Page 41 of Prey of the Bratva

I pulled back abruptly, control snapping back into place like a blade locking into position. Her eyes opened slowly, confusion flickering for a brief second before it was replaced with something more composed. More guarded. I stepped back, creating distance between us. I needed distance to understand this.

“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension still coiled beneath it.

Her gaze sharpened slightly. “Then why did you stop?”

Because I was losing control. Because I was starting to want something I had no right to want. Because this was no longer just about strategy, containment, or revenge. But I did not say any of that. Instead, I turned away. I reached for my phone, which I had kept on the table, intending to leave the room, to put space between us before this became something neither of us could easily step back from.

“Stay.”

Her voice stopped me. The word was quietly uttered and did not sound like a command or a manipulation tactic. Just a request. I turned back slowly. She was watching me, her expression composed but softer than I had ever seen it. There was no challenge in her eyes now. No defiance. Just something steady. Something real.

“Stay,” she repeated.

“Why?” I asked, unsure of what she would say.

“I want you to. Please.”

I studied her for a long moment, knowing this was a mistake. I knew it. Every instinct I had built over years ofsurvival and control told me to walk out of that room. To reestablish distance. To regain clarity. But something else held me there. Something stronger. I kept my phone back on the side table slowly, setting it aside before crossing the room again. The decision felt deliberate, even as I knew it was anything but calculated.

I lay down beside her, careful not to touch. She shifted almost immediately, closing the small space between us without hesitation. Her head rested lightly against my chest, her hand settling near my side as if it had always belonged there.

The familiarity of it was disarming, and I hesitated for a fraction of a second before letting my arm go around her. At first, the hold was cautious. Controlled. As if I were testing the reality of the moment. But when she relaxed against me, completely without resistance, I tightened my hold slightly. More certain this time. Her breathing slowed gradually, evening out as the tension left her body. Within minutes, I felt the shift. She had fallen asleep. Just like that.

I stared at the ceiling, unmoving, sleep not coming to me for a very long time. My mind did not turn silent the way it usually did after violence or strategy or decision-making. It remained active, turning over everything that had changed in a matter of hours.

This was not how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to be leverage. Nothing but a calculated move and a means to an end. I had planned to use her and to break her family through her. I had wanted to restore balance through controlled damage. Instead, I was lying beside her, holding her as if she were something to be protected rather than destroyed.

The realization settled heavily in my chest.

I looked down at her.

Her face was relaxed in sleep, the tension she carried so constantly finally absent. She looked younger like this. Less guarded. Less sharp. But I knew better. There was nothing soft about Misha Chernykh.

And yet she had trusted me enough to sleep in my arms.

That alone should have been enough to remind me what a dangerous position this was. Instead, it did something else entirely. It made something in me shift further. I had started this as a hunt, and every move had been calculated. Every step deliberate. Every outcome controlled. But somewhere along the way, something had changed.

I was no longer thinking about ending her.

I was thinking about keeping her alive.

And that was far more dangerous than anything that had ever come before.

Chapter 11 - Misha

I woke up before him.

For a moment, I did not move. I lay there in the quiet, aware of the steady rise and fall beneath my cheek, the solid warmth of Kliment’s chest under my hand, his arm still wrapped around me in a hold that had tightened sometime during the night. It did not feel possessive or controlling but simply protective. The realization settled somewhere deep and uncomfortable, making me feel things I wasn’t sure I should be feeling.

I turned my gaze to glance at his handsome face, my gaze falling on his lips. The kiss rushed back to me, turning me crimson with everything I had refused myself to feel in so long. Being near Kliment had already been difficult, and I had only made it even more problematic for me after last night.

I shifted slightly, careful of my side and my foot, and of everything else that still ached beneath the surface. His arm loosened immediately as if on instinct, even in sleep. That alone told me more than anything else had. Kliment Romanov did not sleep lightly. He slept ready. Even if someone came at him with a gun in the night, Kliment would wake up, overpower the man, and take control of the situation in less than three strides. That was the man he was, and strangely enough, all of it only made him even more attractive to me.

I pushed myself up slowly, ignoring the pull of healing stitches and the dull protest of my foot as it found the floor. The brace held steady, yet pain was still there, but it no longer dictated my movement.

Good.

I went around the room, freshening up and changing clothes, and by the time he woke, I was already dressed. I was wearing my signature black again. It was going to color when I needed clarity, and today was one of those days. To my surprise, Kliment had arranged an entire wardrobe for me on just the second day of me being here, and a lot of the clothes looked exactly like the clothes I had been wearing on the day of the docks. I chose a fitted long-sleeved top with dark cargo trousers, and my hair pulled back cleanly. It was functional and controlled, and worked to limit distractions which was exactly what I wanted.