Page 9 of Forced By the Bratva

His steel-blue eyes and tousled dark brown hair accentuated his ruggedness, meaning I had to be smart in my dealings with him. His cologne smelled expensive, and even the fabric of his black outfit looked like it cost an arm and a leg.

The top three buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing tattoos on his chest. The shirt was neatly tucked into his tailored black pants, and his black shoes were polished to a shine.

His outfit and ruggedness exuded an air of confidence and power, the kind that announced him as a man who didn’t take rejection well.

There was no telling what he’d do if I refused to let him in. Honestly, I didn’t want to find out.

Slowly, I stepped back from the door, and he walked inside, his shoes clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. I didn’t lock the door behind him. No. I left it open, just in case I’d need to run out of my apartment if things went south.

His eyes moved once across the room, like he was weighing all of it in under two seconds.

Up close, he was even more intimidating. A faint scar cut through one eyebrow toward his jaw, old and pale. His sleeves were neatly rolled up, and when he looked at me, his gaze was cold.

“Sit,” he said, as though he owned the place and I was the visitor.

Some nerve he’s got there.

“I’d rather stand.” I managed to sound confident. “You said you wanted to talk. Now start talking before I call the cops.” My grip tightened on the knife’s plastic hilt.

“You accessed encrypted records last night,” he said, his cold, steel-blue eyes locked on me. “I want to know what you did with them.”

Oh my God, this is getting real!

I looked away. “I didn’t do anything. I only did my job.”

“And what’s that?” he asked. “Your job?”

“Digital reputation management and data recovery,” I replied. “I organize damaged systems and quietly trace inconsistencies without escalating panic.”

“You do backend cleanup, essentially.”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Did you download those files?”

My heart pounded loudly against my chest, and my knees felt too weak to support my weight.

“Did you report what you found to anyone?”

It took me a moment to answer. “No.”

His eyes squinted by a fraction. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not…”

“The side of your mouth twitches when you lie,” he said, confident in his assumption. “You’ve done that twice already since you answered the door.”

I wasn’t sure which was more disturbing: that he’d caught my lies or that he could already read me like an open book.

“Let’s try this again,” he said, drawing closer.

“Stay back.” I held the knife in front of me as I slowly backed away.

He didn’t flinch. “Did you download the files or report what you found to anyone?”

I stretched out my hand, gripping the knife tightly. “I said stay back.”

Before I could even form my next thought, he seized my wrist, effortlessly plucking the weapon from my fist.