Page 3 of Bratva Baby

I lift a brow, inviting her to finish the threat. Part of me finds it ridiculous, part of me is… intrigued. She puffs out a shortbreath before glancing behind her and adding, “I’ll make sure you regret it. Got it?”

I tilt my head, considering her. The rational side of me says to ignore her entirely. Let her run to her room or wherever she’s headed, then focus on the reason I came here: dealing with her father’s possible connection to a murder. But something about her tone is hooking me. She’s naive enough to threaten a man whose name alone inspires terror in many corners of this city, yet I can’t fault her confidence.

The girl has spunk, and God help me, I find it sexy as hell.

Chapter 2 - Seraphina

I nearly fall backward when he closes the distance between us, like he’s trying to prove a point. One second, I’m spitting threats and telling this idiot to shut his mouth. The next, I’m swallowing my words because this man is towering over me, blocking my view of anything behind him. The hallway seems to shrink. His presence is so commanding it’s impossible to focus on anything else.

My heart thrashes in my chest. I still feel the rush of adrenaline from sneaking into my own home, but now there’s another layer—something I wasn’t prepared for. He looms close enough that I catch a scent that’s both pleasant and disorienting, a combination of warm spice and clean soap that doesn’t match the gritty aura I expect from someone with that stance.

He’s huge—easily a head and a half taller than me. His suit jacket stretches across broad shoulders, and when he moves, I notice the bulge of muscle in his arms. There’s nothing lean or boyish about him. He’s all power in a perfectly tailored ensemble.

He could be mid-thirties, maybe pushing forty, and that fact alone would make most women flinch. In this world, with age comes a certain brutality and ruthlessness. It’s a learned behavior. You can’t help but become jaded after witnessing so much crime and violence. But I’m not like most women. Instead of shrinking away, I square my shoulders and stand taller. If he thinks he can intimidate me just by existing, he’s got another thing coming.

But I can’t deny something about him does catch me off-guard. He doesn’t look like the other brutes who work for my dad.

His jawline looks chiseled from stone, covered in a hint of dark stubble that outlines his mouth and accentuates lips set in a hard line. His hair is ebony black, cut short on the sides and slightly longer on top, combed back with the methodicalness of someone who pays attention to detail. A faint scar crosses his left eyebrow, giving his face an intensity that draws the eye. He has the kind of features that make me want to stare.

I’m trying not to get lost in the color of his eyes—dark brown but with threads of gold swirling near the pupils. They’re locked on me in a way that sends a tingle across my skin. If he’s just a guard, he’s the most impressive one my father has ever hired. Yet something about him feels too refined for that. The fabric of his jacket doesn’t look like the standard off-the-rack suits Dad forces on his bodyguards. This is finer, with subtle stitching. I catch a glimpse of polished cufflinks gleaming at his wrists.

I press my lips together, determined not to back down, even though a part of me is screaming,What are you doing?

“Are you done?” he rumbles in a voice that threatens to knock the wind out of me. He angles his head in a way that forces me to tip my chin up if I want to keep eye contact.

My stomach clenches. “Done with what?” I shoot back, refusing to let him see how rattled I am.

His eyes narrow. “Yelling at me in your father’s hallway like you own the place.”

I grit my teeth. “I do live here,” I bite out. “And for the record, if you’re one of my father’s new hires, you might want to work on your manners.”

He leans closer, enough that I feel his body heat searing into me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Should I?” The words come out more defiant than I intend. I’m teetering between fury and wanting to jump this man’s bones.

He doesn’t answer. He just fixes me with a stare that makes me gulp. I smell his cologne again—rich, masculine, and it stirs up my nerves. My knees feel shaky, so I straighten my spine. I’m not about to let him see me sweat.

His lips curve upward. It’s not exactly a smile, but more like amusement. He backs off a fraction, giving me space to breathe. I blow out a quiet breath and scowl at him.

“Just because you’re wearing an expensive suit doesn’t give you the right to—”

He moves so quickly that I don’t have a chance to finish the sentence. Suddenly, he’s leaning in and whispering near my ear as though he’s telling me a secret. “I’ve had about enough of your attitude. Watch your mouth before you say something you regret.”

My pulse hammers. “Is that a warning?”

He straightens and adjusts his cuffs with deliberate slowness. “Take it however you want.”

He turns his back on me and heads down the hall like he’s already forgotten I exist. I stand there with heat crawling up my cheeks, watching him. Who the hell is this guy?

I watch the way his suit fits his frame and the confidence in his stride. All my earlier assumptions that he’s just a run-of-the-mill guard dissolve. My father hires brutes who do everything in black T-shirts and cargo pants, or cheap suits that they throw away after a few weeks because they get torn up on the job. This man is in a different category. The thought of myfather employing him for menial security duties starts to seem laughable.

He glances over his shoulder once and lifts his dark brow as if to say,Keep running that mouth of yours, see what happens. Then he’s gone, disappearing around a corner.

I let out a breath and try to steady myself. My heart still pounds from the adrenaline of sneaking in and colliding with that man. I tug on the bottom of my shirt, as though that might help me regain composure. What if he tells my father? A jolt of panic hits me. I threatened him, practically accused him of assault. If he works for Dad—or even if he’s something else—he might report my little escapade. But then again, if he was just passing by, maybe he doesn’t care enough to cause trouble for me.

Damn it. All I wanted was a night out with my friends. A few hours of freedom. Apparently, that was too much to ask.

I shuffle down the corridor, trying not to look too suspicious. My father’s estate has multiple wings, each laid out with immaculate decor that screams extravagance: marble floors, gold-framed paintings, plush rugs. I’ve grown up in this environment, but it’s never felt like home. Dad’s presence is all over these walls, from the antique rifles he mounts like trophies to the stiff furniture that’s more for display than comfort.

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