Page 72 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

Kolya glances at me, his jaw ticking slightly. His eyes sweep over me, searching, measuring.

“Fine,” he says after a beat. “Stay on the grounds. They’ll go with you.”

He doesn’t need to clarify whotheyare. I feel their presence before I step outside—two of his men, dressed in black, armed, quiet as ghosts. They trail behind me at a respectful distance, but they’re there all the same. I don’t care. I just need air.

The sky is pale blue, the kind that feels too bright after days indoors. The wind carries a bite, crisp and sharp, and I pull my coat tighter as I move along the garden paths. I pass trimmed hedges and cold marble statues and try to pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere normal. Somewhere free.

My footsteps slow near the edge of the garden where the property meets the tree line. The mansion looms behind me, its windows reflecting slivers of sky like indifferent eyes. I inhale deeply. Let it out.

Then a shoulder knocks into mine, hard.

I stumble a step, heart lurching.

“Sorry,” a man mutters, steadying me with one hand.

I look up and freeze. There’s a man—greasy hair, wrinkled flannel. Eyes sharp as glass shards.

“Elise?” he says.

My blood runs cold.

It’s like being punched without warning. A hollow thud in my chest. Every part of me seizes.

I know that voice. Even now. Even after all this time. It’s aged, slurred at the edges with time and liquor and spite—but I know it.

“Wh—what?” I breathe, throat closing.

“It’s me,” he says, smiling like that means something. “Your father.”

The world tilts.

My lungs forget how to work. My legs forget how to move. All I can do isfeel. The dirt beneath my shoes. The wind curling around my ears. The ghost of a memory dragging its claws up my spine.

A closet door slamming. A child’s cry echoing against wood. Bruises she learned to hide. Words she learned to never speak again.

“No,” I whisper.

His expression falters. “You remember me,” he says, like it’s something to be proud of. “I knew you’d be around here somewhere. Heard someone from the orphanage got lucky, married into money—thought maybe….”

He trails off as my eyes fill with something thick and burning.

Then the shadows close in.

Kolya’s men move fast. One grabs the stranger by the arm and shoves him back. The other steps between us, blocking my view. My body jerks in place as my father stumbles, trying to fight them, yelling something I don’t hear through the ringing in my ears.

“Don’t touch her!” he shouts. “She’s mydaughter! You hear me? I have a right!”

His voice pierces through me like a blade.

I take a step back, unthinking. Another. Suddenly, I’m being pulled. A firm grip on my arm, guiding me away, back toward the house.

“Elise—Elise, wait!”

His voice fades, and I keep moving.

I don’t look back; if I do, I’ll fall apart.

I don’t remember crossing the threshold. I don’t remember the guards saying anything. All I know is the next thing I feel is the slam of the bedroom door against my back as I close it behind me, breath torn from my chest in sharp, uneven gasps.

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