Page 40 of Bratva Prisoner

“Money laundering through our legitimate businesses. Protection for smaller operations that want to stay independent. Territory disputes that need mediating.”

“Drugs?”

“No.” His answer is immediate and solid. “My family doesn’t deal drugs. Ever.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve seen what that poison does to communities. My father made that rule when he was still alive, and we’ve never broken it.”

Something in his tone tells me there’s more to that story, but I don’t push. “What about… other things? Human trafficking?”

The disgust that crosses his face is genuine. “Absolutely not. Anyone who touches that trade becomes our enemy on the spot.”

“But you do torture people.”

“When necessary,” he repeats from earlier. “Usually, people who hurt innocent civilians or try to muscle in on our territory. Jordan Portelli was selling information that could have started a war.”

“And you think that justifies what I saw?”

“I think sometimes violence is the only language certain people understand.” He traces a circle on my arm with his thumb, and the touch is soothing despite the subject matter. “I have sisters-in-law now, Alyssa. Female cousins. We protect our women, and we only go after the bad guys.”

“You really love them?”

“More than anything. They’re why I do this, why I take the risks. Everything is about keeping the family safe.”

“Including me?”

“Especially you.”

“I’m not family,” I point out before I hold my breath, as if my statement could change his mind.

“You could be.”

I should be terrified by the implication. I should run screaming from a man who’s talking about forever after knowing me for just a few weeks. Instead, warmth spreads through my chest like honey.

“Maksim…”

“I know it’s crazy. I know we barely know each other. But what I feel for you…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Attraction isn’t love.”

“No, but it’s a start.”

He moves his hand from my arm to my waist, pulling me closer until there’s barely any space between us. I should step away, maintain the boundaries I’ve tried so hard to establish. Instead, I let him draw me in until his body heat seeps into my skin.

“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.

“Probably.”

“We’re in an impossible situation.”

“I know.”

“I still don’t trust you.”

“I know that too.”

He brings his other hand up to tangle in my hair, and suddenly, I can’t remember why trusting him seems so important. All I can think about is the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.