Page 62 of Prey of the Bratva

“You should have trusted us,” Iosif said, his expression still unreadable.

“I do,” she said. “But you don’t trust me.”

That fractured something. It was subtle but true.

“You protect me,” she continued. “You make decisions for me. You decide what I can and cannot handle.”

“Because we know what this world does to people,” Avgust snapped.

“So do I.”

“I’m not asking for permission,” she said finally. “I’m telling you what I’m doing.”

“And if we don’t agree?” Timofey asked.

She held his gaze and then answered. “It doesn’t change anything.”

And with just that reply, she had drawn the line. It was clean and irreversible. The room shifted again, tension tightening, snapping into something sharper and more volatile. And that was when I moved towards her, my hand settling at the curve of her waist like it belonged there. I could hear her breath hitch, but she made no attempt to move or remove my hand. She knew it was intentional, and everyone knew what it meant.

Misha Chernykh was mine, and the lines between the Romanovs and Chernykhs had never been blurred this heavily before.

Chapter 17 - Misha

“Say that again.” Iosif’s voice did not rise, but I could still feel the familiar edge of anger laced in it. That was how you knew it mattered.

I stood exactly where I had stopped the moment I stepped into the Chernykh estate, the familiar weight of the house pressing in around me in a way that felt both grounding and suffocating at the same time. Nothing had changed. Everything from the marble floors to the tall windows and the quiet hum of power beneath everything felt like home and yet not like home at the same time. It was nothing like Kliment’s safehouse, which had started feeling like a place of comfort during my time away.

And a part of me longed to return. However, when Iosif had been accepting of everything I had told him but had asked me to at least come back home, I had known denying him would not be a wise idea. I had already disappointed him enough, and the Chernykh in me wanted to make amends. But none of that meant I was going to compromise my mission or my identity or my feelings.

“I’m not repeating it,” I said calmly, taking a seat on the sofa in the main hall. Everyone was there, gathered around me.

“You will,” Avgust snapped from my right, already pacing. “Because I’m fairly certain I misheard you.”

“No, Avgust. I can assure you that you didn’t. I meant what I said.”

Timofey, sprawled halfway across one of the armchairs like this was entertainment instead of a confrontation, let out a low whistle. “No, no. I heard it too. I just want confirmation that we’ve collectively lost our minds.”

Zhenya, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed, closed her eyes briefly. “I told you something was wrong when she disappeared. She would have never left her phone in her room otherwise. I was constantly saying she had not been kidnapped and left of her own will, and now we have confirmation for that.”

“That is not helpful right now, Zhenya,” Avgust shot back.

“That is extremely helpful,” she countered. “I deserve credit for being right, especially now that Misha is back and all is right in the Chernykh household.”

“You don’t get credit for predicting disaster, and we can most definitely see how all is not right,” Avgust replied, looking annoyed. I sat there, highly amused by the exchange.

“I absolutely do.”

“Enough, you two. We have other problems to deal with right now, and we can continue with this verbal spar at a later time,” Iosif said.

Silence snapped back into place immediately, and Iosif’s gaze settled on me again, heavier this time. Sharper.

“Start explaining yourself, Misha.”

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. It was not because I was unsure, but because I knew exactly what this conversation would become if I let it go on for much longer. My family would never ever be accepting of my feelings towards Kliment, and I could not blame them. After everything that had happened in the past, it was only understandable.

“There’s nothing to explain,” I said. “I told you the truth.”

“You said,” Lukyan cut in, turning toward me fully now, “that you are in love with Kliment Romanov.”