Page 54 of Captured By the Bratva

The man’s response is immediate, precise. “As of today, the cash balance is $22.4 million.”

I go still, my breath catching in my throat. Twenty-two million. It’s more than I could have ever imagined, a number that seems almost unreal.

My gaze flies to Ivan, still reeling from the revelation. His expression is calm, unbothered, as though this is just another detail, another task he’s managed behind the scenes. But in his eyes, I catch a glimmer of something that looks suspiciously like satisfaction, a knowing look that tells me he’s fully aware of the impact this is having on me.

The call ends shortly after, and I hand his phone back to him, my fingers trembling slightly as I try to process everything.

Ivan’s stare never wavers, as if waiting for me to say something, to acknowledge what he’s done. But words fail me—I’m swimming in shock, gratitude, and a sense of wonder at the side of him I never saw coming.

Nik clears his throat from the hospital bed, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “I’d say it’s time you two had a little talk. I’ll be here catching up on Stranger Things,” he says, his smirkbreaking some of the tension. “You seen it? The Russians turn out to be the bad guys. Never seen that on TV before, have you?”

38

CATHY

Istep into the small, dimly lit room, the sterile scent of the hospital lingering in the air. Three nurses are taking a break. “Out,” Ivan says and they leave without a single protest.

Ivan turns to look at me once the door is closed.

“You could have taken the money,” I say. “You could have taken it, and I’d never have known.”

Ivan’s face shifts, a flicker of something softer crossing his features. He’s silent for a beat before replying, “That money isn’t mine, Cathy. I may be many things, but I have an honor code.” He speaks carefully, his tone a strange mix of pride and regret. “That money is yours. I wanted it locked away where no one but you can touch it. I was never going to steal from you.”

I hold his gaze, absorbing his words. He’s… different from Jimmy. He’s taken control, manipulated things around me, yes—but he didn’t take from me, not the way Jimmy would have, would have used me to do it. For the first time, a faint, conflicting warmth spreads through my anger.

Ivan looks down, his shoulders tense, as if he’s summoning the words from a place he doesn’t often visit. “I admit I was using you,” he says. “I wanted to destroy the man who ruined mysister’s life and I got to taunt him by taking you from him, wait for him to come for you, and then kill him.”

His gaze is hard, bitter with memories that clearly haunt him. “But somewhere along the way, things changed. You were not what I expected. I tried to keep my distance, to stay closed off, but you got under my skin, Cathy. More than I want to admit. Our marriage became real all too quickly.”

His words hang in the air, and I can feel the weight behind them, each syllable chipping away at the wall he’s built around himself. I see the strain in his face, the quiet intensity in his eyes. This is difficult for him, harder than I could have imagined.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice softer now, the anger slipping. “Why keep all of this hidden?”

“I keep secrets,” he says, voice raw. “It’s what I do. I thought I could keep control. Keep you at a distance. But that didn’t last. Not with you.” He runs a hand over his face, looking away for a second, as if the intensity is too much to face head-on. “You started making me care about more than revenge.”

The silence stretches between us, weighted with everything we’ve left unsaid. Ivan’s face is a study in tension, his jaw set, his eyes stormy, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

I can tell he’s struggling, not just with the words, but with everything those words mean. This is a man who has spent a lifetime building walls, mastering control, burying anything that could be seen as weak. Vulnerability for him isn’t just a risk—it’s a danger.

And yet, he’s here, standing inches from me, that tension in his gaze softened by something I’ve rarely seen: uncertainty.

He clears his throat, his gaze sliding away for a moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, every word careful, as if he’s laying them down like stepping stones over a deep chasm.

“You made me start to question things I thought I’d long accepted,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “I built my life onprinciples I thought were unshakable. Power, control… survival, secrets. That’s what I know, Cathy. That’s what I trust.” He pauses, looking down, and I feel the weight of those words—the lifetime of pain and isolation behind them.

“But then you walked into my life, and everything shifted.” His voice softens, almost as if he’s afraid of saying more, as if he’s fighting to keep the floodgates closed. “You made me see that there could be something beyond survival. That maybe it’s possible to live without the walls.”

My heart clenches, and I step closer, reaching for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. “Ivan…” My voice comes out in a whisper, the warmth in my words a balm against the scars I see in him.

He holds my gaze, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. “There were so many times I told myself to push you away,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “To keep my distance, to protect myself from feeling anything. Every time, you pulled me back, even when I fought against it.”

His hand closes around mine, his grip firm but gentle. “You changed everything, Cathy. You made me see things differently. I never thought I’d care about someone like this.”

I feel my heart skip a beat, his words sinking deep into me. “Maybe you don’t have to fight it, Ivan,” I whisper.

He lets out a humorless laugh, his gaze flicking down to our intertwined hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Cathy. For years, I’ve been a man who only trusts power and control. I don’t even know how to let go of that.” His fingers tighten slightly around mine, as if clinging to something he’s afraid to lose.

We’re quiet for a moment, our hands still linked, a shared understanding hanging between us. And then, with a deepbreath, Ivan looks up, his gaze unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before.

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