Page 18 of Forced Bratva Hostage

“I'm serious, brother,” Roman said, his voice tinged with a hint of austerity. “At this point in your life, you need a wife. It's high time you found one and settled down, don't you think?”

“You sound like Uncle Ivan right now,” I remarked, my lips curling into a smile.

“Well, if he was alive, he'd tell you the same thing,” Roman replied, not losing any of the seriousness.

He was right.

I was 39 already and would be turning forty soon. The thought of settling had crossed my mind more than a few times, especially after seeing how happy and fulfilled my brother was.

My cousin, Kostya, had a good thing going on with his wife, Madelyn, as didPakhanArtem with his own wife, Sierra.

I admired these men and how they adored their wives, but I just hadn't found a suitable woman yet.

My mind flashed back to the petite baby-faced brunette in my guest room. I didn't realize a smile had perched on my lips at the thought of her until I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror.

The automated gates parted, and I drove into the compound.

“Thank you, brother. I'll think about it,” I said, respectfully dismissive.

“Yeah, you do that.”

“I will.”

I hung up the phone.

As I pulled over, the sound of gravel crunching beneath my tires filled the air. I killed the engine, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the car.

I'd come home earlier today because, according to Olga, my chef, Wren would always come downstairs at this time of the day to have her daily ration.

Usually, I'd still be at the office working by now, but I needed to have a word with my little prisoner.

The corners of my mouth curled into a sly smirk, recalling the incident she’d witnessed yesterday.

I climbed the long steps at the entrance, then pushed the front door open and walked in.

With a hand in my pocket, I glided through the opulent living room, and as I approached the dinner table, I locked eyes with her.

Wren, in a nice flowered dress, stood frozen at the base of the stairs, her breath lodged in her throat. Shock flickered in her gaze, her grip on the polished handrail tightening as she swallowed, her throat bobbing.

It was exactly the look I was hoping to catch on her face, and it was priceless. She hadn't seen me for days and wasn't expecting my return.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” I said, stepping forward, my gaze unwavering.

She blinked a few times, her chest heaving subtly. She raised her left foot above a step as if ready to race back up the stairs.

“Ah-ah-ah.” I wagged my finger in warning. “Don't even think about it.”

She stared at me, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and anxiety, and lowered her foot.

I nodded toward the dining table. “You were about to eat, weren't you?”

She wouldn't speak, nor would she break eye contact.

“Go on,” I beseeched, gesturing toward the table. “Take a seat.”

She hesitated for a moment, her frame rigid with tension. However, as the silence between us lengthened and my expression softened, I watched her shoulders relax subtly.Her breathing slowed, and her heaving chest steadied as she whispered a quiet sigh as if releasing her tension.

With eyes still locked on mine, she stepped forward, her feet gliding across the fine marble floor. Wren pulled out a chair and sat on it.

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