Page 2 of Captured By the Bratva

The words sting, but I force myself to hold his gaze. I’ve spent too many years believing that I was the one who had to change, that if I was just better, then maybe I’d finally be enough for someone. I thought that way with my mother, and she treated me like shit every single day until she died.

“I want you out,” I say, barely recognizing the strength of my own voice. “Both of you. I’ve been at work for twelve hours without a break. I want to go to bed. Alone.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Out? You forgetting this is my grandma’s place? I’m going nowhere.” He spreads his arms, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “Let’s face it—you need me. It’s not like you have anyone else. No friends. No family. What’re you going to do if you dump me, live on the streets?”

For a second, the room sways, the truth of his words crashing over me. It’s true. Mom died a long time ago. I don’t have any friends close enough to call for help. And with my job as a waitress, I barely scrape by as it is. I feel trapped, cornered, and he knows it.

But I can’t look at him, at his smug expression and that ever silent woman clutching the sheets, waiting for me to give up and accept this is all I deserve. I feel a sharp twist of defiance—a spark, something I haven’t felt in years.

I step back, my voice colder than I thought possible as I face her. “You’re welcome to him.”

“Cathy, honey,” Jimmy calls after me as I turn on my heel. “Don’t be stupid. We both know you’re not going anywhere so why pretend?”

I give him the finger. Then I walk out, not daring to look behind me, my heart pounding with fear and something that feels disturbingly close to relief.

2

CATHY

The cold night air hits me like a slap, but I keep walking, my footsteps hard and fast against the empty sidewalk.

I feel raw despite my exhaustion, as if my skin’s been stripped away, leaving only the pulsing ache of betrayal beneath. It’s funny, though—part of me isn’t even surprised.

It’s almost comforting in its predictability, like I was just waiting for this final confirmation that trusting someone is a luxury I can’t afford. It’s not just Jimmy, it’s everyone. You can’t trust anyone in this world. Sooner or later, they’ll all let you down.

Mom used to say it whenever I asked who my father was. All she’d tell me was that you can’t trust anyone. Never even told me his name, told me I’d never find out who he was so I should stop asking. It would only hurt me to know.

She got really drunk one time and let slip that she met him while she was working in New York, before she moved out here. That’s the only clue I have to his identity.

The first stories I wrote were about New York, me traveling there and finding him, learning he was some prince who’d been looking for me all this time, moved me into his palace and welived happily ever after. Mom found the stories, of course, and ripped them to shreds. Beat the ever-loving shit out of me.

Pushing my thoughts back down where they belong, I spot the flickering neon lights of the only bar in town. Tony’s.

I step inside, the warmth of the place wrapping around me, muffling the cold bitterness I can’t seem to shake.

Sliding onto a stool at the bar, I pull out my card, ready to drown this night in something strong. “Evening, Tony,” I say with a nod.

“Been a long time since you’ve been in,” he replies, setting his hands on top of the bar. “How’s the wedding prep going?”

“Oh, fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just peachy.”

“What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” I mutter, not caring if it burns.

He comes back a moment later, glass in hand, but when I hand him my card, his face tightens.

“Sorry, Cathy. It’s declined.”

“What?” I frown, certain he’s made a mistake. “Try it again.”

He gives me a skeptical look, but he runs it through the machine one more time, and there it is—the quiet beep, the rejected transaction, as final and uncaring as the end of a bad relationship.

I fumble for my phone, my pulse picking up as I log into my bank account. The screen loads slowly, the little spinning icon taunting me, until my account balance finally appears. Not even zero. Nope, way below that. A great big minus figure.

I blink, not believing what I’m seeing, and scroll down through the transactions, trying to find any trace of where it’s gone.

And then I see it—a withdrawal just now for nearly everything I had. My rent, the little money I’d been saving, all of it gone in the time it’s taken me to get from home to here.A hollow, sinking feeling tightens in my chest, like I’m watching my life unravel, one piece at a time.

---