Page 41 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

It felt like anchoring, like two people reminding each other, with everything except words, that they were both still here and choosing each other despite the situation.

Dmitri held me like he was trying to press the memory of my safety into his hands, watching my face throughout with an intensity that had stripped away every last trace of strategy or calculation.

I ground my hips into him without hesitation, driving us both to body-shuddering, back-scratching peaks.

“I trust you, Dmitri,” I breathed as my core tightened around him in preparation for the second orgasm.

He claimed my lips in a hungry kiss, holding me even tighter against his chest.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, my head resting against his chest where I could feel his heartbeat becoming steady and calm.

For a while, the world outside disappeared entirely. No Vale. No retaliation plan waiting to unfold in the coming days. No fear about crowded lounges or the uncertainty of loving a man whose survival was never fully guaranteed.

It was just him. Just the warm, solid weight of his arms around me. The rhythm of his breathing slowly pulling me toward sleep despite everything still waiting.

For once, I didn’t think about danger at all.

I only thought about him.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said.

“I promise to try.”

“That’s not—”

“I know, baby.”

Chapter Eighteen

Dmitri

We’d planned the operation down to the smallest detail.

We had entry points mapped and timed. Contingencies built for every reasonable variation of resistance, from armed pushback to a full evacuation attempt. Roman had run the logistics twice, cross-checking every angle against what we knew of Vale’s typical security patterns at that particular pub.

So I had expected counter-moves. I had expected surveillance interference, maybe even a trap waiting for us the moment we breached the doors.

I’d spent the drive out reviewing the plan one final time in my head. It had become a ritual I’d developed over the years before any operation that mattered to run through contingencies until they felt less like possibilities and more like memories I’d already lived through. Four men on the strike team, positioned at staggered intervals. Roman coordinating from the van. A clean, fast entry designed to make a point without unnecessary bloodshed, precise enough that even Vale would understand exactly what message we intended to send.

What I hadn’t expected was silence. And that was exactly what we were met with.

The pub sat dark and empty when we pulled the surveillance van into position two blocks out. It was the type of stillness that told me something was wrong before Roman had finished running his final check of the building’s exterior cameras.

“No lights,” Roman said, frowning at the feed on the small monitor between us. “No movement. No staff cars in the back lot.”

“Poker night was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.”

“It was.” He pulled up the schedule we’d confirmed through two separate sources a week earlier, the same information that had anchored this entire operation. “According to this, we should be looking at a packed house right now.”

We sat there a moment longer, both of us staring at the empty building glowing faintly on the van’s monitor.

“They knew,” I pointed out.

“You don’t know that yet, boss.”

“I know it well enough. Look at it, Roman. This isn’t an intelligence failure on our end. Somebody canceled that game, cleared the staff, and made certain this building was empty before we ever got close.” I felt the cold clarity settle over me. “This operation was compromised before it began.”

“Who knew the timing?” I asked, though I already had the list memorized.