Page 68 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

"Keep moving!" I bark at the stragglers, my voice sharp enough to cut through their panic. "The exit's right there. Don't make me carry you out myself."

They hurry past, coughing and stumbling. I turn, ready to follow, when a flicker of movement catches my eye. My heart lurches, recognition hitting me like a punch to the gut.

That silhouette. I'd know it anywhere.

"Impossible," I whisper.

He moves like a ghost through the smoke, familiar and yet so foreign. It can't be him. It shouldn't be him. But my instincts scream otherwise.

"Hey!" I shout, my voice carrying a hint of desperation I despise. "Stop right there! The exit is this way!"

He doesn't listen.

I hesitate, torn between getting the hell out of here and the burning need to follow him.

The smoke thickens, threatening to swallow his retreating form. I know I should let him go. But what if it’s someone else who needs my help?

I spin around, my eyes locking on a senior employee. "Get these people out," I command, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I need to check something."

He nods, his weathered face etched with concern. "Be careful, Miss. This place could come down any minute."

"I always am," I retort, already moving. My long legs eat up the distance as I dart after the mysterious figure, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The factory floor is a maze of twisted metal and billowing smoke. I weave through it all, my eyes never leaving the shadowy form ahead. He moves with a practiced ease that only confirms my suspicions. This is no panicked worker. This is someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

"Stop!" I shout again, knowing it's futile. My voice is swallowed by the crackling flames and groaning metal.

My lungs burn with every breath, but I push on. I can't let him slip away. Not if it is who I think he is.

"He always did like to play games," I mutter under my breath, ducking under a fallen beam.

As I round a corner, I catch a glimpse of his face in profile. My suspicions crystallize into cold, hard certainty. It's him, alright.

Suddenly, the fire seems too convenient, too well-timed. My eyes narrow as suspicion coils in my gut.

The chase leads us out of the inferno, and I see him exit through a door. Without a thought, I follow, certain I can’t let him get away.

I’m hit with a burst of fresh air and find myself in a narrow alley. The roar of the fire fades, replaced by the pounding of my heart and the echo of our footsteps. I corner him against a brick wall, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Nowhere left to run," I say, my voice cutting through the night air. "Now, what the hell are you doing here?"

He turns slowly, and I now realize my instincts were right all along. Alexei Volkov, the man I once deceived, is now standing before me with eyes that burn hotter than the fire we just escaped.

"Kira," he drawls, his voice a mix of venom and amusement. "Still playing the hero, I see. Or should I say, Sofia Orlov?"

I straighten my spine, refusing to be intimidated by his towering presence. "And you're still lurking in shadows, causing destruction. Some things never change."

Alexei's lips curl into a sneer. "Oh, but things have changed, haven't they? You're not the innocent little girl I remember."

"And you're not the powerful gangster you used to be," I retort, my green eyes narrowing. "Now, tell me why you're here."

He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to back away. "Maybe I just wanted to see how you've grown up, Sofia."

I clench my fists. "Cut the act, Alexei. What do you want?"

Alexei's jaw clenches, and I can see the bitterness etched into every line of his face. "You want to know what I want, Sofia? I want back everything your husband took from me."

His words hit me like a physical blow, but I keep my expression neutral. "Is that why you're here? Revenge?"

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