Page 64 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

Standing up, I throw her a smile which I hope looks reassuring and not psychotic. The panic running through me might be reflected on my face.

But she doesn’t seem to notice, and grins then returns her attention to her breakfast.

I walk quickly from the room.

“Rodion. I was wondering when you would call. Why did it take you so long?”

“I called as soon as I found out,” he snaps. “I want to talk to my sister. Where is Ruslana? Have you hurt her in any way?”

“You don’t get to make demands, Rodion. Before you speak to your sister you need to atone for the deaths of my men. There was no reason to kill them. Six men lost their lives because of you and until you have paid for that—your sister will remain out of your reach.”

I am furious about what they did to my men—but I am also grasping for anything—any reason to keep Ruslana with me.

“What are you talking about?” Rodion snaps.

“The attack at my warehouse, and the first attack. You used force that was not fair or necessary.” I shouldn’t have to explain myself. I don’t even know why I’m doing it.

“What attack?” Rodion asks, sounding deeply confused.

What the fuck is going on? Is he playing me?

He’s fucking denying what he did. That makes me even more angry.

“At least take responsibility, Rodion. Those men died at your hand and you want to treat their lives as though they are meaningless.”

“Avraam—I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. We didn’t attack you or your men. I just want my sister back, unharmed.”

I shake my head, frustration surging.

How can I talk to a man who is willing to lie so blatantly?

“Avraam—what the hell is going on?“

I hang up the phone.

My head is spinning.

If he wants to play games then I will play games too.

When he is ready to accept responsibility then we can talk. Until then, I have nothing to say to him.

But as I slide my phone back into my pocket, a memory plays in my mind.

I was so sure that Ruslana was guilty—and I was wrong.

Now I am not so sure that her brothers are guilty—what if I am wrong about this too? There is no evidence against them. We found nothing.

Ruslana is so convinced they didn’t do it she begged me to investigate.

Are the Kuznetsovs telling the truth—did they have nothing to do with what happened to my men—or—am I just becoming soft because I am too attached to Ruslana?

I pace for a moment, trying to shake the tension created by the call.

Ruslana will pick up on it and ask me what is going on.

I don’t want to tell her—but I also don’t want to lie to her.

If she doesn’t ask, I don’t have to say anything.

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