Page 5 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

“Yes.”

His voice is softer now. Almost satisfied.

I don’t notice how tightly he’s watching me again. I only notice that I’m getting better at the game. That I’m not making mistakes anymore. That Papa is close.

And that’s enough.

Then, there’s a sharp knock on the door. The sound cuts through the apartment like a crack in glass.

I flinch so hard that the pencil slips from my fingers.

Papa goes still beside me, and the air shifts immediately.

Another knock follows. Louder this time.

I look up at him. “Papa…?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes move toward the door, then back to me. Something inside his expression tightens. The warmth is gone now.

“Sofia,” he says. His voice is still calm. Still my father’s voice. But it feels different now. Sharper around the edges. “Hide.”

That word lands differently.

My stomach dips.

“Hide?” I whisper. “Are you going to find me? Is this another game?”

He smiles and kisses my forehead. “Don’t come out of your hiding place until whoever’s at the door leaves. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Now, go!”

There’s no room for questions in his voice now. Only instruction.

I turn immediately.

My feet move faster this time as I slip back past the hallway shelves, past the stacks of books leaning like unstable towers, into the narrow space between the bookshelf and the wall. It’s tight—just enough for me to fold myself in if I press close.

I squeeze in.

Dust brushes my knees.

My book is still in my hands.

I hold it tighter.

Like it can keep me anchored to something normal.

From here, I can see part of the living room through the thin gaps between the books and the wood.

The apartment feels different now.

Too quiet.

Even the radiator seems to have stopped making noise.

Then the door bursts open, swinging inward with such force that it bangs against the wall. A violent shudder races through me, and I clamp a hand to my mouth to stop my scream.