Page 26 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
She stood across the board in the dimly lit room, chin up, eyes devoid of emotion, even though I knew she was dying of fear. I could only imagine what she was going through at the moment, watching her fate being deliberated upon by a bunch of mean-faced men old enough to be her Father.
“She knows too much. And we have rules,” Akim said, his gaze cold as ice, his one eye shifting across the other men at the table.
Akim Antosha was one of the fiercest members of the Bratva elite, an old man in his late sixties, known for his strict adherence to the Bratva’s rules and codes. The man would even turn on his own family if the brotherhood demanded it of him.
He was a loyal dog who never questioned anything about the system. Even at his old age, his loyalty to the Bratva hadn’t wavered; he’d pick the organization over his wife and children anytime, any day. His blind loyalty was once admirable when I was younger, but as I grew older, I realized just how damaged Akim was.
“Are you saying we execute her?” Ilya asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Ilya, despite his ruthlessness, had always been a compassionate person. The old man had a weakness for women and children and would never support any agenda that would involve endangering these two categories of human beings.
He’d sent thousands of men to an early grave with no remorse whatsoever. But each time women and children were involved, he’d suddenly grow a conscience.
“She’s the reason Val’s mansion was attacked. She’s seen our operations and knows of our existence,” Damien chipped in, his voice deep and hoarse.
“She’s just a child, for Christ’s sake,” Ilya insisted, his eyes shifting across the men around him.
“A child whose presence alone has cost us important partnerships, not to mention the two men who lost their lives in the recent attack,” another, Igor, said to Ilya.
“Oh, please, like you give two shits about the men.” Ilya rolled his eyes, his tone laced with subtle fury and disdain.
“She’s in too deep now,” Akim added, reclining in his chair. “She’s seen all our faces and God-knows what else. We need to act fast.”
My gaze flicked toward her, and for the first time in a long time, something broke inside me. Watching her struggle to stay calm in the midst of all this madness was quite remarkable. Especially because she was so terrified and unsure of her future. At this point, I bet she wasn’t even sure she’d make it out of this room alive.
“Let’s put a bullet in her head,” another suggested. “Harvest her organs, sell them on the black market. That’ll make up for the deals that stupid photo cost us.”
My fingers curled into a fist on both hands, my blood boiling at the audacity in Sergie’s tone. In my head, I’d put a bullet in his skull three times already.
“I’ve always known you were sick,” Ilya said to him, his face contorting into a frown.
“I say we sell off to the highest bidder,” Damien proposed, his gaze sweeping over her figure, a smirk on his face. “She has a pretty face. I’m sure she’ll do well as a sex worker.”
Okay, that does it.
My jaw tightened, and just when I was about to rise to my feet, I felt Ilya’s pull on my hand. Fuming, I glanced at him, and he shook his head. The look in his eyes told me to let it go, that it wasn’t worth it. Out of the respect I had for him, I reluctantly adjusted in my chair.
Damien had no idea how close he’d come to having facial reconstruction surgery. His proposal pissed me off, especially the way he looked at her with so much lust in his eyes. Damien had always been a perv, and the fact that he’d already undressed her in his mind annoyed me even more.
Wren, a sex worker? I couldn’t bring myself to picture it. How dare he suggest that for her?
“No one is putting a bullet in her head,” I began, my expression dark and unreadable. “No one is selling her off either.” My gaze darted toward Damien.
I was 35, but I was the youngest at this table, and that was why I only listened in silence this entire time. But at this point, it appeared these men had decided to end her life in a miserable way. It was time I stepped in.
“Okay, then, smartass. What do you propose?” Sergie asked, throwing the question at me.
I looked up at her, then at Ilya, before dropping a response that silenced the whole room.
“Marriage.”
Stunned glances were exchanged, and time itself stood still; even the walls held their breaths.
“You must be joking,” Akim said, a frown settling on his face.
“As a matter of fact,” I replied, a self-satisfied grin playing on my lips, “I’d never been more serious in my whole life.”
Wren glared at me from her corner, her chest rising and falling with slow breaths, her misted eyes blazing with fury. Ifshe had a gun right, she’d kill every last one of us in this room. That was how mad she was. Her face had turned red, and her brows were furrowed with deep creases between them.
