Page 8 of The Bratva Betrayal

He sighs and grins. “Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” He reaches for me again and pulls me into his lap, forcing me to straddle his hips. “Let me fuck you again, and I’ll give you everything you want, Caitlin.”

I wish he were real.

I wish any of this were.

But men like Misha give you just enough to keep you soft, keep you close, and keep you from asking the wrong questions.

My father perfected that long before I ever set foot in this house.

Affection when it’s earned. Silence when it’s not.

Approval dangled just out of reach like something I should be grateful to chase.

I learned young how to compete for it. How to be better, sharper, and more useful than the next person in the room. How to listen when I wasn’t meant to. How to smile when I already knew the answer.

How to make myself necessary. Necessary meant seen.

Being seen meant I mattered.

Even now, it hasn’t changed.

This—being here, playing nice, letting Misha think he’s got something he doesn’t—is just another version of the same game.

Only the stakes are higher.

If I’m wrong this time, it’s not just me losing his attention.

It’s my family.

It’s everything.

Misha’s hands slide up my thighs, grounding and insistent, pulling me back into the moment.

“You went quiet.” He brushes his mouth along my jaw.

I let out a soft breath, forcing myself back into the version of me he expects.

“Just thinking,” I say lightly.

“About?”

I meet his gaze, letting something softer slip in. Something believable. “You.”

He smiles like he believes it.

Of course he does. Men like him usually do.

I smile back just as easily, settling my hands against his shoulders like I’m where I want to be.

I’m already thinking three steps ahead.

It’s to save my family from ruin.

And, possibly, his from death.