Page 36 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
I swallow hard, the taste of it bitter on my tongue.
Without breaking the lock, I slowly look away, turning back toward the house. My footsteps are light, but every step echoes in the hollow space inside me.
I walk back inside before I can name what that moment really was.
Before I can face the truth, because whatever it is—this silent claim—belongs to him. In this house, under his watchful eyes, it might be all that ever is mine.
Chapter Twelve - Maxim
I stand beside Tiago, the morning light weak against the cold, steel walls of the interrogation room. The air smells sharp, a bitter blend of sweat, fear, and stale tobacco.
Between us, slumped in the heavy leather chair, is the man they call Uncle. Older, with graying hair matted against a bloodied forehead. His wrists are bound tightly, the ropes biting into his skin. His eyes flicker with desperation—sharp, wild, trying to anchor himself.
Tiago’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady. “This is our uncle. The man we suspect.” He nods toward the figure. “He was seen near the estate the morning Kiera was poisoned. Ate a meal with her.”
The man’s eyes flicker to me, pleading beneath bruised lids. His voice cracks, thick with a hoarse accent. “I would never—never harm my own family. Especially not Kiera.” His hands tremble, reaching up as if to touch an invisible shield. “I came to check on her. She is my brother’s daughter. I love her.”
I take a step closer. The sound is soft, but my presence weighs like a hammer. “Then why was she the only one poisoned?” My voice drops, colder than the steel walls around us.
His eyes dart, searching mine for an answer that won’t come. The silence stretches, suffocating and absolute. No words follow. Only the faint ragged breath of a man who knows he’s caught.
I don’t give him the chance to lie again.
There’s no threat. No warning. No drawn-out game of intimidation. None of that matters anymore. The moment the question hangs unanswered, the choice is made.
I raise my hand, fingers curling like iron clamps, and the blade finds its mark. It’s swift—too swift for the man to react. A silent fracture of bone, a breath cut short, and his head lolls to the side.
Tiago turns away, his face draining of color. His stomach clenches, like he’s swallowed broken glass. I hear the catch in his breath, the moment when everything inside him breaks. I do not flinch.
This is what protection looks like.
It isn’t pretty. It isn’t mercy. It’s brutal. Necessary.
I watch the life bleed from the man’s eyes, staining the floor like spilled ink.
Tiago swallows hard, voice barely a whisper. “He was family….”
I don’t answer. There’s no comfort to offer, and no consolation. Just the cold weight of the truth. The people who threaten her—who threaten us—all get the same fate.
It’s the price of crossing the Sharov name.
I turn, eyes scanning the room. Nothing left but the ghost of a man and the faint scent of blood.
My thoughts drift—not to regret, not to hesitation, but to the girl waiting at the estate. Kiera. She’s poison and fire, a storm I’m meant to cage. If anyone thinks they can hurt her, they’re mistaken.
Tiago steps closer, voice quieter now, trying to steady himself. “We have to be careful. If this uncle is the one… then there are others.”
I nod. “Then we find them, and we finish this.”
He looks at me, eyes full of doubt and something else—fear.
I have no fear left.
***
The house is quiet when I return. Dim light seeps through heavy curtains, pooling faintly on polished floors. The silence feels like a weight, pressing in from every corner. It’s a stillness I’m not used to, one that doesn’t offer comfort—only space for the mind to wander.
A faint noise drifts from upstairs. A soft shuffle, careful steps that shouldn’t be here at this hour. The house should be asleep. Everyone should be asleep.
