Page 23 of Forced By the Bratva

I stood there, doing my best to look like a man who wasn’t bothered by any of this. Outwardly, I probably managed it. Ivan wasn’t easy to fool, but he wasn’t inside my head either.

Inside, something in me reacted the second he said get rid of her. Sharp. Immediate. The kind of reaction I hadn’t felt over a decision like this in years.

“I don’t understand the hesitation; you know she’s a liability the second she walks out of this mansion.”

“She hasn’t walked out of this mansion,” I replied before he finished his statement.

“Not yet, she hasn’t,” he shot back just as quickly, his expression darkening. “But she will. Eventually.”

“Is that a threat?” My brows drew together, accentuating the faint scowl on my face.

Silence.

Ivan looked into my eyes as if searching for something. “I would hate to get directly involved in this, brother.” A pause. “So, fix it. I don’t care how. Just…fix it.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked out the way he’d come, unhurried, with the same cold precision in every step he’d used to enter.

I stood there after the door shut behind him, staring at the empty space where he’d been, not moving for a long time.

Deep down, I knew I was starting to get emotionally attached to Iris, which had already put me in a compromising position.

Ivan was right. I needed to find a way to fix this fast, before things spiraled out of control.

Chapter 9 – Iris

I woke up early this morning after getting little sleep last night. I spent most of my time wondering why Ilya had asked me to stay in my room and not leave all night.

It didn’t make much sense to me. So, I paid close attention, listening for any sound that seemed out of place. I didn’t hear any. In fact, the night was quiet just like every other night.

In my head, I expected to hear something interesting: voices arguing, gunshots, eerie noises, someone wandering the halls late at night, or maybe even feel a ghostly presence.

At least that would’ve explained why he practically had to warn me not to leave my room. To my surprise, nothing out of the ordinary happened. None that I was aware of, to the best of my knowledge.

Then why did he emphasize that I stay in my room all night? Was that instruction supposed to protect me from something? Or was it simply a symbol of his dominance over my life? Considering that nothing had actually happened last night, I had reasons to believe the latter.

Lying just to keep me under his control was a low blow for a man like him, and I was as disappointed as I was pissed. I wasn’t sure why I was mad at him or what exactly I was mad about—the lie, the motive behind it, or the fact that I actually did as he instructed.

After freshening up that morning, I decided to go down to the kitchen to understand why breakfast hadn’t arrived yet. They usually brought me food at exactly eight a.m. But it was almost ten already, and no one had shown up at my door.

That was weird.

My stomach kept growling because, for some reason, I woke up so hungry this morning. Without hesitation, I strolled out of my room, fingers piling my hair into a bun on my way out.

I noticed the atmosphere was different this morning, more tense and strangely quieter. The two maids who passed by me looked more serious than usual. They greeted me, but their voices were low, laced with something I hadn’t named yet.

My brows knitted in confusion.

The first thing that came to mind was that something might have happened last night that I wasn’t aware of. My heart skipped a beat.

Then I heard it—an unfamiliar voice. Thick. Deep. Masculine. Cold. Sharp.

It wasn’t Ilya. It sounded like him, but I knew better. It wasn’t Boris, Ilya’s right-hand man. It wasn’t any of the guards either.

The next voice that followed was Ilya’s, and both men were conversing in Russian. Their voices were coming from the living room downstairs, and by now, I was almost on the balcony.

Curious to put a face to the unfamiliar voice, I stood in the gallery overlooking the vast living room, one hand resting lightly on the ornate railing. The second I stuck my head out and looked down, they both stopped talking. The stranger lifted his eyes as he’d somehow sensed my gaze, and in a split second, his cold gray-blue eyes were already latched to mine.

My breath lodged in my throat as a cold shiver sprinted down my spine. I was already used to Ilya’s intense gaze, but I couldn’t say the same about this stranger’s death stare.