Page 91 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

His tone is darker now.

“Maybe you’re just like him, huh?”

I meet his gaze. Maybe I am. Because I love Adrian, too. Beyond reasonable doubt.

“I’ve been watching you both,” he says. “I see the way you look at him. Like maybe, just maybe, you see something worth loving. That’s dangerous. That’s what makes him human. And that’s what makes you a threat to my revenge.”

His hand lifts, and he taps a finger to his temple.

“So I changed the plan. I’ll use you differently now. Not as a wedge. As bait.”

He smiles, slow and sickening.

“You’re not going to turn on him. But I can still make him come running. And when he does…I’ll be ready.”

I realize Yegor likes to talk, and I decide to use this trait against him. I remember something my psychology professor once said in class during a discussion on sociopaths:They love the sound of their own voice. Let them speak, and you’ll learn everything you need to escape.

My wrists ache from the restraints, my head throbs, and there’s blood caked at my temple—but I force myself to breathe evenly. To not cry. To not scream. Instead, I need toact.

Yegor paces in front of me now, his boots thudding softly against the concrete floor of the warehouse. He thinks he has all the time in the world.

So I lift my chin and speak—my voice calm, slow, intentional.

“You seem…intelligent,” I say, carefully. “Strategic. Not like some of the impulsive people I’ve seen attack Adrian.”

That gets his attention. His head tilts, and he smirks, walking closer.

“Is that your way of trying to flatter me, sweetheart?”

I shrug, though it makes my shoulder scream in pain. “I’m just saying it takes a certain type of brilliance to go undetected in a Bratva circle. Especially one as tight as Adrian’s. Most people don’t even survive a month around him.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s true.”

I keep going, noting how he preens under the praise, how his eyes light up at the mention of his own cunning.

“You’ve clearly been planning this for a long time,” I say. “You didn’t just want Adrian dead. That would’ve been easy. This is…personal.”

“It is,” Yegor agrees, coming closer until he crouches in front of my chair again. “My brother—dead by his hands. No one ever talks about that, do they? No one questions Adrian Rusnak. But I knew I’d get my chance. And when I found out about you….” His eyes roam my face, making my skin crawl. “You were the perfect lever.”

I force my features to stay soft, passive.

“Your brother, what was his name again?”

Yegor frowns. His head tilts, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe because…I’ve lost people too. Maybe because I know what grief feels like.”

He stares at me for a long time, like he’s trying to see through me, peel back my words, and catch the manipulation underneath. But there’s truth buried in what I said. And I think he knows that.

He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “Valentin.”

I nod slowly, filing the name away. “He must have been…someone important to you.”

“He was the best of us,” Yegor mutters, jaw tight. “He had discipline. Honor. Loyalty. Everything Adrian pretends to have. But Adrian—he didn’t like competition. He didn’t like someone else rising in the ranks. So he set him up. Turned the others against him. Then killed him when no one was looking.”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face. Real pain. Real loss. It throws me.