Untamed (Bratva Kings #2)

Chapter 17

EMBER

Fancy hotels and penthouses sound nice. But the smell of coffee and bacon in a log cabin before you open your eyes? It’s the height of luxury.

I stretch before I open my eyes, aware that the hot water bottle beside me isn’t there anymore. Dwelling on the memories of the night before makes me feel like I’m living in the pages of one of my books. Him kidnapping me, toe-curlingly good sex, followed by his adorably and surprisingly hot lecturing, before he tucked me into bed. I want to grab my phone and record a video, only… this one’s just for me.

I open one groggy eye. Early morning light filters in through a small window near the door. The walls are made of polished logs, their warm, honeyed tones glowing softly in the dawn light. Thick wooden beams stretch across the ceiling. It’s rugged and charming. Needs a little fluffy dog by the hearth who wants his ears scratched.

A stone fireplace dominates one wall, its hearth neatly stacked with wood. The faint scent of pine and ash and last night’s fires lingers in the air. I sigh. There’s a sturdy wooden dining table with mismatched chairs and a patchwork rug underfoot, adding a touch of color to the otherwise earthy palette. On the far wall, a narrow bookshelf made of wood holds a few leather-bound books and a glass oil-burning lamp. I don’t see any of the titles on my bookshelf, but a few classic Austen and Bront? books make me grin.

I didn’t know I’d describe a place like this luxurious, but here we are.

“Thought you couldn’t cook?”

Rodion turns around, sexy as fuck wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. From here, I can see the scars I traced with my fingers the night before and the trademark ink of the Bratva. His muscles ripple as he moves. He’s a fucking paragon of masculine perfection. I swallow and lick my lips.

“Uh, no,” he says with a grimace. “It was the one lesson Rafail tried to teach me. I failed miserably.”

“Rafail? He’s your older brother, right?”

“Yeah.” When he turns to me, he has a platter of food piled onto his plate. “This is precooked bacon, but the lady at the store promised me it was foolproof.” He pokes at it with a fork. “Looks… good?”

I sit up and bed, suddenly starving. “Last night’s sandwich is long forgotten, so unless it’s burnt or raw, I’ll eat it.”

“Let me guess,” he says, giving me a wary look. “You need pickles and peanut butter?”

“Do you think I’m pregnant?”

I’m unprepared for the way his gaze grows heated.

His eyes darken, the playful smirk slipping from his face as something raw and primal takes its place. “If you were…” His voice is low, rough around the edges, as though the thought alone has ignited something deep within him. “I could handle that.”

Oh dear god.

My breath catches, and I blink up at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone, the way his gaze burns into mine like he’s claiming something that doesn’t exist—yet.

“Rodion…” I start, unsure if I’m warning him or questioning him, but he steps closer, his towering presence pulling the air from the room.

His fingers brush against my jaw, tilting my chin upward so I can’t look away. “It’d mean you’re mine in a way no one could ever change.” There’s no teasing now, just a quiet, ferocious possessiveness that sends a shiver down my spine.

I should’ve known.

I wasn’t prepared for this…

I’ve read about this, haven’t I? Men like him. I joked last night about him being a wolf, but right now, I don’t feel like that’s far from the truth.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of the spell he’s weaving. “That’s… not how this works.”

When he grins, it’s dark and dangerous. “You sure about that, little queen? Because the idea of you carrying my child—of you being tied to me in every way—feels like exactly how this should work.”

“I was joking, Rodion.” My gaze focuses on the tray. There’s a pile of crisp bacon beside bagels and cream cheese and a cup of steaming coffee.

“I’m not.”

“I know.” I reach for the coffee. It unnerved me the first time he gave me one because he knew exactly how I took it.

But now? I love that.

We eat in amiable silence. I know we’re heading back soon, but I don’t want to leave this cabin. We just got here.

“Why the pout?” He bops me on the nose and raises a brow.

“I was just thinking I like it here. I think I got… used to my shitty apartment. It’s home, and I tried to make it look nice, but being in a rustic cabin that looks like a modern-day rendition of Little House on the Prairie , and I realize I’ve been living in the slums.”

The dark shadow that crosses his face and his grunt of agreement tell me all I need to know. He’s never tried to hide how he felt about my apartment.

Also, and I will not admit this to him, not yet, but—it felt so fucking perfect sharing a bed with him. I never knew if I’d like sharing a bed with a man, but sharing a bed with Rodion? Heaven. He slept like a rock at my back, his heavy arm strewn across me. I was wrapped in a cocoon, blissful and content.

“Have you checked your account?” I log in while munching on a bite of bagel, crumbs scattering over the plate. Rodion’s hovering over my shoulder, his presence impossible to ignore. He’s not even touching me, but I can feel the heat radiating off him, the quiet intensity of his focus. It’s unnerving how much I like it.

As my account loads, his arm brushes against mine, and I glance up to find him staring at the screen like it might explode. “You’re practically breathing down my neck,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. I look at my screen. “Jesus.”

“What?”

“Some troll…”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his face hardens as he reads the comments.

“Relax,” I say quickly, already sensing the storm brewing in him. “This is just part of the job. I deal with it all the time.”

His jaw tightens, and I know he’s about two seconds away from hunting this guy down. Before I can say anything else, another message appears—but it’s from his account.

Careful what you say. You wouldn’t want me to find out where you live.

I freeze, my bagel halfway to my mouth as my followers erupt in the comments, flooding my feed with laughing emojis, heart eyes, and the internet’s equivalent of chaotic squealing.

“Rodion!” I spin around in my chair, my voice half-scolding, half-horrified. “What did you just do?”

He shrugs, utterly unrepentant, his smirk sharp and dangerous. “Handled it.”

“Oh my god, you can’t just threaten people online!”

“Why not? He deserved it,” he says matter-of-factly, leaning down so we’re face-to-face. “Besides, they love it.”

He’s not wrong. My followers are eating this up, and the comments are a chaotic mix of admiration and envy.

Where do I get a man like this??

Protective mafia vibes?? Yes, please.

This is why I stay single. None of my exes could ever.

Before I can argue further, he straightens, his expression cooling. “We have to go.”

“I like it here,” I counter, reluctant to leave the safety of this little cabin bubble.

His gaze softens just a fraction. “Then we’ll come back. But for now, we need to move. I want to check in on your place, and you’ve got that shoot later.”

I texted him about that two days ago and can’t believe I didn’t remember it myself.

“Fine.” I sigh, packing up the remains of breakfast. “Let’s do this again though.”

The drive back to my place feels weirdly… natural. Rodion’s got some old Russian song playing low in the background, the kind of music that’s surprisingly soft, even melodic. I glance over at him—one hand resting casually on the wheel, his other lying on my thigh.

I swallow hard to stifle a sigh. I can’t help but imagine that this is my life, that I’m his, and this funny, sexy, protective man is… mine.

But I don’t really know him.

And he doesn’t know me.

Still, I like the casual way we just… fit. It feels easy. It feels natural. It feels… right.

I open my email, scrolling through a flood of work updates and invoices. It’s quiet between us, but it’s not awkward. For once, I don’t feel the pressure to fill the silence. I let myself relax, sinking into the rhythm of the drive, his presence strangely grounding.

Then he speaks, breaking the stillness. “The gala is in three days.”

I look up from my phone. “And?”

“And my family will be there. All of them.”

Oh my god.

His family.

His whole mafia family.

My stomach lurches. “You didn’t mention that part before.”

He gives a casual shrug of his massive shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”

“Rodion…” I grip the edge of my phone, suddenly on edge. The thought of meeting his family—their sharp eyes, their inevitable judgments—it’s overwhelming. But there’s another thought creeping in, too, one I’ve been avoiding.

And if he’s mafia, that means…

What does that mean?

Are they as ruthless and possessive as he is?

And if Shawn… wait. I haven’t heard from Shawn. A sudden thought crosses my mind.

“Did you do something to Shawn?” I blurt, my heart pounding.

His head turns slightly, his expression unreadable. Not sure I like how good of a poker face he has. “Why?”

“Because he hasn’t texted me. It’s not like him to stay quiet this long.”

Rodion’s smirk is slow, deliberate. “Maybe he finally got the message.”

“Rodion. What message ?”

He doesn’t answer, just turns onto my street, the tires crunching softly against the pavement. As we pull up to my apartment, I can’t decide whether to be relieved or more freaked out.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says smoothly, parking the car. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about. And no, Ember. I haven’t touched Shawn.” With a scowl I feel straight between my legs, he mutters, “Not because I didn’t want to.”

I glance over at him, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The way he’s looking at me—like he owns every thought in my head—is both thrilling and terrifying. I’m so into him, and it’s making me feel raw and exposed. Vulnerable in a way I’m not used to.

How can I hate and love it?

The door to my apartment feels wrong before I even touch it. The faintest shift in the air, like it’s been disturbed. My stomach knots as I reach for the knob, but Rodion’s hand closes over mine, firm and steady.

“You look nervous.”

I lick my lips. “Something is… off.”

“Wait,” he says softly, his voice a mix of command and reassurance. He pushes the door open, stepping in first like he’s daring whatever’s inside to come for him. The sight of his broad shoulders—tense, ready for anything—shouldn’t calm me, but it does.

The apartment looks normal at first glance, but as we step inside, the air feels heavier. My gaze lands on the corner of the coffee table, where my packages are piled neatly. Too neatly. My breath catches.

“Someone’s been here,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I walk to the bathroom, Rodion trailing me. Unlike the packages, here it’s a mess, like someone’s come in here and deliberately mussed things up.

I look away from the mess, bile burning the back of my throat. When I was a child, I always tried to keep things tidy and neat. It made me feel like I had a semblance of control. My mother would tease me, and even the teachers at school would write notes about my “borderline obsessive need for order and tidiness.”

Shawn loved to mock me.

I stare at the rolls of toilet paper scattered on the floor, the towels disorganized, and my toiletries opened and tipped.

Rodion’s jaw tightens. “Not someone,” he says, scanning the room with predatory precision.

“What-what do I do?”

He turns to me, those dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs. “He was probably looking for evidence that I live here,” he says, his tone as calm as if he’s discussing the weather. “Now that he knows I don’t, he’ll be back.”

Shit.

A chill races down my spine. “When?”

“Tonight,” he answers, no hesitation. “That’s why we’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” My voice pitches higher. “Where?—”

“New York.” The word drops like a stone. His hand reaches for mine, grounding me in the storm brewing inside me. “I need you to trust me, kotyonok .”

My pulse races under his steady grip. Trust him? I search his face, looking for something—anything—to make this less terrifying. And there it is: the softness that shouldn’t belong to a man like him. It lingers in the curve of his mouth, the faintest tenderness in his voice. It almost fools me.

But when he mentions Shawn, his entire expression shifts. That softness hardens into something dark, dangerous. Protective. And somehow… it makes me feel safer than I ever have in my life.

I know my answer.

I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I trust you.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a fleeting touch that sends heat spiraling through me. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and just like that, my knees go weak.

“New York,” I say, more to myself than him. “I’ve never even left California.”

Rodion’s gaze cuts to me, softer now but no less intense. “Maybe it’s time you see what the rest of the world has to offer.”

He takes my hand again, holding it like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. And for the first time, I let myself lean into it, letting him anchor me in this new, terrifying, thrilling reality.

I can’t shake the feeling that this is all just a fairy tale. Just a made-up dream of made-up people, and when I open my eyes and wake, I’ll remember who I am and why I’m here.

I can’t lie. A part of me can’t help but imagine a future together. But that can’t be.

I might fangirl over a masked man with tats and Bratva ties, but in real life… is this really what I want?

For now, I’m going to enjoy this.

For now, I’m going to… pretend this is real.