Page 44 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

"I would." His instant response is comforting, but it scares me.

The conversation lulls as he gestures for my glass, which he refills alongside his, then pushes back to me. I detest the Russian favorite, but it's working on my nerves, relaxing me the way only alcohol can. I sip the new glass with a greater appreciation for vodka as the warmth spreads through my chest and cheeks. Then I think of the reason for this war.

Papa needs me, and if I don’t work out something to make sure his future is a more pleasant one, I'm afraid they'll find him on the floor next to a batch of meth, his body having given up.

"And how is he? My father… Nobody tells me anything past 'he's working'." I get to visit him and I know his health has improved significantly with food. And now that he's not being beaten daily, his bruises are mostly healed. I just want it to stay that way.

"He's working." Demin blinks slowly and says, "The product coming off that bench is as strong as anything I bought out of Spain. He's comfortable—better than the cell Solano kept him in."

"But better isn't necessarily what he needs, Demin," I say softly, trying my hardest not to come across as weak or pleading. If this man wants me, then he has to respect that I have desires too, important ones. I won't just let myself be his while he abuses my father.

But my God, the way he'd own my heart, and not just my body, if he were to meet those needs. If Demin Roshin saw in my father what I see and he took care of my father the way I would—he would truly possess everything about me.

"He needs freedom." My words probably don't land how I want them to, but I can't look him in the eye to find out. This is the most civil I've been when it comes to asking for my father's freedom. The man seated across from me is far from civil, but I hope he can hear reason when I ask him for my father to be released. Before I can even open my mouth, however, he speaks.

"Then let me tell you what I'm offering," he says. "Can you do that?"

I lift my eyes back to his, curious to see what he might say now. "I'm listening."

"Your father keeps working the way he's working now, proves to me he's in this and not waiting for a chance to run, and I will take care of him." He holds my gaze as I narrow my eyes in confusion. "I'll give the two of you a home, a salary for him—gainful employment, of course—and enough money that you never count coins again as long as you live."

I think I'm afraid to speak right now. What I'm hearing sounds too good to be true. It sounds like Mr. Roshin is offering to elevate my father to a level no one has seen him at for decades. To recognize his worth as more than just a cook for criminals and honor him by respecting my wishes. It brings tears to my eyes that burn as I blink them back.

"Permanent protection," he goes on, "not guards to control him. The Roshin name will be stamped on both of you, which means nobody from Solano's world or any other ever touches either of you again, and personal security for your father wherever he goes."

"But Demin…" I start to protest, but he cuts me off continuing.

"They'd open doors and carry his bags…" His eyes bore into mine intensely as I finally lose the battle with my emotion and a tear streaks down my cheek. "Someone important I will keep safe…"

My lower lip trembles as more tears well up. What is he saying? Why is he doing this? The sudden change feels almost like a trap, like he's manipulating me instead of trying to outwardly control me. I want so desperately to believe this, but my heart is so afraid, so battered and abused by my past, that I don't know how to feel.

"And it doesn't stop there," he says. "Your father's getting older. We all know it. We both know it might come sooner than he wants to admit."

My throat tightens, because it's the thing I don't let myself think about. Papa won't live forever, and he's barely had a chance to live. I want him to have adventures and a life in his old age that he can be happy with. Working 'til his deathbed is my greatest fear for him.

"So he builds a team," Demin says. "His own people, hand-picked by him, no one I force on him. He trains them while his hands are still good, teaches them what he knows, and when the day comes that he can't stand at a bench anymore, the work goes on without him and the money keeps coming to him anyway. He retires here in Berlin comfortably, with his daughter close and nothing left to fear."

"You'd really let him stop. When he can't do it anymore." I'm in shock now, hands trembling, so I have to set the half-empty glass on his desk. My brain is telling my ears they're hearing things wrong.

"I'd have already gotten what I needed by then, his knowledge in other hands, the product still moving." He shrugs like it's just business. "A man who's trained my whole supply doesn't owe me anything once he's done it. I'm not Solano… I told you that from the beginning, Isabela."

"Here," I say, and it comes out in a weak, quavering tone. "You'd let him stay. Legally." My hand hovers over my mouth as a sob rumbles up, so happy it feels like I'm in a fairy tale, having all my wishes granted.

"Work visas to start. Citizenship after, for both of you, whatever paperwork it takes, and I have the people to make that paperwork move." He sets his glass down and says, "Anything he wants, Isabela. That's the offer, if he proves himself…"

I can't even speak now. I choke back a few sobs as I rise and walk around his desk, falling on his lap as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My heart has always known that somehow, some way, I'd get my father to a place where he could be free. I've had my doubts this entire time about the Roshin family and whether they would be worse than the Solanos, but today, Demin has proven to me that he is very much not the monster I feared he was.

"I can't believe this," I whisper, letting my cheeks dampen the shoulder of his shirt.

"Believe it," he grumbles, pulling me down harder. "Because it's true."

Of all the things this man has given me, the clothing and luxury, the dinners and even the intimacy, this gift is the only thing that could ever have moved my heart like this.

"Thank you," I whisper, then I brush my lips over his. Something tightens in my chest as a wave of attraction and need rushes up through my chest into my face. It's hot, and I feel suffocated by my clothing as he returns the kiss, deepening it.

His mouth claims mine with a hunger that matches the fire building inside me. I press closer on his lap, my fingers threading into his hair as our lips move together. The taste of vodka lingers between us, while his hands slide up my back and pull me flush against his chest.

"You're mine now, Isabela," he murmurs against my lips hungrily. "Not just your body—your loyalty, your future. Everything you want for your father, I will give it because you belong to me."