Page 4 of Captured By the Bratva

“Ever since you started on that damned book of yours, you’ve forgotten what matters. You spend all your spare time working on that bullshit instead of spending time with me.” His smile broadens. I know that smile.

“What did you do?”

“I wiped your whiteboard.”

“You did what?” My fingers curl into fists. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“It’s time to grow up, Cathy. I’m about to become your husband. I’m not having that shit on the walls when we’re married.”

“I had two years of notes on that whiteboard. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if I’m exhausting him. “I know you think you’re angry, but this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Relationships are hard, Cathy. You have to learn to focus on what matters.” He points at his chest. “A wife’s job is to take care of her husband.”

He pauses, waiting for me to back down, to give in to this twisted logic. But I don’t flinch this time. I stare at him, letting my anger simmer beneath the surface. Two years of notes gone.

He frowns, his patience wearing thin. His voice sharpens, laced with something cold and dangerous. “I mean, look at the way you constantly complain about money, how you’re always focused on this writing dream that’s never going to go anywhere. I’m doing you a favor. You have no idea how exhausting it is to be with someone who doesn’t appreciate what I provide.”

I clench my fists, feeling his words hit like blows, but I keep my voice steady. “You don’t ‘provide’ anything, Jimmy. I worked twelve hours today. How long did you spend on your ‘music’?”

He snorts, a harsh sound that fills the car. “My music is going to change the world.”

My anger flares, but I force myself to stay calm. “Maybe if you actually cared about me, you’d support my goals instead of tearing them down.”

His face darkens, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he glares at me. “Support your goals? You wouldn’t survive a month without me. You had nothing before we met. Hell, you told me that yourself. Dead mom, about to be evicted. You begged to move in with me. Begged. I let you stay out of the goodness of my heart and this is how you repay me?”

The words twist deep, each one a needle slipping under my skin.

He leans closer, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “You better start showing a little gratitude instead of acting like I’m some villain just because I fucked someone a few times. You know I’ll be faithful once the rings are on our fingers. Come on, it’s late. Let’s go home.”

He starts the engine and turns away from the bridge, slowly picking up speed.

Is he right? Should I go home with him, forget this happened? Get the ring on my finger that I always thought was so important. Get some stability in my life at last.

My heart pounds, fear threading through my anger, but something deeper stirs—a defiance I didn’t know I had. I won’t let him define me.

I take a steadying breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “I deserve better.”

His expression shifts, a flicker of something unhinged flashing in his eyes. His hands grip the wheel, his jaw tight as he stares ahead, the smooth calm he wears like a mask slipping into something darker, more menacing. “You deserve what you earn in this life. You deserve me.”

We drive down the quiet, winding road away from the bridge, the headlights casting eerie shadows on the trees that line the street, flickering like ghosts.

I swallow hard, finally breaking the silence. “Pull over, Jimmy.”

“What? Why?”

“This isn’t going to work. I’m done with you.”

He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, his knuckles whitening as he grips the wheel tighter. “You don’t get to decide that, Cathy. You think you’re so independent, so strong? Without me, you’re nothing. Just a stubborn little girl playing in pretend worlds.”

I feel the anger surge again, pushing aside the fear. “And you’re a selfish asshole. Pull over. Now.”

He glances at me, a glint of fury in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice low and seething. “You think you can just walk away from me?”

I start to get really afraid. “Stop the car. Let me out.”

“You’re nothing without me,” he hisses, his eyes dark, furious as he flicks the unlock button. “You’ll come crawling back, begging for my help. Because that’s all you’re good for. Begging.” He spits the words at me. “You’re weak, Cathy. Pathetic.”

His face twists with rage, and before I can react, he shoves me hard, forcing me toward the door handle. I gasp, losing my balance as he shoves again, harder this time, the world spinning as the door flies open and I tumble out of the moving car.

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