doing my job.”

“Your job?” I snap. “Your job is kidnapping innocent people and holding them hostage?”

He sighs, his expression softening just slightly. “It’s not personal, Sophia. You’re just… part of the process.”

“Part of the process?” I repeat, incredulous. “I’m a person, not some—somethingyou can use.”

Artem doesn’t argue with me. He just watches, letting my words hang in the air between us. For a moment, I think he might actually feel some kind of guilt, but then his face hardens again, and that same businesslike mask slides back into place.

“It’s not about you,” he says quietly. “It’s about your father.”

I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. My father. All of this, every terrible thing that’s happening to me, is because of him. Because of his greed, his deals, his willingness to sell me off like I’m a piece of property.

I shake my head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You don’t know him. You don’t know me.”

Artem tilts his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe not, but I know enough.” He reaches for the door again, his hand on the knob. “Eat, Sophia. No one’s going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway.”

The casual way he says it sends another chill through me, and I press my back against the wall, feeling the coldness seep into my skin. As Artem opens the door to leave, I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to lash out, to do something that will break the silence, the helplessness that’s swallowing me whole.

“So what’s going to happen to me?” I demand, my voice cracking. “Am I just supposed to sit here and wait until Maxim decides to kill me?”

Artem turns back, his expression neutral. “I already told you. It’s not my call.” He pauses, his hand tightening on the doorknob. “If I were you? I’d stop worrying about what happens next and start thinking about now.”

His words hang in the air long after he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stand there for what feels like an eternity, staring at the untouched food on the table, my thoughts swirling.

I stand there, frozen in place, long after Artem leaves. His words echo in my head:Start thinking about how you’re going to survive this.

Survival. It sounds so simple, so straightforward, but the truth is, I don’t even know where to start. How do you survive when you’re nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s game? When every move you make is being watched, every decision controlled by forces far more powerful than you?

My eyes flick to the tray of food. It sits there, untouched, mocking me with its normalcy. As if this is just another day and I’m not trapped, terrified, with a tracking device around my ankle. My stomach twists in knots, but not from hunger. It’s fear—raw, gut-wrenching fear that keeps me from taking a single bite.

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