Page 43 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

“And what do you know about business?” I tease her, not expecting it to be much at all.

She grins, “I know how it works with the legitimate business covering the tracks of the illegal processes. Money laundering. And I know how my brothers handled their orders and deliveries and I can put together a very good shipment schedule if I need to.”

I listen to her talking about what she’s learned from books and from watching her brothers. It seems they never blatantly taught her anything—but she decided at some point that she wanted to know, and she went out of her way to find out. People who are willing to teach themselves, without help or guidance from others—those are very determined and very skilled individuals. I never thought this pretty little girl would be that kind of person. But I have been wrong about her before—I keep discovering that—and I should stop making assumptions about who she is and rather find out for myself.

She is chatting away happily, telling me the things she’s learned. I’m really impressed with her, taken aback by her extensive knowledge of money laundering.

After a while she sighs and smiles, “I couldn’t let them leave me behind. They were all learning—growing as people and capable of taking over the family business if one of them got sick or needed help. I wanted to know everything, too. What if one day I need to work for myself? I don’t want to just be some useless girl.”

“Do your brothers know you taught yourself all of these things?”

“No, not at all. All they do is shield me from everything. They think I need to be protected to the point where they barely let me make any decisions for myself at all. But I figured out a way.” She grins, “If you want something badly enough, you can get it.”

She seems passionate about this. Determined and resourceful.

When the conversation slows down a little, though—I see tension return to her body and she keeps looking around the room as though she is waiting for something to happen.

She’s been completely safe inside this house since the beginning, so I can’t figure out what would make her feel otherwise.

Is it because of me?

She looks unhappy. I am the only person she has interacted with the entire time she’s been here—so it must be from what happened this morning.

I want her to talk to me, though. To tell me what is going on with her. If it is because of what happened this mornin,g we should discuss it. Maybe she thinks I will try again or make her do something she doesn’t want to do. I’d rather confirm with herthat it will never happen. Like I did this morning. I will reassure her again if it helps her relax.

“You don’t look very happy this evening, Ruslana. Is something bothering you that you want to talk about?” I ask.

Her eyes shoot wide as though she is confused about how I could read her so well. She doesn’t know that she wears her emotions out in the open. “Um, no, everything is fine,” she lies.

I can see straight through her. She fidgets and shifts when she isn’t telling the truth. She’s a terrible liar.

I shake my head. Staring straight into her eyes, I say, “Bullshit. Just tell me what’s on your mind. You are clearly upset about something. Did something happen while I was at work?” I demand, more forcefully than before.

She chews at her lips.

I am about to ask her again when she opens her mouth, hesitates, then finally says, “I’m very alone here. All day, I wander around the mansion and it’s a little scary, it’s such a big place. Anything could go wrong. There isn’t anyone to talk to. I’m so used to going out all the time and seeing my friends. I’m not used to spending all day alone. I just—I really want to be free, Avraam.” She sighs, heavy with misery. But how can I fix that? I can’t let her go. It’s completely out of the question. I don’t even know how to respond to her. I feel my jaw muscles feathering as I avert my eyes from her gaze. Guilt seeping into me.

She’s asking too much of me.

I sigh, setting my fork down. My stomach knotting with tension. I can’t even finish my food. Things have taken a turn in our conversation and all I want to do is get out of the room.

I hate that I am doing this to her. I don’t want to be the reason she isn’t happy.

“I can’t let you go home, Ruslana,” I say slowly, articulating my words and hoping she won’t make me repeat myself.

She looks up at me, her eyes sad, a lost expression on her face. “Will youeverlet me go—what is going to happen to me?” she asks the question as though she is afraid of the answer.

It makes it worse because I don’t have an answer for her. I can’t tell her what will happen to her. Things are still moving forward with my plans against her brothers—but no one knows I have her yet.

For now, she is my secret.

“I think it’s time to call it a night,” I say, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up. The look in her eyes is grating at me, bothering me more than I want to admit. I can’t let myself feel guilt for taking her—or keeping her here. She is my prisoner. She serves a purpose, and I don’t have to answer any of her questions.

She slowly sets her chopsticks down and pushes her plate away.

“I understand,” she says softly.

“What do you understand?” I snap, not meaning to sound so aggressive. I am angry at myself—not her. I mustn’t take it out on her.

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