Page 35 of Captured By the Bratva

One evening, just as the mansion falls into its nightly hush, my phone vibrates in my hand. I glance at it, and my heart stops. A message from Jimmy.

As I open it, a cold dread settles over me. He’s sent a photo of himself standing over my belongings, his face twisted into a cruel smile. The caption taunts me:

Come back or I burn it all.

I scroll through the photos, each one a new taunt from him. I feel a familiar ache building in my chest as I stare at the belongings he’s posed with—my old journal, a necklace, a stack of postcards from places I’d dreamed of visiting. They’re just things I left behind, but each one represents a part of my past. Now, they’re at his mercy.

The door opens, and I barely look up as Ivan steps in, his presence filling the room with a steady, imposing silence. He stops, watching me with a narrowed gaze, his usual intensity crackling around him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice a low demand.

I take a shaky breath, holding up my phone for him to see the pictures. “It’s Jimmy. He’s threatening to destroy everything I left behind.”

Ivan’s eyes flick over the photos briefly before he lets out a dismissive breath. “They’re just things, Cathy.” His tone is sharp, cold, as though he’s scolding me for being weak. “Nothing worth shedding tears over.”

I flinch, feeling his words like a slap. “They’re not just things, Ivan. They’re all I have left of who I was before.” My voice wavers, and I hate how small I sound, how exposed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “I understand more than you think.” His tone is as cold as ever, as though I’m talking about nothing of consequence. “You’re better off without those attachments. They make you vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” I snap, anger flaring. “You think caring about things, about memories, is a weakness?”

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. “In this world, yes. Sentimentality clouds judgment. Makes you weak.”

“That how you feel about Elena’s room? Won’t mind if I redecorate then, will you?” As soon as the words are out I regret them.

For a brief second, something flashes in his eyes—a shadow of pain, of something raw and unspoken—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by an icy indifference. His jaw tightens, and he regards me with a steely silence that cuts deeper than any words could.

“I’ll be tightening security,” he says, his voice unyielding. “More guards, restrictions on where you go in the mansion, and outside, if you go at all.”

I stare at him, taken aback. “You mean even less freedom? How is that possible?”

He steps closer, his hand resting on my shoulder. “This isn’t negotiable, Cathy. He’s dangerous.”

The mix of frustration and relief knots inside me, binding me tighter to him even as part of me wants to push back. “So, I’m just supposed to let you keep making all the choices for me? Is that what marriage is to you?”

His eyes are cold as steel as he watches me, a look of resolve hardening his face. There’s an intensity in his gaze that unnerves me, as though he’s weighing his next words carefully, deciding how much to reveal. Finally, he speaks, his tone low and unyielding.

“Your ex,” he says slowly, “is far more dangerous than you realize.”

I feel a chill run down my spine. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not just some petty man with a bruised ego, Cathy. He has connections—deep ones. Ruthless men from the Bianchi famiglia who won’t think twice about crossing lines.”

His voice is clinical, matter-of-fact, but it’s the kind of cold pragmatism that makes me understand he knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

A part of me wants to argue, to downplay it, but the look in his eyes silences me. “You’re saying he’s... he’s involved with people like?—”

“People like me,” he finishes, his voice turning sharp, like a blade cutting through the air. “Yes.”

I swallow, his words settling over me like a dark shroud. I’d known my ex was capable of cruelty, but this... this is something entirely different. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you need to understand what you’re facing. This isn’t just about harassment, Cathy. If he decides to come for you, he won’t be coming alone.” His gaze sharpens, holding me in place, his protective intensity both comforting and terrifying.

The implications of his words hang heavy between us, and for a moment, I’m speechless. He steps closer, the power in his presence undeniable, and though a part of me feels reassured by his protectiveness, another part wonders how far he’ll go.

“I won’t let him get to you,” he murmurs, his voice dark and steady. “But if he tries—” He trails off, the unspoken threat lingering in the air like a promise. “I won’t hesitate to make sure he doesn’t try again. I’ve been hunting for him, got men watching your old apartment. He’s never there. Those photos, I’m betting he’s faked them. If he went back there, I’d have him by now.”

“Do you think he knows where I am?”

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