Page 54 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

As I lie here in his arms, I can’t imagine ever being anywhere else.

***

I wake up in Maxim’s arms, his strong body warm against mine, his breath steady as he sleeps. For a moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of it. There’s a peace here that I’m not used to, something safe and secure in the way he holds me. It’s a side of him that no one else sees, a vulnerability that he only shows when the world isn’t watching.

My stomach growls, pulling me from the moment. I’m starving. I carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. He stirs for a second but doesn’t wake, his arm falling back onto the bed as I slide out and grab my robe. I tie it loosely around my waist and tiptoe downstairs, the quiet of the house calming.

The kitchen is still and cool, the early morning light filtering through the windows. I open the fridge and rummage around, pulling out a few ingredients. Eggs, some vegetables—nothing fancy. I decide to make something simple for myself, my hands moving on autopilot as I chop and stir, the familiar motions grounding me. It feels good to do something normal for once, something that doesn’t involve the chaos that’s become my life.

As I plate the food, I hear footsteps behind me. Turning around, I’m greeted by the sight of Maxim standing in the doorway, shirtless, his hair tousled from sleep. His eyes, still dark from the night, scan the kitchen before they land on me.

“Nothing for me?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I chuckle, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Even in this simple, domestic moment, he’s intimidatingly handsome. “We can share,” I offer, holding out the plate toward him.

He steps closer, eyeing the food with a raised brow. “Let’s see if you can actually cook.”

I roll my eyes, setting the plate down on the small kitchen table. “You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

He sits down across from me, picking up a fork and taking a bite. His face remains impassive for a moment, but then he nods, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Not bad,” he says, his tone still rough, but there’s something softer beneath it. “You can make me meals from time to time.”

I can’t help but feel a little flattered, even though I know it’s just his way of showing appreciation. “Is that a request or an order?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Maxim’s smirk deepens. “A little of both.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. Despite everything, I actually want to cook for him. It feels good to do something small like this, something normal. There’s a strange comfort in knowing I can take care of him in this way, even though he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

We eat in silence for a few moments, the easy quiet between us a welcome change from the chaos that usually surrounds us. I glance up at him from time to time, catching the way his muscles move as he eats, the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. He’s not a man of many words, but there’s a depth to him I’m only just beginning to understand.

“You should smile more,” he says suddenly, catching me off guard.

“What?” I blink at him, unsure if I heard him right.

He takes another bite of food, not looking up at me as he speaks. “You’ve got a nice smile. You should show it more often.”

I feel heat rising in my cheeks, surprised by the compliment. Maxim doesn’t say things like that often, and when he does, it catches me off guard. “Maybe I will,” I say softly, feeling a warmth in my chest that I can’t quite explain.

He looks up at me, his eyes locking with mine. “Good.”

The moment hangs in the air between us, something unspoken passing between us. It’s not romantic, not in the traditional sense, but there’s something there. Something real. I’m not used to this side of him, this quiet, almost tender version of Maxim, but I find that I like it. It’s a side of him that feels like it’s just for me, and that thought fills me with a strange kind of contentment.

As we finish the meal, Maxim leans back in his chair, watching me with that same unreadable expression. “I could get used to this,” he says, his voice still rough but with a hint of amusement.

“Used to what?” I ask, clearing the dishes.

“This,” he gestures vaguely to the kitchen, the food. “You. Here. Cooking.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile on my face. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not your personal chef.”

He stands, moving closer to me, his hand brushing against my waist as he passes by. “We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

My heart skips a beat at the touch, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him walk away, his broad back disappearing up the stairs. I don’t know what this is between us, but for now, I’m content to let it be what it is. It’s love, I know it is, but everything still seems so unsure.

As I finish cleaning up, I can’t stop the small smile that lingers on my lips. Maybe, there’s more to this than either of us realizes. For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful.

Epilogue - Maxim

I glance at Sophia as I drive, her eyes darting from the road ahead to me every few seconds, a mix of curiosity and frustration clear on her face. She’s been trying to figure out where we’re going for the last half hour, but I’ve kept quiet, enjoying the suspense. She crosses her arms, her brow furrowed, and I can practically feel her trying to read my thoughts.

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