Page 20 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“Serena.”

I don’t turn around. “What?”

“Next time you want attention,” he says quietly, “come directly to me instead of using my soldiers as proxies. It will save everyone a great deal of trouble.”

The implication in those words makes my face burn. I wrench open the door and leave without responding, my heart still racing as I make my way back through the restricted wing.

Only when I’m safely in my room with the door closed do I let myself process what just happened.

He touched me. Deliberately, strategically, knowing exactly what effect it would have. And worse—so much worse—I let him. I responded. I stood there breathless and wanting while the man who kidnapped and forced me into marriage proved he could make my body betray every principle I have.

I sink onto the bed, pressing my hands to my flushed cheeks.

This is what Pavel does. He identifies weaknesses and exploits them with surgical precision. Today he discovered a vulnerability I didn’t even know I had, and now he’ll use it as leverage whenever necessary.

I can’t let it happen again. Iwon’t.

Chapter Eight - Pavel

The basement level of the mansion serves a very specific purpose, one that most of the household staff carefully avoids acknowledging. Soundproofed walls, reinforced doors, security systems that ensure complete privacy. It’s where internal problems are handled.

Tonight’s problem is named Dmitri Popov, a mid-level operative who’s been with the organization for three years. Long enough to earn a degree of trust. Long enough to know that betraying that trust carries severe consequences.

The evidence is conclusive: phone records showing contact with members of the Kravin Syndicate, encrypted messages discussing shipment schedules and security protocols, financial deposits that don’t match his legitimate income. He’s been feeding information to our rivals for at least two months, possibly longer.

The only question remaining is how much damage he’s caused and whether anyone else is involved.

I arrive at the basement security room to find Dmitri already restrained in the chair, two of my most reliable guards—Viktor and Sergei—positioned on either side. Mikhail stands near the back wall, arms crossed, his expression coldly analytical as he reviews the tablet containing Dmitri’s communication records.

Dmitri looks up when I enter, and I watch the fear flicker across his features before he tries to mask it with defiance. He’s young, maybe twenty-eight, and clearly thought he was being clever enough to avoid detection.

He was wrong.

“Mr. Rudenko,” he starts, his voice only slightly unsteady. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No misunderstanding.” I pull up a chair and sit directly in front of him, close enough that he can’t avoid my gaze. “We have your phone records, your bank statements, copies of every message you sent to the Kravin contacts. The evidence is comprehensive.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I can explain.”

“You can confess,” I correct calmly. “Explanations are for people who made mistakes. You made a choice. Multiple choices, over multiple months, to betray this organization and put your brothers at risk.”

“They threatened my family!”

“Everyone has family.” I lean forward slightly. “That’s not an excuse. You chose to compromise our operations and endanger everyone in this organization.”

Mikhail moves closer, setting the tablet on the small table beside us. “The Kravin Syndicate used the information you provided to intercept three of our shipments. We lost over two million in product, and four men were injured in the ambush at the harbor facility.”

Dmitri’s face goes pale. “I didn’t know they would. I thought they just wanted schedules, I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think,” I agree. “That’s the problem.”

I stand, moving around behind him. Viktor and Sergei shift position automatically, ready to restrain him if he tries anything foolish.

Dmitri just sits there, trembling slightly, finally understanding the full scope of what he’s done.

“Who else is involved?” I ask, my tone conversational. “I need names, positions, how long they’ve been compromised.”

“No one else, I swear it was just me.”