Page 56 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

“You say that like you actually get much of it, given how often your phone’s been ringing since we landed.” She raised an eyebrow at me, something dry and affectionate in the expression that reminded me of how much I loved this particular version of her.

“Fair point.”

The dynamic between us felt almost ordinary in a way that struck me as strangely grounding. We were simply two people bantering over breakfast rather than navigating danger or the negotiations that had defined so much of our marriage so far. I found myself relaxing into it more than I usually allowed.

My phone buzzed against the counter, and I glanced at it out of habit, seeing Roman’s name light the screen. Val noticed, her expression shifting slightly, some of the earlier lightness dimming.

“You should answer it.”

“It can wait a few minutes.”

“Dmitri.” She said my name gently, but with enough weight that I understood she meant it. “I’d rather you answer it now and actually be present with me afterward than have it sitting there distracting you the whole meal.”

I picked up, stepping toward the open doorway leading out onto the deck, keeping my voice low.

“Go ahead.”

“Nothing urgent,” Roman said, though something in his tone suggested otherwise. “Investigation’s moving. We’ve confirmed two more names connected to Varley’s information pipeline, both lower-level staff who had partial access without full context. Nikolai’s handling them quietly.”

“And Vale?”

“Quiet since the attack. Too quiet, honestly. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.” I glanced back toward the kitchen, where Val had started clearing our plates, her attention politely elsewhere while I finished the call. “Any movement on his known properties? Anything suggesting he’s regrouping somewhere specific?”

“Nothing concrete yet. He’s gone quiet across every channel we normally monitor, which tells me he’s either genuinely paused to reassess, or he’s shifted to methods we haven’t identified yet. I’d bet on the second option, personally.”

“So would I. Keep me updated. I want daily reports, even if there’s nothing new to report.”

“Understood. How is she?”

I considered the question. “Better than I expected. Better than I deserve, honestly, given everything the last two months have put her through.”

“That’s something, Dmitri. Take care of her. I’ll handle things here.”

I ended the call and returned to the kitchen, where Val had moved on to rinsing our plates in the small sink. She had her back to me, humming something quietly under her breath that I didn’t recognize.

“Everything alright?” she asked, without turning.

“Nothing new. Roman’s handling loose ends from Varley’s information pipeline.”

“And Vale?”

“Quiet.”

She turned to face me properly then, like she’d already anticipated exactly where this conversation was heading. “How long are we staying?”

I’d expected the question sooner rather than later. Some part of me was surprised she’d waited this long to ask it directly.

“Not long,” I said honestly, because she’d earned nothing less than complete honesty. “Hiding doesn’t end Vale; it only delays him. Every day we stay here is a day he spends regrouping, adjusting, planning his next move without any pressure forcing his hand.”

“So we go back, and what? Wait for him to try again?”

“No.” I crossed the kitchen, taking her hands gently in mine, needing the contact as much for my own steadiness as for hers. “He’s crossed too many lines now. The attack on our home wasn’t a warning shot, the way the reception was. It was escalation, a direct assault on the one place I’d built specifically to keep you safe. Escalation like that requires response. Not retreat.”

Something shifted behind her expression, the earlier lightness of the morning giving way to the attentiveness she’d developed over the last two months whenever the conversation turned serious.

“What kind of response?”