Page 84 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
“I should kill you,” I say. Not a threat. A fact. A reminder.
Her chin lifts. “Then do it.”
God help me, I don’t move.
This isn’t the girl who flinched at my threats in the beginning. This isn’t the woman who trembled under my hands in bed, whispering my name like a prayer.
This is someone else, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with her.
“Why?” I ask finally. “Why choose Tiago?”
She hesitates and for a moment, something flickers across her face—vulnerability, maybe, or the shadow of regret.
“There’s nowhere else left to go,” she says. “I’m leaving, Maxim, but I wanted to stay behind to see you one last time.”
That last part guts me. One last time.
Like she’s already written the end of the story.
I don’t realize I’ve closed the space between us until she’s close enough to touch. My hand lifts of its own accord, fingers brushing her jaw. She doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches. Mine does too.
“You don’t get to decide when this ends,” I murmur.
“Neither do you,” she replies.
We stand there, suspended. Two wolves in the same cage, tired of the hunt but unable to stop baring teeth.
I don’t let go of her face.
Her skin is cold. Or maybe it’s mine that’s burning. Hard to tell anymore. Everything feels off-balance. Tilted. She’s standing here like she belongs, like this isn’t the same woman who drove a blade into my arm, locked me in my own study, and disappeared into the night with war in her wake.
I raise an eyebrow, and it’s the only thing I can do to keep from snapping. My voice would be too much right now—too raw, too loud. I don’t trust it.
“You can’t go with them. You think I’ll let you?” I ask, but it’s quieter than I mean. Like the words are slipping past my teeth before they’re fully formed.
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her eyes flicker, not with fear, but something worse. Resolve. Whatever she’s about to say, she means it. She’s thought this through.
“Either you let me go, or you kill me. Those are your options.”
I let her go. My hand drops, heavy and reluctant, and I take a step back. Not far. Just enough to breathe. My chest feels like it’s being crushed, ribs bending in on themselves, caught between fury and—God help me—relief.
“You tried to kill me.” The words are flat. A reminder. A tether to reality.
She nods. Doesn’t deny it. “You would’ve done the same.”
“Don’t you fucking dare compare us.”
Her eyes sharpen. “Aren’t we already on the same path? You, chasing revenge. Me, chasing justice. Isn’t that what all this is?”
“You think stabbing me and running into the arms of your brother is justice?”
“I think survival doesn’t come clean,” she says. “I think if I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
I laugh. A dark, humorless thing. “You still think you’ll walk out of this safehouse alive?”
“I didn’t come to walk out.”
That stuns me. I stare at her, really stare. Her voice doesn’t waver. Her spine is straight, her chin lifted. She’s not bluffing.
