Claimed Bratva Virgin (Yezhov Bratva #4)

Chapter 11 – Rafayel

My body felt heavier than usual, and I woke up to the feeling of something warm and pleasant pressing down on my arm. I fixed a hand under my pillow and glanced to the side.

There she was, clinging to me like she needed an anchor in her sleep. Her delicate fingers were curled around my forearm, her face pressed gently into the pillow, with one of her legs thrown above mine. She slept like she raced—rather roughly.

But the blame was mine to bear. I’d worn her out. We’d fucked everywhere I could place her: on the wall, on my bed, in the fucking shower. And each time felt better than the last.

I wanted more and couldn’t stop taking until she reached the limit and collapsed on me with exhaustion.

Grinning like a fucking idiot, I tucked strands of hair behind her ear, trying to remember the last time I had that much fun. A night at the Obsidian didn’t even come close to the excitement of last night. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, her usual sharp edges smoothed away in the softness of sleep.

For a moment, I couldn’t look away. Her hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink, and her lips were slightly parted as she breathed evenly. She looked…beautiful. No, more than that. Something about her tugged at a part of me I couldn’t quite name, a part that wanted to know what it would feel like to have moments like this every day.

Fucking stupid.

I dragged my hand away from her face, running it down mine.

There was no denying that the Italian princess was special. Enzo knew it. Fucking Marco knew it. Her entire clan knew it.

I didn’t know how or why, but she was. There was that loud strength in her that fascinated me, a fire that burned just beneath the surface. And yet, here she was, clinging to me like she needed me, with her guard completely down. It was almost fucking disarming.

My chest tightened, and it surfaced, a strange mix of protectiveness and something softer that I’d probably never admit.

We weren’t supposed to have each other. A collision like ours was barred and bound to cause a train wreck. Our lives couldn’t mix. We were both headstrong, stubborn, and ambitious. But maybe that was why it felt so different with her—so new.

My phone buzzed beside the bed, and I frowned when I saw the contact on the screen.

Carefully, I shifted, not wanting to wake her, but her fingers tightened slightly on my arm as if, even in her sleep, she didn’t want to let go. I let out a quiet breath, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. Maybe—just maybe—I didn’t want to let go either.

But this was one call that couldn’t be ignored.

“ Privyet .”

Andrei was a man of few words, and his calls were as rare as they were deliberate, only for moments of necessity. All my life, I’d never once caught him bothered with small talk or idle chatter. So, I knew instinctively that something was amiss.

I slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony attached to the room. When I leaned against the railing, the metal creaked softly beneath my weight, and I looked over my shoulder to be sure Leonora was still asleep.

“Bad news or good news?”

“None,” he clipped back. I imagined the look on his face, hard and gloomy as always, with his signature scowl pasted across.

I had many cousins, but Ivan and Andrei stuck closer, both cut from the same Yezhov cloth, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Andrei was the real deal—smarter, a razor-sharp field operator with a roughneck attitude and both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was the one who kept his wits about him, always thinking two moves ahead of the game. Ivan, on the other hand, was the wild card—unpredictable and prone to flying off the handle. But Andrei? He was the one you wanted watching your back.

I dragged a hand down my face, staring out at the estate and a troop of my men laughing by the fountain. “You have a problem?”

“Rafa.” He cursed under his breath. “The men are talking.”

“They’re laughing right now, from where I’m standing.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue. Maybe, if you stopped being so fucking cryptic, I’d understand.”

We both knew I understood his unspoken words clearly, and I knew the men were talking. Playing ignorant was just one of those things I intentionally did to waste time and rile him up.

“I heard about you and Leonora.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. When the men weren’t working, they were gossiping like idle maids in scrubs.

“I heard about you and that dancer, Mikala. How did things turn out, by the way?”

He huffed. “Rafayel, this is serious.”

“Of course, it is.” I clenched my jaw. “We’re finalizing an alliance.”

It felt childish dodging Andrei’s bullets, but that part of me that wanted more mornings with Leonora didn’t want him raining logical shit on my parade.

“I heard about that, too, the alliance with the Italians. Word also has it that you took her home. To your fucking house, Rafayel?”

The irritation in his voice was clear. But I sure as hell was going to make mine clearer. “Now sniffing around my pants, Andrei? I thought you preferred keeping your nose in your business. Who I fuck is, frankly, none of your concern.”

“But it is when the bitch concerned is Colombo’s daughter. Jesus, Rafa. I don’t care who you fuck, but I care about who’ll get the chance to fuck with us.”

If I threatened to cut his tongue for referring to her as a bitch, he wouldn’t flinch, and it would only fuel his urge to call me out on my bullshit.

I combed my hair with my fingers to distract myself.

“An alliance was what brought her to you, and that should be the focus.”

“That is the focus.”

It was just one fucking night. Christ. Having Andrei breathing down my neck made it seem like we’d been sneaking around the outfit for months.

“I call bullshit, Rafa. The Italian is a distraction. I know you’ll probably make me regret saying this, but I’ll say it anyway, and I’ll say it once: Get your shit together and smell the coffee. You can’t afford to get attached. Once again, she’s Italian .” The pronouncement came out like a curse, and his disdain was palpable. “They’re only loyal to their kin. You, me, or anyone else? We’re nothing to them. Just pawns in their little games.

I frowned but said nothing, my jaw tightening while I let him talk.

“Besides,” he continued, a little lower, “the smart thing to do would be using her. Wipe out the entire Colombo clan after you deal with Luca. Isn’t that why you’re fucking her?”

My fingers flexed with the need to punch something. I hated how effortlessly he laid out the cold logic of it all.

A knot tightened in my chest. “I’ll handle it.”

“Stay realistic.”

“Fuck you, too.”

I almost saw his smirk before the line went dead.

I glanced back at the room, allowing my gaze to linger on her peaceful form as she slept. Her chest rose and fell with each quiet breath. She looked so innocent, so unaware of the storm brewing just outside the walls that sheltered her.

But Andrei was right.

The Italian princess was anything but innocent.

I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, not now, not ever. I tore my eyes away and headed straight for the showers. My resolve hardened with every step.

There was no room for mistakes, not even for her.