Page 21 of Forced By the Bratva

“That doesn’t cut it. I need an actual answer.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Iris,” he said. “Stay in your room tonight and don’t step out.”

I hesitated, displeased by the sharpness of his tone. “No.”

He turned back toward me, and whatever patience he usually kept in reserve for me seemed to run out all at once. He crossed the room in a few steps, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head to keep looking at him.

“Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, young lady,” he growled, his eyes colder than they usually were.

Young lady? Ohh, he’s pissed.

“When I give an instruction, you obey. No questions asked. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, eyes blinking rapidly on reflex. “I’m not one of your maids,” I managed to say, my gaze unwavering. “I don’t have to ‘obey’ your instructions.”

His jaw tightened. For a second, I thought he might actually raise his voice. And some small, stupid part of me almost wanted him to, just to prove he was capable of losing control the way I imagined he should.

He didn’t.

His voice dropped instead, quiet, even, somehow worse than shouting would have been.

“For once,” he said, “just listen to me.”

I opened my mouth to argue again.

“I mean it, Iris.” His eyes held mine, steady, no room in them for negotiation.

Iris. That’s more like it. Better than “young lady.” I wasn’t sure why being addressed that way pricked a part of me the way it did. Or why calling me by my name actually felt more refreshing.

“Stay in the room tonight.”

The words landed somewhere low in my stomach, tightening it in a way that had nothing to do with fear. I didn’t have a name for the feeling. I didn’t want one.

I stood there, frozen, working through some response that wouldn’t come, and by the time I found my voice, he was already gone. The door shut behind him, quiet compared to how hard my heart was suddenly working.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the kitten asleep in a makeshift bed of towels by the window. With a hand pressed flat against my chest, as if that might slow anything down, I pondered his warning.

Why tonight?

I always wandered the halls whenever I wanted, at whatever hour, and he never had a problem with it. Then what changed?

Was something supposed to happen tonight that he didn’t want me to witness? Was he trying to protect me from something I didn’t know about, or was this just another form of control?

Chapter 8 – Ilya

I was seated in the living room when the door opened, and a familiar cologne filled the room. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

His commanding presence gave him away. And it wasn’t until I heard his approaching footsteps that I finally looked up from the laptop screen.

There he was, standing at six-foot-three. Dark brown hair, short and clean, deep gray-blue eyes, and a blank expression on his rigid face. His black coat was impeccably tailored, his watch glinting in the soft light.

“Hello, brother,” he greeted me, voice low and even.

That was Ivan Tarasov, my older brother, who had turned 40 just three weeks earlier.

His arrival today was why I’d asked Iris to stay in her room. I already knew exactly what brought him here and where the conversation, which hadn’t even begun, would eventually lead.

“I waited for you all morning. Wasn’t expecting you in the afternoon,” I replied, leaning back in my chair.