Page 30 of Forced By the Bratva

His voice had been laced with concern—like he was genuinely worried about my safety. The man had stormed into my room with a loaded gun, meaning he was ready to kill to defend me.

That hit me harder than I expected.

Now, whatever emotions I’d been suppressing this whole time had doubled—tripled, even. And I hated how little control I had over what was happening to me.

***

The library light fell warm across the window seat by afternoon, and I’d claimed the spot as mine over the past few days without really deciding to. Book in my lap, knees pulled up, blanket over my legs even though it wasn’t cold anymore.

Natasha was working the shelves nearby, feather duster moving carefully along the spines, humming something under her breath in Russian.

She was one of the few staff who didn’t treat me like glass or a threat, just talked to me like I was a person who happened to be living in the same house. Respectfully, of course.

“Natasha,” I called, shifting my gaze toward her.

“Yes?” She turned to me.

“Where’d this book come from?” I asked, flipping through it in my hand. “I haven’t seen it before. And it’s not the only one.”

“Oh, new editions came in yesterday,” she replied in accented English. “Psychological thrillers, literary fiction, annotated classics like Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, even a marked-up copy of Crime and Punishment.”

I stared at her, brows lifting in awe. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Natasha, but um…you seem to know a lot about books.”

Also, her English was more polished than every other staff member in the mansion. She looked young, older than I was, obviously, but still young. Maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. My money was on the former.

“It’s okay. I get that a lot.” She laughed, the sound easy and warm, a small smile still on her lips. “I just love reading. Sharpens the mind, they say.”

A faint grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.

“Plus, the boss lets me read any book in the library whenever I want,” she added almost immediately. “As long as I don’t get carried away and forget to do my job.”

How thoughtful of him.

Ilya truly was a thoughtful man because the new books Natasha talked about were the same ones I’d once mentioned in passing over breakfast. I didn’t know he had stored the titles somewhere in the back of his mind.

This only proved that he’d always been listening, and that realization unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

***

The kitten—who I’d named Whiskers, after finding out he was boy—settled into the estate faster than I did.

He followed me through the gardens now, weaving between my ankles on the gravel paths and curling up beside me in the library most afternoons without prompting.

His presence had become one of the reasons I left my room some days, dragging me outside into sunlight I might otherwise have avoided.

One afternoon, I was playing with him near the fountain, dragging a loose thread from my sleeve across the stone for him to chase, when I looked up and caught Ilya watching from the terrace.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move either, just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching me the way he’d been doing recently.

His gaze was less like a man cataloging a threat and more like someone who’d simply grown used to finding me in his space and no longer flinched at it. Underneath all of that, though, was a hint of something else. And I was too afraid to name it.

That evening, he left in a hurry after a call came through, pulling the calm right off his face. He didn’t explain. He just told me to stay upstairs and was gone within minutes.

He was away for hours, and gradually, a part of me began to worry about him. Whatever he had to attend to seemed important, even dangerous. To my surprise, I stayed up late in my room, waiting for him to return. I couldn’t explain why I couldn’t fall asleep, worrying about the man who kidnapped me.

The only explanation that made sense was that I was starting to feel some sort of attachment to him. But I wasn’t ready to accept that. Yet.

I heard the cars return long after midnight.