Page 52 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

“You’re my fiancée now,” he says simply.

The words hang in the air like a gunshot.

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the smirk to fade and for him to admit this is one more game. One more twisted way to assert control. But he just sips his drink.

“What?”

He shrugs. “You saw things you weren’t supposed to. The usual solution is a bullet. I like you. So, marriage.”

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Are youinsane?”

“Probably,” he says, a little too easily. “That’s beside the point.”

“You don’t just—justdecidesomething like this.”

“I do.”

“No. Absolutely not. This is… this is kidnapping. Blackmail. Delusional.”

He smiles, slow and self-satisfied. “Elise,everythingI do is delusional. That’s why it works.”

I shake my head, reeling. “You can’t marry me. We’re not—there’s nowe. You’re a monster. You killed people. You had me taken from my job, locked me in a basement—”

“Now I’ve upgraded you to a mansion,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

I lunge at him, shoving at his chest. “Take it. Now.”

His hand catches my wrist mid-push, grip firm, unyielding. “I can’t.”

“Yes, youcan—”

“No,” he says, voice lower now, the amusement fading just enough to show something colder underneath. “Because it’s not just a ring. It’s a message.”

“Towho?”

“To everyone.”

He steps in closer, and I instinctively step back—but not far enough. His body crowds mine, the scent of him—smoke, cedar, danger—wrapping around me in a way that makes my skin hum.

“You’re not just a hostage anymore,” he says. “You’re mine.”

“You think that means I’m safe?”

“I know it does.” His fingers brush lightly down the side of my arm, infuriatingly tender. “No one touches what’s mine.”

I hate how the words curl heat in my gut. “You can’t protect me fromyourself,” I whisper.

His smile is wicked. “I won’t have to. I wanna keep you alive, Elise. That wasn’t part of the plan, but plans change.”

My breath catches as he brushes a thumb just beneath my jaw, lifting my chin.

I should slap him. Instead, I freeze.

Something in his eyes flickers—not softness, never that—but something real. Possessive. Unapologetic.Honest, in a twisted, dangerous way.

“You don’t get to own me,” I say, but my voice is shaking now. Less from fear, more from the raw, maddening confusion he always leaves in his wake.

“You’re already wearing my ring.”

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