His Grip (Dark Bratva Chronicles #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Sofia

T he dress wasn’t the real issue. The sleek black gown clung tightly to her body, highlighting her curves in a way that felt both exhilarating and demanding. Yet, it wasn't the dress that made Sofia shiver as she stepped through the door.

The neon lights struck her eyes like a sudden shock, causing a tense vein at the back of her neck to throb painfully. She groaned softly, her fingers instinctively moving to rub circles in that spot where the discomfort pulsed like a heartbeat, reminding her of the weight of the moment.

The exclusive Bratva-run nightclub thrummed with dangerous energy—flashing lights, pounding bass, and the low hum of power and vice.

Her father, Konstantin, had insisted she accompany him tonight. "Appearances matter," he'd said, his tone brooking no argument. Sofia hated how easily he influenced her life, even now.

The room pulsed around her, thick with the scent of expensive liquor and sweat. Men in sharp suits flanked by women in barely-there dresses leaning close to them, exchanging secrets and lies over their drinks. Sofia sipped her champagne; its’ chill, doing little to ease the heat climbing up her neck. She felt out of place—an unwilling accessory to her father's world.

"Relax, Sofia," Konstantin had said earlier, his hand heavy on her shoulder. "You look perfect. Trust me, everyone will be watching."

That's what she hated most. Being seen. Being scrutinized. She set her glass down and scanned the room for an escape route. The oppressive atmosphere pressed on her chest like a vice.

Someone waved, and relief flooded through Sofia like the first cool breeze on a stifling summer day. She waved back, a small, genuine smile breaking through the dimming lights as her friend approached.

Sofia wrapped her arms around the older woman’s slender frame, breathing in deeply. The familiar, comforting scent of jasmine and something faintly sweet—maybe vanilla—settled her nerves.

“Girl, you smell amazing,” Sofia murmured as she pulled back, her eyes wide with admiration. “And you look gorgeous too.”

Nina swayed slightly, her movements more in tune with the rhythm of the music than the drinks she'd had. She tilted her head, a playful smirk lighting up her face.

“I know I look beautiful,” she teased, brushing a strand of dark hair off her shoulder. “But you? You look like you’re being held here against your will.”

Sofia let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

Nina arched an elegant brow and rested her hands on her flat stomach. “Subtle isn’t exactly your strong suit tonight. You’ve got that ‘I’d rather be anywhere but here’ vibe all over you.”

Sofia sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. Nina noticed, of course, she did. Nina always noticed.

“Come on,” Nina said with a wink, looping an arm through Sofia’s. “Take a break. I’ll cover for you.”

She’d done that before—covered for Sofia when the weight of it all got too heavy. And sometimes, Sofia wondered if that was the glue holding their friendship together. But she didn’t care. Nina had this effortless mix of being carefree and meticulous that kept Sofia from losing her mind. That alone was enough to make Sofia grateful.

She didn’t need further encouragement. She slipped through the crowd, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she made her way to the balcony. The cool night breeze hit her like a blessing, washing away some of the stiffness coiled in her shoulders. She leaned on the railing, closing her eyes and letting herself relax.

“You must really hate the party if you’re out here alone. The view from here isn’t exactly… thrilling.”

Sofia hated surprises. But this one? This one was different. It was the voice—deep, raw, and impossibly smooth—that made her freeze mid-breath. Slowly, she turned toward the sound, her heart skipping like a stone over water as a man stepped out of the shadows.

Bloody hell. He was tall. And devastatingly handsome.

Her throat went dry, and she swallowed hard, fingers twitching like they suddenly didn’t know what to do. A drink. She needed a drink—anything to steady her nerves.

The faint glow of city lights framed his face, highlighting features so sharp they could’ve been sketched by a master artist. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a perfectly defined nose made him look almost unreal, like a character brought to life. But it wasn’t his face that threw her off balance.

It was his eyes.

Icy blue, piercing, and utterly unrelenting. They locked onto hers with a quiet power that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

“I came out here for the quiet,” Sofia muttered, managing to keep her voice steady even as her pulse raced. “Clearly… that won’t be happening now.”

“Are you always this rude to strangers?” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Only when they crash my alone time uninvited,” she shot back, folding her arms across her chest.

He chuckled a low, gravelly sound that made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t entirely hate.

There was also something else—a hint of an accent, faint but unmistakable. He was trying to bury it, she could tell. But it still lingered, weaving through his words like a thread of silk. And damn, she liked it. The way it softened and broke his syllables, rich and smooth, like a fine wine that left you craving more.

Her mind betrayed her with a reckless thought: I could listen to him talk all day.

He was staring, and not in a casual way. No, this was different. His gaze felt like it was peeling back layers she didn’t want anyone to see.

Sofia straightened, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to mask the erratic rhythm of her heart. But there was no hiding the flutter deep in her stomach. None at all.

His eyes flicked over her, not lecherously, but analytically, like he was assessing her. “This isn’t a safe place for someone like you.”

Sofia couldn’t help but wonder if he was always that way—If he always had a reason to assert dominance over others. From the way he regarded her, she already got her answer.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, the edge of a laugh escaping before she could stop it. “The balcony isn’t safe, but being in there with people who stare at you like you’re a three-course meal is?”

He stayed silent for so long that Sofia almost considered breaking the quiet herself—maybe with a sharp word or even a well-placed jab, just to see if he’d react. But then he smiled, and the shift was so sudden, so unexpected, that it caught her completely off guard.

Something inside her tightened, an instinctive warning as if her heart wanted to retreat to safety but couldn’t figure out how. That smile wasn’t just disarming; it was dangerous, like it knew things she didn’t.

“At least in there, you get a fair chance,” he finally said, his smirk returning sharper this time.

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Are you one of them? Are you giving me a fair chance?”

He tilted his head, looking her over with an intensity that made her feel like he was reading her every thought. “Depends on the mood, darling.”

Her breath hitched, but she refused to back down. “Who are you?”

"Viktor Ivanov.” He said the name like it wasn’t his—distant and cold—he said it flatly, like the name didn’t matter. But something in the pause after he spoke made her heart lurch.

Viktor Ivanov.

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. That name. It wasn’t just familiar—it was infamous. The King of the Bratva. A man her father had warned her about more than once. Ruthless. Untrustworthy. Dangerous.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to let him see the unease crawling up her spine.

“And you must be Sofia Mikhailov.” His voice was smooth, measured—too measured. Her pulse spiked.

“You seem to know me, yet I know nothing of you,” she said, lifting her chin and shaking off the strange energy that prickled her skin.

He shrugged, casual but with an edge that hinted at danger. “Your father can hardly hold a conversation without your name springing up once or twice.”

Sofia opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a finger, cutting her off. “Don’t get me wrong, darling. I think he was right to bring up your name…”

Her cheeks warmed inexplicably, but she held her ground. Why did he make her feel so unsteady? Their conversation wasn’t even flirty—yet something about him set her on edge.

“My father wouldn’t talk to you about me, Viktor. He does business with you, but that’s it,” she said, her tone sharp.

Viktor nodded curtly, but his gaze didn’t stay still. It traveled over her with a deliberate slowness that made her breath hitch. His eyes brushed her cheek, lingered on her collarbone, dipped to her exposed cleavage in the skimpy dress, then roamed down to her hips and back up to her lips.

Heat flared in her chest, a mix of indignation and something far more unsettling. She hated it. She liked it.

She crossed her arms, holding his stare. “I don’t need his approval. Or yours.”

For a moment, she thought he’d snap back, but instead, he stayed quiet, leaning against the railing beside her. His gaze shifted to the skyline, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. He smelled like mint, cigar smoke, and something else—coffee, maybe. His presence felt warm and solid. Too solid.

The silence stretched, and Sofia wondered how long she could stay out here without drawing attention. She couldn’t be seen with him—not after the warnings.

“So…” Viktor broke the quiet, his tone laced with amusement. “Wanna tell me why you’re really out here? You’ve got, what, five minutes tops before someone realizes you’re missing.”

He wasn’t wrong. Sofia sighed. “I needed some fresh air.”

“Fresh air,” he repeated, his smirk deepening. “Right. Why do I feel like there’s more to it than that?”

She shot him a glare, hoping it would shut him up. Of course, it didn’t. If anything, it seemed to encourage him.

“What are you now, my therapist?” she snapped.

He tilted his head, his smirk turning wicked. “Let’s upgrade that. How about your sex therapist ?”

“You’re crazy,” she said, rolling her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She found herself studying him. His lashes were unfairly long, framing eyes that should’ve been too pretty for someone with his reputation. He didn’t look like a ruthless man, not when he was standing here with her, calm and collected.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, needing to shift the focus.

His smirk slid off his face, and she saw the hardened features flair with annoyance, as if he too had just realized where he was and who he was with. He straightened, pushing off the railing, but instead of walking away, he stepped closer. His hand came up, cupping her face with a gentleness that caught her off guard.

His fingers were rough, and calloused, but his touch was soft. Sofia froze, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed her cheek. Logic told her to pull away, to step back—but something in his eyes held her still.

He could hurt her. That much was certain. But somehow, she knew he wouldn’t.

Did it make sense to feel at ease with that thought? Not at all. But he was the first man to stir something in her like this, so maybe her attraction could be excused

“Careful, darling,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, and her lips parted involuntarily. If he slipped a finger inside, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to stop him. Her pulse thundered wildly, and she hated how easily he unraveled her.

He let his fingers linger, hovering just above her lips, but he chose not to press further. “You’re playing a game we both know you can’t win.”

Were they talking about her father’s business or about what was unfolding between them? Sofia felt a wave of confusion wash over her. Why did men have such a knack for using vague words that only added to the mystery?

“What game are you talking about?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Viktor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up, gently pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was fleeting, barely there, yet it sent a jolt through her, making her body tense with anticipation as she wrestled with her desire. “One where the stakes are higher than you realize. You’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, he stepped back, leaving her standing there, breathless and conflicted, caught between fear and longing.