Page 51 of Bratva Baby

I turn slowly.

He’s standing at the mouth of the corridor in dark trousers and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His face is unreadable, but his mouth is doing something that suggests my irritation has improved his afternoon.

I bare my teeth at him. “You locked it remotely.”

He cocks his head. “Yes.”

I could hit him right about now. “That’s sick.”

“No,” he answers with a little chuckle that enrages me even more. “It’s efficient.”

I push off the panel and head for the sitting room before he can decide to physically steer me there. He follows anyway, and by the time I make it to the sofa, he catches my elbow, turns me, and sits me down with a firm hand on my shoulder. It isn’t hard enough to hurt, but it makes the point.

He stands over me. “Are you trying to prove something, or are you actually this reckless?”

I look up at him. “I’m trying not to let you settle me into your life like a decorative problem.”

His eyes narrow just enough to show I hit something. “Decorative isn’t the word I’d use.”

“No, you’d probably choose something more proprietary.”

After sparing a long look at me, he heads to the bar, pours water, and drinks half before speaking again.

“You’ve tested the front route, the service corridor, and the private lift. You’ve watched my staff, timed my men, and figured out where two cameras don’t overlap cleanly. Was there an actual plan somewhere in all that, or were you relying on pure nerve?”

I lean back into the sofa and cross my arms. “You noticed.”

He angles his head and gives me a look of long-suffering patience. I’d be insulted, but I’m still too angry. “I notice everything in my own house.”

The answer makes me want to throw the nearest glass object. I rally. “You dragged me here and sealed the exits. Am I supposed to sit quietly and develop a hobby?”

He comes back toward me, slower this time, and stops just close enough that I can see the small flecks of light in his irises. “You’re supposed to understand that every failed attempt teaches my enemies how far you’ll go and how desperate you are to get out. If you force my hand harder than I want, I will make this place more difficult. Neither of us wants that.”

The silence between us lasts a second too long, and then I decide not to waste more time. “Fine. Then let’s stop pretending this is a conversation about freedom.”

His head tilts. “Go on.”

“I want a phone.”

He frowns thoughtfully for a moment. “No unrestricted calls.”

“I didn’t say unrestricted. I said a phone.”

He folds his arms. “What else?”

“I want to choose my food. I’m not lying here eating whatever careful nonsense your kitchen keeps sending like I’m a patient too delicate to know what she wants. I also want work materials, news, and enough information that I’m not hearing men discuss my future in the next room and learning about it from silence.”

His mouth shifts at the food part. “You negotiate well when you stop performing outrage,” he remarks.

“I perform nothing,” I retort. “Do we have a deal?”

He chuckles deeply once again and his eyes drop to my mouth like he remembers exactly how it looks when I say something filthy instead of clever.

“You get a monitored phone,” he says. “All calls are cleared by me or Kolya. Food goes through the house, and anything delivered gets screened. You get access to work materials and trade news in the library, and if men are discussing something that affects you directly, you hear enough to understand it.”

I think about it for a bit. “That’s vague.”

He shrugs. “That’s the offer.”