Page 77 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

He said nothing. He simply held me and let me cry my heart out.

I clung to him like I’d never let go.

Minutes ticked by, possibly hours. I couldn’t say.

The sobs eventually dissolved into silence. I moved back a little, wiping my face. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” I murmured, even though he hadn’t questioned me. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly.

I glanced up at him. “How did you find me?”

He scowled down at me, his jaw tight. “I told you I always get what’s mine.”

I stiffened. “I’m not yours.”

He didn’t blink. “Then why are you crying in my arms,kotyonok?

The word sent a shiver down my spine. His presence had no right to make me feel comfortable, but it did.

I looked over my shoulder. The alley was clear. There was no trace of the masked man. “Who was he?” I asked, half out of curiosity and half to avoid his question.

“I don’t know yet,” Matvey answered menacingly. “But I will find out.”

His hand grazed my stomach, a glance, almost by accident, but not quite.

I stepped back, guilt weaving through my ribs. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t have run.”

I gazed at him. “I had to.”

“You didn’t,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You decided to.”

The silence became more strained between us. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break down again, but more than anything…I wanted him to hold me a little while longer.

I swallowed hard. “What now?”

He stared at me as if committing my face to memory. “Now, you go home with me.”

My brows shot up inquisitively. “And what if I refuse?”

His voice was low. Cold. “You won’t.”

Chapter 22 – Matvey

Sunlight cut through the curtains in thin rivulets, casting shadows across the floor.

Zoella sat down at the edge of the bed, slumped over, looking at the carpet as the doctor finished writing down her last notes. Her arms had streaks of shallow cuts, small bruises blooming like violets. The soft tremor in her hands would not stop, even when her lips dropped into silence.

I kept my jaw locked and stood beside the window, watching tension lines etch across her back like a map of everything that had gone wrong.

The doctor finished quickly, making some remark about the baby’s vitals being stable, strong.

I felt relieved that both Zoella and the baby were safe, but his words were background noise behind the storm brewing inside me.

As he left, the door slammed behind him unnecessarily loudly.

I entered the room, pacing on purpose.