Page 37 of Captured By the Bratva

“Hmm,” he says, as though brushing it off. “This I understand. It is not a love story. It is about revenge.”

He’s quiet as Inigo finally confronts Count Rugen, and when Inigo says, “I want my father back, you son of a—” I notice Ivan’s jaw flexes. It’s the faintest sign of something unguarded, something personal, and it’s gone as soon as the movie ends.

“Not bad,” he says, leaning back, though his face is unreadable. “Now I choose.”

With that, he takes the remote and scrolls to a foreign film, some gritty crime thriller I’ve never even heard of.

“Russian gangster movie?” I raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“It’s one of the best,” he says, pressing play. “I’ll load the subtitles.”

As we watch, I’m struck by how he leans forward during the intense scenes, his face lighting up in a way I haven’t seen before. There’s a cold brilliance to the protagonist, a man outfor revenge and justice on his own terms, and it feels like I’m catching a glimpse of Ivan’s own psyche.

“So this is what you relax to?” I joke, watching a fight scene unfold. “You must be fun at parties.”

He gives me a long, considering look. “Let’s just say I find it satisfying.” But then he leans in closer, voice dropping. “And at least it’s not as ridiculous as your man in a vest. You have strange taste.”

“Says the man who relaxes with Russian gangsters,” I retort, nudging him lightly. We both laugh, the sound of it echoing softly in the dim, cozy room.

21

CATHY

The next morning, as I finish my breakfast, I find myself sighing out loud. The mansion, grand and beautiful as it is, feels stifling after so many days of being cooped up inside. Ivan’s gaze sharpens, picking up on my discontent.

“Missing something?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes. “More movies?”

I shrug, not quite meeting his gaze. “I want to be active, you know? Playing sports, doing things outdoors.”

He pauses for a beat, then stands up, a glint of something playful in his eyes. “Come with me,” he says, beckoning. Intrigued, I follow him through the mansion’s twisting halls and out onto the terrace, where an expansive outdoor tennis court gleams in the morning light.

“Tennis?” I ask, a little shocked. I wouldn’t have pegged Ivan as someone who even thinks about sports, let alone plays them.

He smirks, pulling open a case with rackets and a basket of tennis balls. “What, did you think I was all work and no play?”

“You play in a suit?” I scoff, taking the racket he hands me. “Fine, but don’t go easy on me.”

He chuckles, a dark sound that promises he won’t. “I never planned to.”

We take our positions, and he serves the first ball, a powerful, precise shot that has me racing to return it. The match starts out lighthearted enough, with him lobbing easy shots in my direction, his movements graceful but clearly restrained. He’s testing me, as if gauging how well I’ll play with my slight limp.

But after a few rounds, when I slam a winning return his way, I see a glint in his eye—surprise mixed with a newfound determination. Ivan steps up his game, moving faster and hitting harder, his powerful serves forcing me to stay quick on my feet. It’s exhilarating to see him let loose, to see him truly play rather than holding back.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt as I send a well-aimed shot that lands just inside the line.

He raises an eyebrow, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You asked for it, Cathy.”

With renewed intensity, we volley back and forth, the ball flying over the net with increasing speed. I’m breathless, the thrill of the game and the challenge of keeping up with Ivan pushing me harder than I’ve played in ages.

He’s good—better than I expected—and I catch myself smiling as I manage to match him point for point.

“My father made me take lessons,” he calls across to me. “For many boring years. Tennis, croquet, fencing.”

“I joined in high school, kept me out of the house three nights a week.”

I land an especially tricky shot that has him dashing to the back of the court. He’s forced to scramble, and for a split second, I see a genuine smile, broad and completely unguarded, flash across his face.

It’s a side of him I haven’t seen before, and it catches me off guard, a flutter of warmth breaking through my usual defenses.

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