Page 16 of Captured By the Bratva

Derek nods, listening carefully, his posture a blend of professionalism and wariness. “Of course, Mr. Morosov,” he replies in Russian, casting a quick, dismissive glance at Cathy. “I’ll make sure the report reflects your request.”

Cathy’s face drains of color, her smugness replaced by shock as she realizes the depth of my influence. Her lips part slightly, a faint, horrified realization flickering in her eyes as she watches the exchange.

I can almost see her thoughts, the disbelief, the dawning understanding that the rules she’s used to do not apply here, not within my walls.

She tries to find her voice, manages a weak protest. “But—you’re the police! Aren’t you supposed to help?”

He glances at her briefly, almost as though she’s an inconvenience, then turns back to me. “I apologize for the intrusion Mr. Morosov,” he says, his words a clear acknowledgment of his place in this arrangement.

“Good,” I say, nodding in approval. “I trust there will be no further visits this evening.”

He meets my gaze, an unspoken agreement passing between us. “None, Mr. Morosov.” He tips his cap, then turns on his heel, disappearing back into the hall without another glance in Cathy’s direction.

As the door closes behind him, I turn to Cathy, allowing her to absorb the gravity of what just transpired. “You see now?” I say softly, my tone a mockery of gentleness. “No one’s coming to save you. No one can protect you from me. Make as many calls as you like. The result will be the same.”

She swallows, her bravado visibly slipping as she takes a step back, her back hitting the wall. There’s a mixture of anger and fear in her eyes, as if she’s beginning to realize just how thoroughly I control this world she’s stumbled into.

“You’re trapped,” I continue, my voice low and dangerous. “This is your reality now. Resistance will only make it more difficult. Accept that you belong to me now, and you might just survive this.”

For a moment, she stands there, her chest heaving, her fists clenched as though she’s debating whether to fight back. But I see it in her eyes—the crack in her resolve, the flicker of fear that’s finally begun to take root.

She may not accept it yet, but she’s starting to understand that there’s no escape, no world outside of this house that can save her.

And as I watch her, I feel the satisfaction of knowing that, piece by piece, she will surrender.

“The wardrobe,” I tell her. “Your clothes are wet. Change.”

She hesitates, gripping her arms protectively, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. Her defiance returns, but this time, it’s tinged with apprehension. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, crossing her arms.

I raise an eyebrow, holding her gaze. “This isn’t a game. It’s about your survival. Your ex-fiancé is far worse than you know. Staying here will keep you safe as long as you do as you are told.”

I take a slow, deliberate step toward her, watching the defiance and fear clash in her expression. “If you want safety, there’s conditions. You do as you’re told. You marry me. You give me an heir.”

Her face twists in anger, and she lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re no better than Jimmy.”

The accusation cuts, though I keep my face impassive. I take a breath, the memory of Jimmy’s treatment of my sister flaring, adding an edge to my words. “I will never harm you, Cathy. Not physically. But your safety will come on my terms.”

She meets my gaze, bitterness and accusation simmering in her eyes. “And you think that makes you different? You’re just a different kind of jailer, with a different set of bars.”

I don’t respond, letting her anger wash over me. There’s truth in her words, in a way I can’t deny, but I don’t relent. “Protection isn’t free. Now get changed or spend the night soaking wet in the cellar.”

The tension between us hangs thick and unyielding, but I see her resolve beginning to waver, her understanding that resistance here is futile.

She grabs clothes from the wardrobe, her movements rigid, her expression a mix of fury and helplessness. “At least give me some privacy,” she says.

“You have two minutes.” I step back, pulling the door closed.

As I stand in the corridor, Nik comes up to me. “All good?” he asks.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” waving him away.

By the time he’s vanished from sight, Cathy emerges, and my breath stalls. She's wearing a tailored black dress that clings to every curve as if it’s been sculpted directly onto her body.

The fabric glides over her skin, catching the light in a way that highlights the elegance of her collarbone, the delicate curve of her neck.

Her shoulders are bare, smooth and inviting, and I find myself wanting to trace the line where her skin meets the fabric. I knew when I ordered the clothes how good they might look on her but the reality takes my breath away.

My gaze trails down, lingering on her chest. The dress dips low, revealing more than enough of her breasts to be distracting, the cleavage soft and inviting, framed perfectly by the cut of the fabric.

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