Page 84 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

“Pull the cameras,” I bark.

Two of my men scramble. Within seconds the screens in my office flicker to life. I watch it unfold in reverse—the too-quiet hallway, the carefully timed shift change, the west-wing service door she never should’ve known about.

Then I see her.

A dark blur in the hallway, slipping barefoot past the guards like a wraith.

And then… him. The bastard. The one who called himself her father.

He’s waiting for her near the bridge There’s a flash of his profile—grizzled, lean, jittery like a man who’s spent too many years running and not enough sleeping. He says something. Leans in.

I see her hesitate, then nod and go with him.

My jaw clenches so hard I feel something crack.

I watch her walk into a trap.

My woman.

The woman who’s mine in every way that matters. Who I’ve fought for. Bled for. Marked with my ring, my hands, my protection. And she walked out on me like none of it mattered.

She thought she was being clever. Thought she was beingcareful.

She was wrong.

I grab the edge of the desk and flip it in one clean motion. The wood crashes against the bookshelf, shattering the silence like thunder. Boris flinches in the doorway.

Boris is the only one who steps closer.

“Cameras from the bridge?” I ask, voice low.

“Already checking,” he replies. “We’ve got word. She’s not with the father anymore. She’s been taken.”

My nostrils flare. “By who?”

“Don’t know yet, but they moved fast. Had it ready. Must’ve been watching him. Watchingher.”

The rage in my chest hardens into something colder.

They touched what’s mine. They dared…

“She thought it was her choice,” I murmur, my voice a whisper that makes the men around me go still. “She thought she was chasing answers.”

“She got played,” Boris says flatly.

“No,” I snap. “Igot played.”

I pace the room once, trying to leash the animal inside me. My thoughts won’t stop spiraling. I see her face when I left. That smug little act she was putting on. The way she sat there like she didn’t care. And I let her. I let herthinkshe had power.

I should’ve never left her alone, I should’ve chained her to my fucking bed.

Now she’s gone. Taken. My Elise.

“I want names,” I growl. “I want the van. The route. I want to know which one of my men looked the other way.”

“They’ll talk,” Boris assures me. “Or they’ll bleed until they do.”

I nod once. Someone’s going to pay for this.

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