Page 13 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

A muffled sound seeps through the thick door. Crying. Begging. Kris’s voice, though strained and almost unrecognizable.

“Please… please, Boss… I’ll fix it… I swear!”

My breath catches, my fingers hovering over the knob. For a moment, I consider walking away, but something about his tone—a mix of terror and desperation—roots me in place. Slowly, I press my ear to the door.

Another voice cuts through, low and calm but laced with something sharp. “You’ve already had your chance, Kris. You wasted it.”

That voice.

My chest tightens as a memory floods back—whispered words against my skin, a deep timbre that sent shivers down my spine.

I push the door open just a crack, enough to see inside without drawing attention to myself.

Kris is on the floor, his face streaked with tears, blood trickling from his nose. His arms are bound behind him, and he’s shaking so hard I can almost feel it from here.

Then there’s him.

Makar.

He stands over Kris like a predator looming over its prey, his posture relaxed but radiating a quiet, lethal authority. He’s dressed impeccably, his dark suit tailored to perfection, but it’s his face that holds me captive. The sharp lines of his jaw, the piercing blue of his eyes—they’re the same, yet different.

That night in the hotel, his gaze had been intense but full of fire, drawing me in, making me feel alive. Now, those same eyes are cold, unyielding. He’s like a different person entirely.

A chill runs down my spine, my pulse quickening as I watch him crouch in front of Kris, his movements deliberate.

“Do you know the difference between power and weakness?,” he asks, his voice so quiet it makes the hairs on my arms stand up

Kris doesn’t reply, shivering and shaking like a wet dog.

Makar tilts his head, studying Kris like he’s some kind of pathetic insect. “Power,” he says coolly, “is earned. It’s built on respect, on loyalty. Weakness? Weakness is what you’ve shown tonight. It’s greed. Cowardice. Exploiting those who can’t fight back.”

I press my hand against the doorframe, the weight of his words pressing down on me. This is a side of him I didn’t see that night, a side I couldn’t have imagined.

“Boss, please,” Kris cries, his voice breaking.

Makar straightens, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket. When he pulls out a sleek black pistol, my stomach drops.

I barely hold back a gasp, my heart racing as he checks the weapon with casual precision.

“Do you want to know what disgusts me most about you?” Makar asks, his voice soft, almost contemplative. “It’s not that you betrayed me. It’s that you did it so… sloppily. No honor. No thought. Just mindless greed.”

I can’t look away, frozen in place as Kris sobs harder, his pleas turning into incoherent babbling.

“You’re not just a failure, Kris. You’re a liability. I don’t keep liabilities.”

Makar doesn’t flinch. His expression remains unreadable, detached. Slowly, he raises the gun, pointing it directly at Kris’s head.

The weight of the moment suffocates me, and I grip the doorframe tightly, my knuckles white.

And then—

BANG!

The sound is deafening, even through the partially open door. Kris’s body collapses, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

I slap a hand over my mouth, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. My legs tremble, and for a moment, I think I might fall, but I force myself to stay still.

Makar lowers the gun, his movements calm and deliberate as he slides it back into his holster. His gaze sweeps over Kris’s body, then shifts to Andrei, who stands by the wall, arms crossed.

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