Page 64 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

His steel-gray eyes swept over my body like he was assessing me from head to toe. “Get some rest,” he whispered, his fresh breath warm against my face. “I’ll be back to check on you.”

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath this whole time until he stepped away from my private space.

He was almost at the door when I called out after him.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

He glanced back at me.

“I’ll find a way out.”

A faint grin tugged at his lips. “Good luck with that.”

I seethed in silence, watching him exit the room. By the time I rushed over to the door, it was already closed—locked from the outside. I banged on it for a moment before deciding to check the window. When I parted the curtains, I realized I was at least five stories high. Jumping down would be suicide.

Frustrated, I strolled over to the bed and sat on the edge, face buried in my palms. My heart was heavy, my head was full, and my anxiety was spiking. The way he turned so cold so suddenly scared me in a way I didn’t know was possible.

For a second there, I couldn’t recognize him in his true form. Anton was never real. The kind, charming man from the café was just a made-up character who’d already been killed off by his creator.

All that was left was Rodion Tarasov, the Mafia boss who had me kidnapped and locked up in this gilded cage.

I combed my fingers through my hair, confused and afraid at the same time.

Anton was tolerable even though he was a liar.

Rodion, on the other hand, was on an entirely different level of evil. Money laundering, racketeering, and so on. Anton, I could deal with. Anton, I understood. But not Rodion. I had no idea what he had planned for me, and that uncertainty rattled every nerve in my body. I’d asked why he had me kidnapped, but men like him didn’t need a reason for anything.

This was the same man who followed me for weeks, carefully removed me from sticky situations, and then likely bugged my place. He wasn’t my guardian angel—he was my stalker.

It could’ve been worse, you know, said Reason. He could’ve thrown us in a cell in his basement. Instead, he brought us here—a spacious room with a comfy bed and a TV.

Let’s call it what it is—it’s a gilded cage, Audacity chipped in. We clearly aren’t allowed beyond these walls.

It’s still better than rotting in a basement with rats as our roommates.

As the voices in my head kept going back and forth as usual, I lay back on the bed, staring blankly into space. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the chances of Rodion letting me go were next to zero.

I’d witnessed a crime he committed, and I knew his true identity. That was why he had me taken—because I finally figured out who he was. This whole time, he never made a move to abduct me because I was still in the dark. But the second I found out the truth, he removed me from public space.

At this point, I wasn’t even sure anyone would ever find me here. My friends would notice I’d disappeared and call the cops. However, the authorities wouldn’t be able to do much because men like Rodion Tarasov had people even in the police force.

One word from him, and the case would be shut down. Then everyone would be back to square one.

That was when I realized how much of a mess I was in and the gravity of my situation. I was in trouble. Deep trouble, and no one was coming to save me.

The only solution was to find a way to escape this place—wherever this place was.

But even if, by some miracle, I managed to run away, where could I hide in the world so that he wouldn’t find me?

Chapter 20 – Rodion

I had the table set for two at exactly seven p.m. the next day. The staff was briefed on precisely how I wanted the evening to unfold, every detail arranged the way I wanted it. They knew better than to give something less than perfection.

The dining room sat at the heart of the estate’s main floor, its long table carved from a single slab of dark walnut. Its surface was polished to a mirror finish that caught and threw back the warm light of the chandelier suspended above it.

I’d had it set with the formal service: white porcelain rimmed in gold, crystal glasses arranged in their proper order.

Candles burned in a low row down the center of the table, their light flickering softly against the dark wood and the deep red of the wine already breathing in its decanter.