Page 70 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

Splintered wood scatters across the floor as four men dressed in black pour into the apartment like shadows, their boots pounding against the hardwood.

I recognize the two guys from the shipyard earlier. The one with the scar smiles like a maniac and points in my direction. “There she is.”

Terror detonates inside my chest.

I spin toward the bedroom, my phone still clutched in my hand, but I don’t make it three steps before one of the men grabs my hair. Pain rips across my scalp as I’m yanked backward so hard my feet leave the floor and my phone flies from my hand, skidding across the apartment until another man crushes it beneath his boot and the screen shatters.

From the darkness behind the two other men, Serrano emerges, smiling like a psychopath as he stalks toward me, like he expects me to be happy he’s here.

The man grabbing my hair shoves me down on my knees before taking his hand off my hair. Pain explodes on top of my head, but I barely let myself feel it.

My entire body has gone rigid, every muscle wound so tightly I can hear my own pulse pounding in my ears. Running isn’t an option anymore. Fighting certainly isn’t. Four armed men stand between me and the only exit, and the man responsible for destroying my life watches me with the kind of satisfaction that makes my stomach churn.

Serrano takes his time walking toward me. He slips the black leather gloves off of his hands one finger at a time before tucking them into the pocket of his pants.

His lips curl with a smirk. “We meet again, darling.”

I glare at him with enough hate to rip a man apart, if only looks could kill. I swear he calls me that just to piss me off.

“I’ll make it quick. I’m here to collect whatever it is you have for me.”

My heart thrashes against my ribcage. The image of Matthew on that cold floor with his mouth gagged and his hands tied behind him flashes in my head. “I don’t have anything.”

The smile on Serrano’s face dissolves into a frown. “What do you mean you don’t have anything?” He looks around thoughtfully. “Were you kicked out?”

I nod. “But I’ll go back to him today. I’ll get what you need. Please don’t hurt Matthew. I just need some more time.”

“I expected you to come back with something useful,” he says, his voice carrying through the empty apartment with terrifying calmness. “Instead, you got yourself kicked out and came back empty-handed?”

None of that is my fault. If Serrano hadn’t forced me out of the mansion in the first place, then none of this would’ve happened. Igor wouldn’t hate me as much as he does now. But I don’t say that.

I don’t care what happens to me now, but I can’t throw Matthew’s life away. It’ll haunt me forever if anything happens to him. “Twenty-four hours. Please, just give me twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours?” He snorts derisively. “How stupid do you think I am? If Igor kicked you out, it means he no longer trusts you.”

I shake my head. “He’s just angry right now.”

He chuckles sardonically and lowers himself until his face is directly across from mine. For a moment, I imagine moving closer and biting his lips off. I’ll probably be killed on the spot, and Matthew right after.

“Sometimes, I forget how young and naïve you are,” he says, drawing a Glock from the back of his waistband. “Unfortunately for you, darling, you failed your mission, and I have no use for liabilities.”

A cold knot twists low in my stomach, growing tighter with every passing second as he presses the gun to my head, the cold metal biting into my skin.

So this is how it ends for me.

Fear digs its claws into me, and for a second, I consider begging, pleading for another chance to betray the man I realized too late I still love.

But I don’t.

I’m a Nazarov, and Nazarovs beg no one.

Especially not their enemies.

The only person I feel sorry for is Matthew, who got caught up in all of this because of me, but I’ve come to accept that no amount of begging I could do would change Serrano’s mind.

I think of Igor and wonder how he’ll react when he finds out I’m dead. I wonder if he’ll be sad, if he’ll blame himself or feel nothing at all.

And then my mother…my brother…it’ll shatter their hearts when they have to identify my body.