Page 23 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

The words cut sharper than they should.

I grit my teeth and take a sip of the drink. It burns down my throat, but it doesn’t quiet the echo.

She should’ve cried. Should’ve begged. Instead, shelookedat me—like she saw through the silence, the control, the violence. Like she knew something I didn’t want her to know.

It’s not fear keeping her alive. It’s defiance.

I tell myself it’s arrogance. Just a doctor with too much education and too little understanding of the world she’s been dragged into. Just another fool who doesn’t know how close she is to bleeding out on a floor she’ll never see again.

Something about her lingers.

***

Yuri stirs with a ragged groan.

I’m already in the chair beside the mattress when it happens. The sun hasn’t crested fully over the treetops outside, and the light slanting through the window is gray and thin, barely cutting through the gloom in the room. The fireplace burns low behind me, but the warmth barely touches the chill that’s settled into the floorboards, the walls, my bones.

He’s been unconscious since the doctor—Elise—patched him up. I’ve checked his vitals myself. Not because I don’t trust her work, but because I don’t trustanythingI can’t verify with my own eyes.

Yuri’s been nothing but dead weight for the last twelve hours, breathing just enough to remind me he’s still in this world.

Until now.

He moves again, eyelids fluttering, lips parting as his head rolls toward me. His skin is still pale, clammy, and his voice when it comes is barely a whisper—just breath and desperation tangled together.

“Kolya….”

I lean forward, tension snapping through my spine like a trigger.

“I’m here,” I say, voice low. “Speak.”

He swallows, mouth moving, but no sound comes for a moment. Then—

“…wasn’t supposed… the deal….” A shallow breath. “…Viktor….”

My hand fists against my thigh. “Viktor who?”

Yuri’s eyes roll back. His mouth opens again, trying to shape the words. But they don’t come. A garbled syllable. A cough. Then his body goes limp again, breath wheezing out in short, uneven spurts. His face twists in pain, and just like that, he’s gone again—dragged back under by fever and fatigue.

I don’t move. Not for a long time.

Viktor.

I need more. The name doesn’t make sense. It doesn’tfit,butYuri isn’t the type to throw lies when his brain’s half fried. Which means whatever he was trying to say—

“Boss,” Boris says from the doorway. “She’s ready.”

Perfect timing.

I stand and adjust my cuffs, then nod for him to bring her in. My pulse is steady, but there’s a sharp edge building in my chest, something hot and bitter. This was supposed to be over by now. Clean. Contained.

Instead, I’m left chasing ghosts and riddles from a man who should’ve died before I ever laid eyes on him again.

Footsteps echo down the hall—hers. Light, measured. No panic in them. No fight, either. She’s learned enough to be quiet, but not enough to fear me properly.

Elise enters the room with her chin lifted, posture stiff. Her arms are crossed, and her face is clean this time—though her clothes still carry the marks of last night. Wrinkled, stained at the collar. She hasn’t been allowed to change.

Her eyes land on Yuri, then flick to me. “He’s awake?”

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