Page 64 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I nod. “Sounds familiar.”

Her eyes flick to my ring. “I didn’t know you were—close to someone like him.”

“I wasn’t,” I say quickly. “It just… happened.”

That’s not the truth. Not all of it. It’s the closest thing I can manage with my pulse still rattling against my ribs.

Alina steps closer. Her voice drops. “If you ever need anything—anything—you come to me. Okay? I’m not part of this world.”

I almost laugh.

Neither was I. I nod again, slower this time. “Thanks.”

I mean it. For a second, just a breath of time, it feels like the world outside still exists. That someone remembers who I was before Kolya. That maybe, I’m not entirely alone.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, reaching out to squeeze my hand once.

Then she disappears down the corridor, heels tapping like echoes of a life I almost had.

When I return to the ballroom, Kolya is watching the door.

He always is.

His eyes find me instantly, and his jaw ticks just once when he sees who I was talking to. I don’t explain. I don’t offer anything. And he doesn’t ask.

As he takes my arm again, leading me deeper into the noise and heat, I feel it—the leash tightening.

***

The air in the car is thick with tension, heavier than before. Neither of us speaks.

Kolya’s hand rests on his thigh, fingers drumming in a slow, relentless rhythm that mirrors the pulse now thrumming between my legs. My skin still hums from the weight of his arm around my waist all evening, the slide of his hand along my spine. The memory of it burns in places I’m trying hard not to think about.

I hate how aware I’ve become of him. Hate how I notice every movement, every shift of his body. The way his shoulders roll beneath a suit tailored to perfection. The faint scent of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it—gunpowder and sin. It’s been branded into me now. I don’t even know when it started. Only that it’s always there.

We pull up to the estate and step out in silence. The sky above is clouded, a pale haze of moonlight breaking through just enough to illuminate the marble steps. I move ahead of him, needing to put space between us, needing the distance.

It’s a mistake.

The second we’re inside, I feel him behind me—close. His steps deliberate, controlled. Like a predator deciding if now is the moment to strike.

I should run. Say something sharp. Hide in one of the endless guest rooms and wait for the electricity crackling between us to fizzle out.

I keep walking, heart pounding louder with every step.

He catches me in the hallway. A dim, golden strip of light from a wall sconce paints shadows across the length of his jaw. Before I can turn, before I can even breathe, his hand grabs my arm and spins me.

I’m slammed gently—firmly—against the wall.

The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. My eyes flash upward.

He’s already there.

His body presses into mine, not enough to hurt but enough to command. Enough to remind me what he is. Who he is. How dangerous it is to want him the way I do.

His mouth is on mine before I can speak.

It’s not a kiss. It’s possession.

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