Page 52 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

“Who else knows about it?”

“Roman. My brothers. A small staff who maintain it year-round and have been with the family long enough that I trust them completely.” I held her gaze. “Nobody outside that circle. Not even Varley knew its exact location, only that it existed.”

I watched her weigh it, some quiet negotiation happening behind her tired, red-rimmed eyes. And then, probably for the first time since I’d known her, she didn’t argue.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Something in my chest eased slightly at that, at the relief of not having to fight her on something this necessary. On the other side, though, the ease of her agreement told me plainly enough how frightened tonight had actually left her.

“I need you to understand something,” I said, holding her gaze steadily. “This isn’t me controlling your movements, or deciding for you the way I might have handled things before any of this started. This is survival. Distance is the only variable I can currently guarantee, and I intend to use it.”

“I know.” She reached up, her hand touching my face gently, the same gesture I’d used on her so many times now offered back to me. “I’m not fighting you on this, Dmitri. I understand exactly what tonight means. I felt it firsthand.”

I held her a while longer in the quiet living area, security still working through the building’s remaining vulnerabilities somewhere beyond these walls. At least for now, I had bought us both something we badly needed.

Distance. Time. A chance to breathe.

Roman returned once transport arrangements were confirmed, briefing me quietly near the door while Val gathered what few things she’d need, moving through the motions like someone functioning on autopilot rather than genuine steadiness. If Nadia weren’t off duty, I would have made her do the packing. Hell, I would have done it myself if I didn’t know it might make her uncomfortable.

“Plane’s ready within the hour,” Roman said. “Pilot’s cleared, flight path routed through two decoy filings to obscure the actual destination. Nobody outside this building will know where you’ve actually landed until you’re already there.”

“Good.”

“I’ll stay here and run point with Nikolai on the investigation. You’ll have a secure line if anything urgent comes up, but otherwise, I’d suggest treating this the way it’s meant to be treated. An actual withdrawal, not a working vacation where you spend the whole time on calls with me.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder than that, Dmitri. She needs you present, not half-present while your attention stays here.” Roman’s voice carried none of its usual teasing edge. “You’ve earned a few days of actually being somewhere else. Take them. And if you still need someone to blame for this, blame me. I’m your right-hand.”

I couldn’t say anything in response to him.

But I knew this: I needed Val to be out of here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Valentina

The island felt unreal in a way I couldn’t fully put into words.

Warm, humid air replaced the harsh, dry heat of the Las Vegas desert, settling over my skin like something gentler than anything I’d felt in months. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, quiet and untamed in a way that stood in stark contrast to the artificial chaos of the Strip. There was no neon, no sirens, no constant hum of danger sitting underneath every ordinary moment.

For the first time in weeks, I felt calm. It felt fragile and unfamiliar in my chest, like a muscle I’d forgotten how to use properly, but it was there and growing steadier the longer we stayed.

Dmitri stayed close from the moment we arrived, not hovering exactly, but present. Like he wanted to be near me simply because he wanted to be, not because some threat required his constant vigilance.

The house itself sat modest, low and open, all wide windows and simple wood finishes rather than the marble and glass style of the penthouse.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” I said, standing in the open living space that led directly out onto a wide wooden deck overlooking the water.

“I built it that way on purpose. Everything else in my life gets built for scale, for impression, for whatever message it needs to send to whoever’s watching. This place was never meant to impress anyone.” Dmitri set down the small bag he’d carried in himself, glancing around the space with something almost nostalgic behind his expression. “I come here when I need to remember what quiet actually feels like.”

“How often is that?”

“Not often enough, historically.” He gave me a small, tired smile. “I’m hoping that changes.”

That evening, before the beach walk, one of the staff prepared a simple dinner on the deck overlooking the water, grilled fish and vegetables served without any of the elaborate presentation I’d grown used to at the penthouse. An older woman named Marisol introduced herself warmly, explaining she’d kept this house running for nearly a decade, since before Dmitri had acquired it.

“He doesn’t bring people here,” she told me quietly, while Dmitri was busy checking the environment for any security threat, even though he’d said he wanted to ‘remember what the place feels like.’ “Not in all the years I’ve worked this place. You should know that.”