Page 14 of Forced Bratva Hostage

Chapter 6 – Wren

The Russian Mafia? You've really outdone yourself on this one, Dad. What were you thinking?I thought, rubbing my eyes, absentmindedly pacing across the room.

I knew he was a reckless gambler, but I didn't think he'd bethisreckless, enough to get in bed with a mafia gang. Let alone the Russians. Now, they were looking for him, using me as bait to lure him out of whatever hole he'd crawled into.

How could he have been so stupid?

He’d signed away his freedom when he accepted that money, and what in the name of God did he need $500,000 for?

“Jesus Christ, Dad, are you that far gone?” I muttered, my fingers combing through my dark hair.

My mind was flooded with a myriad of thoughts that wouldn't let me sleep or think properly. This anxiety was slowly killing me, and to make matters worse, I wasn't allowed to leave the house.

A good walk down to the park would help clear my mind at this point. But my captor had made it pretty clear that I could only roam around the house—not beyond.

As worried as I was about Dad, I couldn't stop wondering why he’d needed that kind of money. What was he so desperateto solve with that amount? I knew he didn't use the money to make his life less miserable because he was still the same manipulative man with a drinking addiction and gambling problem.

Maybe he was in trouble and used the loan from the Bratva to get out of that trouble, only to find himself facing off against a bigger monster.

If Dad hadn't thrown his life away, his career, and his will to live, $500,000 would've been a piece of cake. He would have raised the money in a few days—hell, he wouldn't have ever had to borrow that amount, to begin with.

It was hard to remember him as the bank manager that he used to be—an honest one whose integrity preceded him.

While in his prime, he'd bag awards whenever his bank organized such events. Dad used to be a respectable man, loved and adored by many. He had a promising career and was quickly rising up the ranks as a result of his diligence and hard work.

Dad had been up for a promotion that would've shifted his social and financial status: regional manager.

Sadly, Mom had passed away a week before his big win, and he damned everything and everyone. He threw his career away, tossed his life out the window, and ignored his only daughter for years.

Mom would be disappointed in him, in the man he'd become—the path he'd chosen to deal with his grief. She'd be crying in her grave, wishing she could speak some sense into her once amazing husband.

Dad's glory days were over.

Now, he was just a drinking gambler, and he'd added “debtor” to the list.

I felt a cold shiver run through my body as the thought of Dad being captured and dissected flashed in my mind.

I shook my head, as if trying physically to shake the thoughts off.

With my palms cupping my face, I sank into a plush sofa, the rich scent of my captor's cologne invading my senses. He hadn't properly introduced himself, and I wasn't sure if he was even supposed to. This was my first time being kidnapped, so everything was new to me, alien.

However, “Afanasy” was a name I’d picked up from a maid's furtive whisper while she had a discreet conversation with two others.

Yesterday, I’d been walking around the mansion when I stumbled upon this cluster of women talking with hushed voices.

Basically, they were gossiping—there was no better way to say it. I wasn't sure what it was about, but I sure knew they weren't comfortable when they saw me.

I hadn’t been eavesdropping or anything; it just so happened that their whispers reached me unintentionally.

Their hushed chats had ceased the moment they realized that I was around the corner. Our eyes locked, and I felt the unease oozing out of them. They avoided my gaze, flashing awkward smiles before dematerializing in several directions.

I had my own problems to worry about, hence the reason I didn't register their conversation or give it much thought. Their gossip was irrelevant.

A couple of days had gone by, and I hadn't caught a glimpse of Afanasy—the handsome and enigmatic man who'd held me prisoner in his mansion.

I felt a pang of guilt gnawing at my mind, questioning my thoughts about him. It seemed traitorous and even blasphemous that I, a prisoner, considered my jailer handsome and attractive.

Yet, the truth lingered despite my reservations—the man was unmistakably gorgeous.

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