Page 8 of Forced By the Bratva

There was a man outside, tall enough that I had to tilt my head to see his face. Dark clothes. Dark brown hair.

He wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t checking his phone, and wasn’t doing any of the small, restless things people do while they wait.

This man stood completely still, hands loose at his sides, as if he already knew I was on the other side of the door, watching him.

That unsettled me.

I didn’t know this man. I had never seen him before in my life. So what was a complete stranger doing at my doorstep at 8:30 in the evening?

My grip tightened around the hilt of the knife behind my back as I reached to open the door halfway.

“Can I help you?” I kept my voice flat, eyes scanning the area around him.

“As a matter of fact, you can,” he said, calm and composed. “My name is Ilya, and I’d like to speak with you about something important.”

His voice was menacing yet soothing at the same time. How was that even possible?

“Something important?” I raised my brows, a hint of surprise flashing in my eyes.

“Yes.”

He said it so casually, like walking up to a stranger’s porch and asking to speak with them about “something important” at almost nine p.m. was a normal thing to do.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but I’m not interested.” I tried to close the door.

“I’d like to speak with you about the files you accessed on your computer last night,” he said plainly, without raising his voice.

The words landed heavily on my chest, and my breath caught for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stared right into my eyes as though he could see into my soul. “I just wanna talk…Iris.”

He knows my name.

He knows about the files.

Oh my God!

Who’s this man?

What does he want with me?

Panic had completely taken over, and I was only pretending to be unfazed by this strange encounter.

“Now that I have your attention,” he said. “Can we talk?”

I swallowed. “You expect me to let a complete stranger into my home at this time of night?”

Silence.

“What if you’re a serial killer? What if you try to hurt me?”

“Then you can use that knife you’re holding behind your back.”

What the hell? How did he know about the knife?

I hesitated, contemplating my next move. I thought about slamming the door in his face and rushing to call 911, or maybe even alerting the neighbors.

This man didn’t move, and he didn’t take his eyes off me either. It seemed like he’d already anticipated every move I’d possibly make and was fully prepared for it. That made him dangerous.