Page 25 of Married to the Bratva

Every instinct I have screams at me to get up and run, but I’m rooted to the spot, caught between dread and something I refuse to name.

He stops in front of my desk, towering over me.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss, glancing around. My coworkers are pretending not to watch, but they’re terrible at hiding it. Clara, in particular, is openly gawking. “I’m at work, Maxim. You can’t just walk in here like this.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he scans the room, his eyes sharp and assessing, like he’s cataloging every possible threat. Only then does he lean down slightly, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “We need to leave. Right now.”

“I’m at work,” I snap, trying to keep my voice calm despite the way my pulse is racing. “I can’t just leave.”

“This isn’t a request,” he replies, his tone ice-cold. “Stay here and you’ll die.”

“You’re lying,” I say, my voice shaky despite my best efforts.

“You really want to wait and find out?” he counters, straightening and glancing toward the elevator.

I follow his gaze, my stomach sinking when I see the elevator doors open. Three men step out, their movements slow and deliberate as their eyes scan the office.

Panic claws at my chest as I turn back to Maxim. He ducks down next to my desk, pulling me to the floor beside him. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Too late,” he says, his voice sharp. “Stay close to me.” He reaches into his jacket. “Can you shoot a gun?”

“What? No?”

“Sophie,” he snaps, his eyes burning into mine. “Focus on me. We need to move right now. As long as they can’t see you,they won’t start shooting. A lot of people could die today if you don’t listen to me. Keep low and follow me.”

“Who are they? What do they want?”

“Later. Get moving.”

I nod, swallowing hard, and grab my bag off the desk. Maxim’s hand is on my arm in an instant, firm but not painful, guiding me toward the back exit. I can feel every pair of eyes in the office on us, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I can think about is the men looking for me.

The stairwell door slams behind us, the sound like a gunshot that sends my nerves screaming.

Maxim’s hand is iron-tight on my arm, pulling me down the concrete steps two at a time. My heels scrape against the rough surface, and I’m barely keeping up with his pace.

“Where are we going?” I pant, glancing over my shoulder.

“Out of here,” he growls. His voice is calm, cold, the kind of voice that doesn’t flinch at chaos.

The echo of another door crashing open cuts through the air like a knife. My heart lurches as I see men above us, descending fast, their movements precise and deliberate. One of them pulls a gun, the glint of metal catching the dim light.

Maxim reacts before I can even scream. His free hand pulls a pistol from inside his jacket, the motion smooth, fluid.

The sharp crack of the first shot rings out, deafening in the stairwell. The man stumbles, his shoulder slamming into the wall, and the gun in his hand clatters to the floor.

“Keep moving!” Maxim commands, his voice a whip that propels me downward.

We don’t make it far. Another door bursts open below us, and two more men charge up the stairs. They’re big, their movements efficient, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. One of them lunges for me, his hand outstretched, but Maxim’s there in an instant.

He twists the first man’s arm with a sickening snap that makes my stomach turn. The man howls, but Maxim’s already driving his elbow into his face, the crack of bone-on-bone echoing through the stairwell.

Blood sprays across the wall, bright and visceral, as the man crumples to the ground.

The second guy pulls a knife, the blade glinting wickedly. Maxim sidesteps his first strike with insulting ease, slamming his foot into the man’s knee with a brutal crunch.

The knife clatters to the ground, and Maxim catches the guy by the back of his head, slamming it into the metal railing with enough force to leave a dent.

“Go!” Maxim barks, shoving me forward. “My car’s outside.”

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