Page 13 of Captured By the Bratva

I raise an eyebrow. “The twenty-five thousand I gave you—will you be handing that back?”

Her face reddens, and she holds her head high. “Yes, of course.”

“I don’t need it.” I laugh, soft and low, letting the mockery sink in. “I’ve seen your accounts, Cathy. You have nothing. Keep it.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look away. “Then let me work to pay it back. You wanted a cleaner, right?”

“I have a dozen. What I need is an heir for my empire and the Bratva does not have children out of wedlock.”

I take a step toward her, close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way she stands her ground even as I loom over her. “You’re not leaving,” I say, my voice a calm certainty. “Not unless my ring is on your finger and my child is in your belly.”

I lift her off her feet in one swift motion, throwing her over my shoulder. She kicks, struggling, but I hold her easily. She’sno match for my strength, and I sense the moment her resolve cracks, the fight fading as she realizes I won’t let her go so easily.

“Put me down!” she demands, her fists pointlessly beating against my back like flies on a window.

“Keep that up, and you’ll find out just how locked in you truly are,” I say, calm and composed.

I unlock the door, carrying her upstairs to a bedroom before setting her down. She fights me the entire time, her eyes blazing with a fury I enjoy far too much when I stand her on her feet.

“You can’t keep me here,” she snaps, taking a step back from the door as though her words could somehow change my mind.

I meet her gaze, letting her see exactly who’s in charge here.

“Watch me.”

8

IVAN

Imake my way to my office, the quiet of the halls swallowing Cathy’s last shouts. She’s under my roof, on my terms, and every inch of resistance will only feed my need to see her crumble at my feet.

I marry her. I get revenge on that piece of shit she was engaged to. That’s all that matters in this life. Revenge. Never let those who wrong you get away with it.

My second-in-command, Nikita “Nik” Kozlov, is waiting for me in the office, drink in hand.

Nik’s as solid as they come, built like a tank with broad shoulders and a scar slicing down his left cheek onto his neck, a memento from an old vendetta.

He’s wearing a faded leather jacket over his black shirt, his stance relaxed but alert. Nik is the only man I trust with sensitive orders, and he rarely disappoints.

He gives me a curt nod as I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “We have an issue, Ivan. Thought you’d want to hear about it first.”

“Go on,” I say, settling behind the desk.

“Yuri Petrovitch,” he says, voice laced with contempt. “Ten percent off the top.”

“I know about that. The cost of business. You wouldn’t come all this way to tell me that.”

“He’s not just been skimming from the shipments.” His eyes narrow. “He’s been selling the missing product, undercutting our prices to the same users.”

I let out a cold laugh. “Did he think I wouldn’t notice?” I keep my voice calm, though inside, a dark satisfaction coils. This kind of disloyalty deserves nothing less than the kind of brutal correction I most enjoy. Blood will spill.

I study Nik, who’s watching me closely, clearly waiting for permission.

“Should I talk to him?” he asks, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Nik knows what I’ll say, but he’s giving me the chance to decide just how far this punishment should go.

I shake my head. “I don’t give warnings to men who cheat me, Nik.” My tone is cold, each word carrying the weight of finality. “Bring me his head.”

“He’s worked for us for twenty years. Are you sure?”

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