Page 75 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

“No.” I look away. “I just wanted him to say sorry. I just wanted to knowwhy.”

Kolya exhales through his nose, like he’s heard this story a hundred times before.

“You won’t get answers from a man like that,” he says. “Only regrets.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from crying.

He moves suddenly, reaching forward—and for a split second I flinch. But his hand doesn’t go to my throat or my waist or any of the places he usually touches. It lands gently at the side of my face, thumb brushing under my eye.

“There’s no room for ghosts here,” he says. “Let them rot where they belong.”

His touch is warm. I close my eyes. For a moment, just one, I let him hold my face.

His hand stays on my cheek, thumb moving in slow, absent circles under my eye, like he’s trying to wipe away something that isn’t there. I don’t lean into it, but I don’t pull away either. I don’t know if it’s comfort or control, this moment between us. Maybe both.

Maybe that’s the problem.

“You think it’s that simple?” I whisper, eyes still closed. “Just—forget him?”

Kolya doesn’t answer right away. I feel his breath when he speaks again, low and near. “I think it’s survival.”

That word tastes like blood in my mouth.

He doesn’t understand. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care. Survival means something different to him—power, control, violence wielded like a scalpel. For me, it meant silence. Hiding bruises under sleeves. Smiling when it hurt. Disappearing before someone noticed I existed.

Survival was a closet door and hours of darkness with no one coming back.

I open my eyes and meet his gaze. He’s watching me too closely. Like he’s waiting for me to crack. Like part of him wants to see it happen.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

His expression doesn’t change. “You didn’t come down to dinner.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Sorry. I wasn’t feeling very social after being ambushed by a man who used to lock me in the dark.”

His hand falls away from my face. It’s just as well, the warmth of it was starting to get to me.

“I didn’t bring him here,” he says coolly.

“No,” I say, wrapping the blanket tighter. “He found me anyway. Which makes me wonder how safe your little empire really is.”

That earns me a flash of temper in his eyes, brief but unmistakable. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t like the implication. Doesn’t like being told he’s not in control.

I push further. “Was he just lucky?” I ask. “Or were you too busy dealing with your ex to notice who else might be creeping around?”

The silence after that is heavy. Like I cracked something open we’re both pretending doesn’t exist.

Kolya’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You’re angry.”

“No shit,” I snap.

“Not just about him.”

That stops me. My mouth opens, then shuts again. I look away.

He’s right, and we both know it.

I’m not just angry about my father. I’m angry abouteverything. About this life, this prison wrapped in luxury, this man who holds me like a weapon one minute and a lover the next. I’m angry that he affects me. That Ilethim affect me.

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