Page 7 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

She took down two of my men—on her own? That was remarkable. Sure, the guards were holding back, considering that she was just a girl. But still, most girls her age wouldn’t have pulled that kind of stunt.

No, they’d be so terrified to even move a muscle. But not my little redhead—fierce and feisty—a fuckin’ survivor. She was set on escaping the mansion, and the only real threat that stood in her way was me. She didn’t fear the guard; she resisted them—fought back like a beast on a rampage.

I was there—watched the whole thing from a distance. Her moves were tactical, her strikes strategic, like she knew the exact spot to hit her opponent. She struck quite hard for a girl with small hands. The impact of her punch was powerful enough to push back her victim, a man twice her size.

The way she knocked him off his feet with a swift sweep of her leg had my brows rising in astonishment. Perhaps she had a little bit of combat training sometime in her life. Or perhaps it was sheer adrenaline and her survival instinct that kicked in at the right time.

Whatever the case, she had impressed me in ways that I didn’t even know were possible.

She had my attention—my full attention. She earned it.

Ever since, I’d had my eyes on her at all times.

Not because I was afraid she’d attempt another escape—although after what I witnessed, she just might when she had the chance—but because I wanted to.

Her determination to leave—to escape this mansion—drew me in like a moth to flame. She’d proven to be such an interesting person who always put on a good show. Leona was quite entertaining, and I couldn’t help but be intrigued.

But her fight against my men wasn’t the only remarkable stunt she pulled that stole my attention.

This crazy little devil overrode an electronic door—manually! What the fuck?

Even Simon was impressed, shocked to the bone when we found out what she’d done. No one had ever done that before—no one. None that I was aware of anyway. Crazy stuff like that only happened in unrealistic Hollywood movies. Yet, this tiny redhead pulled it off—she actually pulled it off.

I sat in my office, a small smirk tugging at the corners of my lips as I pondered how talented Leona was. There was a lot to unravel about this girl; she was no ordinary individual. This one was different. Special. Gifted.

She had a fire burning in her that I just couldn’t ignore—no one could.

She’d only spent a few days here at the mansion, and the tales of her fiery spirit already spread like fuckin’ wildfire.

I’d overheard the maids gossiping about her, saying she was such a fighter—stubborn but beautiful. Their words. Not mine.

Although they weren’t entirely wrong. She was beautiful.

I took a sip from the glass of vodka in my hand, the soft crackle of the fireplace barely masking the silence that wrapped around me like a blanket. The room smelled of leather and smoke, mixed with faint traces of aged paper.

My thoughts kept returning to my little prisoner, and even when I tried to focus on something else, this girl wouldn’t leave my mind.

The strange part was that I actually enjoyed thinking about her—she was a nice break from the papers scattered across my desk.

I had more pressing issues to attend to—financial updates, reports of territorial shifts, intelligence on gangs itching too close to Bratva ports.

Yet, I chose to leave all of that and focus on redundant matters.

The sound of the front door creaking open forced me out of my thoughts. It was the one person who was allowed to waltz into my office without knocking. Simon.

He stepped inside, clad in his signature crimson suit, holding a file in his hand. His shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor as he approached my desk, his expression blank and unreadable.

“Boss,” he greeted me, slightly bowing his head.

I didn’t respond, just lifted the glass to my lips and took another sip. That was his cue to spill what he had in mind.

“We’ve got outsiders sniffing around the eastern port—my money’s on Sidorov’s men,” he began, setting the file on the table between us. “It appears three of our local dealers have been bought over—their allegiances now lie somewhere else.”

I lifted my eyes and met his gaze, my voice calm and gentle. “Names?”

“One is Petrov,” he answered, “his father still works the ferries.”

I yanked my brows at the boy’s stupidity, biting the hand that fed him. His father still worked for me, yet he was foolish enough to switch sides.

Idiot.

“Good,” I said, cradling the glass in my hand. “Bring the father in. Quietly. Let him disappear for about a week or so. No ransom notes. No contact. Nothing. That’s enough to send Petrov a message.”

He nodded. “And the others?”

“Freeze their accounts and cut their supplies,” I replied calmly. No emotions. No anger. Just precision. “Let their new allies feed them. When they starve, they’ll come crawling back.”

“What about the eastern port?”

“Double the men—loyal ones—and switch out the fuckin’ locals,” I answered, lifting the glass to my nose, the intoxicating scent of vodka invading my senses. “Run a quick check on the warehouse foremen. Find out who’s taking bribes and make an example out of them.”

He nodded.

Simon got the message clearly; he understood what I meant by making an example out of them. A bullet to the head. No witnesses. No loose ends.

There was no room for compromise within the Bratva. No mercy. No second chances. Betrayals and greedy bastards who sell sensitive Bratva information to the enemy would face the music. Death.

They knew the rules. They also knew the punishment. Yet, some dickheads thought they could have it both ways—that they could double-cross the brotherhood and live.

They had what was coming to them.

I signed off on the orders with a few short strokes and then slid the file aside. Just as Simon was about to leave, I asked almost immediately, “How is she…the girl?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Still as feisty as ever—smashed a mirror last night.”

Why am I not surprised?

“She’s barely eaten anything. All she does is brood all day and attack whoever’s unfortunate enough to bring her food,” he answered, a glint of amusement creeping into his tone. “Her attitude has sparked a mixed reaction amongst the men. Some are talking.”

My brows furrowed, a bit taken aback by his statement. “What talk?” I asked, my gaze cold and sharp.

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “They’re talking about taming the redhead.”

I wasn’t sure why, but something snapped in me—a sudden urge to react. However, I kept my cool, but the scowl on my face was a clear indication that I was pissed. My expression darkened, my jaw locked.

My gaze didn’t waver. “Tell the men to keep their opinions to themselves and their mouths shut if they want to keep their tongues.” My words were spoken quietly, my tone dripping with venom.

Simon listened but didn’t object, just nodded.

“Tighten the security around her wing. Make sure she’s guarded at all times,” I said, my instructions clear as crystal.

“Understood,” he answered. “Anything else, Boss?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

He nodded and then headed out in silence.

I didn’t ask him to double her security because I was afraid she’d attempt to run away again. No. I did that out of the growing instinct to protect what was mine.

I hadn’t claimed her yet. Not physically, anyway. But she already belonged to me.