Captured by the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #3)

Chapter Nine - Violet

I grip the steering wheel tightly, the irritation boiling inside me as I drive home from the mall. I’ve been unable to keep my mind off of Kirill all week.

Who does he think he is, trying to dictate my life like that? Kirill Sharov’s arrogance knows no bounds. My thoughts are a whirlwind of anger and defiance, his texts from last night still fresh in my mind.

I glance in the rearview mirror and notice a car that has been behind me for a while now. It’s the same car Kirill arrived in at the funeral. Is he seriously following me? My annoyance sharpens into a blade of fury. He has no right to invade my privacy like this.

Determined to shake him off, I take a few unexpected turns, speeding up and weaving through traffic. No matter what I do, the car remains stubbornly behind me. A chill creeps down my spine, but I shove it aside, refusing to let fear take hold. I’ll confront him head-on if I have to.

I finally pull into a narrow street with few people around, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and adrenaline. I stop the car and step out, my eyes locked on the tinted windows of the vehicle behind me. “What is your problem?” I shout, marching toward the car, my voice echoing off the buildings.

The door opens, and a man steps out, wearing a face mask. The sight sends a jolt of fear through me. This isn’t Kirill. Before I can react, he pulls out a gun and aims it at me.

Time seems to slow down. My instincts kick in, and I dive behind my car as he starts shooting. The sound of gunshots fills the air, and my hands tremble as I fumble for my phone. I manage to call Kirill, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

He picks up almost immediately. “Keep hiding, Malyshka,” he says, his voice calm and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos around me.

The sound of his voice steadies me, if only a little. I press myself against the side of the car, trying to make myself as small as possible. The shots keep coming, the man relentless in his pursuit. My mind races with fear and confusion. Why is this happening?

There’s no time for answers now. I cling to the sound of Kirill’s voice, hoping that somehow, he can help me through this nightmare.

The gunshots seem to last an eternity, each one sending a fresh wave of terror through me. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely hold on to my phone, but I clutch it to my ear, Kirill’s calm voice a lifeline amidst the chaos.

“Stay hidden, Malyshka. My men are on their way,” he reassures me.

I peek around the edge of the car, my heart racing. The gunman continues to fire, but suddenly, there’s the sound of tires screeching and the roar of engines. Black SUVs pull up, and men in dark suits pour out, moving with practiced efficiency. Kirill’s men.

They quickly corner the shooter, forcing him to retreat and seek cover. Kirill steps out of one of the vehicles, his movements calm and assured, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. He walks with a confidence that chills and excites me, his face set in a mask of cold determination.

“Who do you work for?” Kirill demands, his voice low and menacing as he points his gun at the shooter.

The man, realizing he has no chance of escape, shakes his head and removes his mask. I don’t recognize him; he’s just a faceless threat. He glances around, seeing the inevitability of his capture in the faces of Kirill’s men.

“Answer me,” Kirill growls, his patience wearing thin. His eyes burn with a dark fury, the violence simmering just beneath the surface.

The man’s lips curl into a bitter smile, and before anyone can react, he puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger. The sound is deafening, a final, violent punctuation to the scene.

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth as I watch the man crumple to the ground. The sudden, brutal end to the standoff leaves me shaken, the raw display of violence more than I can process.

Kirill holsters his gun and strides over to me, his eyes softening slightly as he reaches my side. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice gentler now, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface.

I nod, though my body is still trembling. “Who was he? Why did he try to kill me?”

Kirill’s jaw tightens. “We’ll find out. This is exactly why you need my protection, Violet. This is the kind of danger you’re in.”

I can’t argue with him. The reality of the threat is all too clear now. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice shaking, “for saving me.”

He nods, his expression still dark. “You’re under my protection now. I take that very seriously. From now on, you do as I say. Understood?”

I nod again, the weight of his words sinking in. This man, with his dark, violent nature, is now my guardian. Despite the fear he instills in me, there’s a strange sense of security in his presence.

As I stand there, the adrenaline fading, the trauma of what I witnessed hits me hard. My body starts to shake uncontrollably, and I wrap my arms around myself in a vain attempt to steady the tremors.

Kirill sighs, glancing down at the lifeless body on the ground. The scene is brutal, blood pooling on the pavement, a stark reminder of how close I came to death. With an air of casual indifference, he pulls out a cigar and lights it, taking a long drag. I watch him, my mind reeling. How can he be so calm, so composed in the face of such violence?

He exhales a cloud of smoke and turns his attention to me, his green eyes narrowing as he studies my trembling form. He bends down to my level, his face inches from mine. The proximity makes my heart race, and I’m struck by the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you understand now?” he asks, his voice low and commanding. There’s no gentleness in his tone, only a cold, hard edge that makes me shiver.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Yes,” I whisper, barely able to find my voice.

Kirill’s eyes bore into mine, and he nods, satisfied. “Good. At least you aren’t completely hopeless. You know how to learn from your mistakes. Maybe seeing what you did will knock some sense into you.”

I bite my lip, the reality of his words sinking in. He’s right; I saw it with my own eyes. The man who tried to kill me wasn’t bluffing, and the danger is all too real. There’s something else in Kirill’s presence that unnerves me—a dark allure that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s terrifying and captivating all at once.

He holds out his hand to me, and I hesitate for a moment before taking it. His grip is firm and steady, and he helps me stand up straight, my legs still weak from the shock. As I look into his eyes, I see a flicker of something I hadn’t noticed before—an almost predatory intensity that both frightens and fascinates me.

Kirill’s hand lingers on mine for a moment longer than necessary, and I can feel the heat of his touch. It sends a jolt through me, and I quickly pull my hand away, embarrassed by my reaction.

“You need to stay close to me from now on,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I can’t protect you if you keep trying to push me away.”

I nod, my heart pounding. “So you keep saying. I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“Good,” he replies, taking another drag from his cigar. “We’ll get you home. You need to rest.”

As we walk back to his car, I can’t shake the mixture of fear and fascination I feel toward him. He’s dangerous; there’s no doubt about that, but there’s also an undeniable magnetism in his confidence and power. It’s a paradox that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and inexplicably drawn to him.

We drive in silence, the tension between us palpable. I steal glances at him from the corner of my eye, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to run as far away from him as possible, but another part of me feels a strange sense of safety in his presence. It’s as if his very darkness is a shield against the threats that lurk in the shadows.

The adrenaline from the encounter begins to fade, and the reality of what just happened crashes over me like a tidal wave. Tears well up in my eyes, and no matter how hard I try to hold them back, they spill over. I start to cry, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I can’t keep it together anymore. The fear, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Kirill remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. It’s as if he’s pretending he can’t hear me, and for that, I’m strangely grateful. I don’t want comfort, don’t want to be told everything will be okay when I know it won’t. I just need to let it out, to release the pent-up emotions that threaten to consume me.

After a few minutes, I manage to choke out, “Why is this happening to me?” My voice is broken, filled with anguish.

Kirill doesn’t look at me, but his voice is calm and steady when he replies, “Because you’re important; your father was a powerful man with many enemies.”

“Why now?” I feel a fresh wave of tears coming on.

“They see you as a way to get what they want,” Kirill says simply. “Power, control, revenge. You’re caught in the middle of it.”

I let his words sink in, feeling a mixture of despair and resignation. I curl up in the passenger seat, pulling my knees to my chest, my tears flowing freely. The car’s hum and the rhythmic passing of streetlights through the windows become a lullaby of sorts, soothing me despite the turmoil inside. My sobs gradually quiet down, turning into occasional sniffles.

Kirill’s presence, steady and unyielding, anchors me. There’s no judgment in his silence, no attempts to offer hollow reassurances. He just drives, giving me the space to process my emotions in my own way.

“Do you really think you can protect me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “It’s what I do.”

There’s a certainty in his voice that’s both unsettling and comforting. Despite everything, I find myself wanting to believe him. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my job.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling a little bit of the tension ease from my body. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, the emotional upheaval draining my energy. I find myself drifting, the steady motion of the car and the soft, muffled sounds of the city lulling me into a state of drowsiness. My thoughts blur, the fear and confusion giving way to a heavy, overwhelming tiredness.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice thick with sleep.

“Rest now, Malyshka,” Kirill says softly. “You’re safe with me.”

Somehow, despite everything, I fall asleep, curled up in the passenger seat next to the man who both terrifies and intrigues me. The darkness outside mirrors the murky uncertainty of my situation, but for now, in this moment of fragile peace, I let go and surrender to the pull of sleep.