Page 47 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

He says it like it surprises him.

Like maybe he came in here expecting to gloat, or punish, or just watch me unravel—but now he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. His hand hasn’t moved from mine. His breath is close. The storm rages on outside, but inside the room, something has shifted. Tightened. Heated.

I can feel it in the stillness. In the way he watches me like I’m some equation he can’t solve.

“You don’t have to understand me,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just let me go.”

Kolya exhales slowly.

Then, without a word, he stands.

I expect him to leave.

Instead, he sits in the chair beside the bed, and stays.

Chapter Thirteen - Kolya

She’s still afraid of me.

I see it in the way her eyes follow me without moving her head. In the stiff line of her shoulders, the tension braced through every inch of her frame like she’s waiting for the next blow, the next command, the next moment I decide she’s outlived her usefulness. I don’t have to touch her to feel it. The fear clings to her skin like sweat, even under the heavy blanket, even after the thunderstorm has moved on and the sky outside has settled into a thick gray hush.

I sit across the room, half shrouded in the shadows, elbows braced on my knees. Watching.

There’s no pride in it. No satisfaction. Just a deep, gnawing unease.

She barely moves. Doesn’t speak. Her hands stay limp on the blanket, fingers curled slightly as if she might still be clinging to something in her dreams—except I know she isn’t dreaming. She hasn’t slept, not really. I can tell by the way her eyelids twitch every time the house groans or the wind shifts.

She’s awake, but nothere. Trapped inside something I can’t reach. And maybe I should be relieved—this was what I wanted, wasn’t it? For her to stop fighting. To stop testing me. To break.

Except now that I’ve won, it feels like I’ve lost something far more valuable.

The girl I took—dragged out of the hospital parking lot, stitched up at gunpoint, who glared at me like she wanted to take my head off—thatgirl burned like wildfire. She bit, clawed, spat every time I got too close. She made my blood run hot just by looking at me wrong. She kept me sharp.

She looks like ash.

I shift forward in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. Her eyes dart toward the sound. Her breathing stutters.

It makes something cold unfurl in my chest.

I stand slowly, deliberately, so she sees every movement—so there are no surprises. I step closer, then crouch beside the bed, lowering myself until I’m eye-level with her.

Her gaze snaps to mine.

Our eyes lock, and it twists something sharp in my ribs. She’s not even trying to hide it. Not because she’s brave—but because she has nothing left to protect. No pride. No fight. No wall.

I reach out, fingers brushing against her cheek, and she flinches so hard it guts me. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’tdoanything. She just breathes through it, shallow and fast.

I realize I can’t take this anymore.

I slide one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lift her into my chest. She lets out a breathless gasp—but it’s not resistance. It’s relief. Her arms wrap around my neck like muscle memory, fists clutching the fabric of my shirt, anchoring herself in me like I’m the last thing holding her to this world.

She weighs nothing.

I carry her out of the room without a word.

The house is quiet. My footsteps are soft against the floorboards. She doesn’t say anything, just clings tighter the farther we go, her face buried against my collarbone. I feel the tremble in her fingers, the silent sob she doesn’t let out.

I could bring her anywhere. Lock her up again. Chain her to the fucking wall if I wanted.

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