Page 73 of Bratva Prisoner

“Troy.” His name comes out steady despite the panic clawing up my throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping, same as you.” He takes a step closer, and I resist the urge to run screaming through the food court. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yes, I mind. I don’t want to talk to you.”

I glance around, searching for one of Maksim’s men, but I don’t see anyone who looks like they might be from his team. Of course, the one time he respects my request for time alone would be this one.

“Come on, Alyssa. We have history. Surely we can have a civilized conversation.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

But he sits anyway, settling into the chair across from me like we’re old friends catching up. The presumption makes my skin crawl, but I don’t want to cause a scene, so I take in a steadying breath.

“You look good,” he comments, letting his gaze travel over me with such scrutiny that it makes me feel violated. “Living with your new boyfriend agrees with you.”

The mention of Maksim sends ice through my veins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Maksim Barkov, right? Nice house, by the way. Very impressive security system.”

“How do you—”

“Know where you’ve been staying? Baby, I’ve known since the day you moved in. Did you really think you could hide from me?”

The pet name makes my stomach churn with revulsion. “Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then? Traitor? Whore? Those seem more accurate, considering you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

“Maksim isn’t my enemy.”

“He’s mine, which makes him yours, too. You’ve picked the wrong side, Alyssa.”

“I haven’t picked any side. I just want to be left alone.”

Troy leans forward across the small table and lowers his voice to barely above a whisper. “That’s not how this works anymore. You’ve seen too much, know too much. And now you’re fucking a Barkov, which makes you a security risk.”

“I’m not a risk to anyone.”

“Pillow talk has a way of revealing secrets, doesn’t it? How much have you told him about our relationship? About what you saw in my apartment?”

“Nothing. I haven’t told him anything,” I lie with a squeak in my voice. I sound like a damn mouse, and I hate it.

“I don’t believe you. And neither will my associates.”

The implied threat in his words makes my mouth go dry. “What do you want?”

“Information. Details about Barkov operations, security protocols, anything that might be useful.”

“I won’t spy on Maksim.”

“Even if refusing puts other people at risk?”

“What other people?”

Troy pulls out his phone and shows me a photo that makes me gasp. It’s Diane, Aleksei’s artistic cousin, leaving what appears to be her studio late at night.

“Pretty girl,” Troy muses. “Very talented, from what I hear. Shame if something happened to her.”

“You wouldn’t.”