Page 42 of Captured By the Bratva

25

IVAN

Iascend from the basement and almost collide with Anya in the hallway. Her eyes narrow, her gaze sharp with the sort of insight that makes it clear she already knows something’s wrong.

“I heard her,” Anya says quietly, tilting her head up toward Cathy’s room. “Jimmy’s sending more threats. Why not let her block his number?”

“Because I need him to think he has a chance. The spider waits for the fly, Anya, you know that.”

Anya gives me a knowing look, her expression softening in a way that feels oddly like a scolding. “Sometimes ‘handling it’ is not enough, Ivan.” She pauses, and I see the wheels turning in her mind. “Perhaps she needs something simpler—something to take her mind away from him. A bit of air. Let her breathe beyond these walls.”

I stare at her, caught off guard. Comforting isn’t something I’m used to. My world is harsh, unforgiving, and rarely do I stop to consider emotions in the face of a threat. But Anya’s gaze is steady, her advice resonating in a way that feels necessary.

“Take her for a walk,” she says, her voice gentle but insistent. “Let her see there’s more to her life now than just closed doors and locked rooms.”

I hesitate, not wanting to admit that her words have already taken root. “And you think a walk in the garden will fix everything?” I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my tone.

Anya’s eyes soften further. “It won’t fix everything,” she replies, “but it’s a start.”

I consider her words, a sense of reluctance mingling with the impulse to listen. Finally, I nod and turn back toward Cathy’s room, Anya’s suggestion leading me forward.

When I enter, I can see traces of tears still clinging to her lashes. She blinks, clearly surprised to see me again so soon.

“Would you like to take a walk?” I ask, my voice softer than usual, the words feeling almost foreign.

She looks up at me, her gaze uncertain. “A walk?”

“In the garden,” I clarify, keeping my tone calm, steady. “It’s beautiful when the sun sets.”

For a moment, she hesitates, but then she nods, a glimmer of relief in her eyes. I extend my arm, and she places her hand in the crook of my elbow, her touch light, almost tentative. Together, we step out of the room and head down the hall.

26

CATHY

We walk along the winding paths, the evening light feeling good on my arms. The soft sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves create a cocoon around us.

Roses bloom in rich reds and soft pinks, their petals bright against the shadows cast by overhanging ivy and tall trees. The garden feels almost enchanted, each step drawing me further away from the tense, dark world I’ve felt trapped in.

Eventually, I glance up at Ivan, noticing the way the dappled sunlight softens the harsh lines of his face, casting him in a different light. A part of me longs to fill the silence, to release the weight I’ve been carrying.

“Anya tells me Jimmy sent more threats,” Ivan says at last, looking my way. “I have a lead I will be following up. Soon it will be over.”

“He wasn’t always like this” I reply quietly, wanting to justify my decisions for some reason. “At first, he was kind. Attentive. The perfect gentleman. He made me feel wanted. I’ve never felt wanted.”

Ivan’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t interrupt. His silence feels like permission to continue.

“I was naive, easily swayed by his words,” I confess, the memories unraveling. “He promised me everything—love, loyalty, a life together. But slowly, he changed. He became controlling, possessive, until I didn’t recognize him anymore. Or myself.”

“It’s the way men like him operate,” he murmurs, a flash of something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “They lure you in with promises, make you feel special, then twist that trust until you’re caught. Trapped.”

His words resonate with a weight that feels personal, as if he understands all too well.

I hesitate, then ask, “Have you known someone like that?”

He exhales, a heavy, almost painful sound, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. But then, in a voice so low I almost don’t catch it, he says, “Elena.”

The words hang in the air between us, raw and charged with a pain that feels as real now as it must have been for him then. He spies a bench, sitting down as if his mind cannot bear to walk any longer.

---