Page 64 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

When he finally speaks, his voice is lower.

“It is,” he says gently. “I will protect you, Sofia. From any harm. You have my word.”

That makes me look back at him.

There’s something about the way he says it—direct, unpolished, unguarded in a way I’m not used to from him. Like he’s choosing comfort over control, even if it costs him something.

I should step back.

I don’t.

Instead, I ask, softer this time, “And the part where I don’t get a choice in any of this?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “It’s the way our world works,zaychik.”

Something in my chest sinks at that, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “So I’m just supposed to accept it?”

A beat.

“You’re supposed to stay alive,” he replies.

The answer lands heavier than I expect.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

The air between us feels different again—closer, tighter. Seems as though the conversation has stripped something down without either of us noticing when it happened.

I realize I’m still standing too near him.

He realizes it too.

We both pause at the same time.

My gaze drops to his mouth, and I swear I see his eyes do the same. My heart pounds in my chest.

I step back first, breaking whatever line was forming between us.

His expression resets immediately. Controlled again.

Mine does too, I think.

But not as cleanly.

“I should go,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t stop me.

But his eyes stay on me a second longer than necessary.

And I don’t know why that follows me as I leave the bathroom.

I make it back to my bedroom too fast, like the hallway itself is pushing me away from whatever just happened.

The door closes behind me with a softclick, and only then do I exhale properly.

Then I walk straight to the bed and drop onto it. Hard. The mattress dips under my weight as I pull the covers up and bury my face in them like that can erase the last few minutes from my memory.

Because what was that?