Page 29 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I stand in front of the mirror, my lips swollen and eyes wide. I’m so flushed, and the taste of Ilariy still lingers on my tongue.

I can’t go back to my brothers looking like this. They’ll know something is off.

I know I can’t hide in the bathroom forever and try to fix myself up by dabbing wet tissue to the skin around my lips, trying to remove the smudged lipstick. When it looks all gone, I pull out some concealer to cover the blotches before reapplying my lipstick.

Though on the surface, I look okay, my racing heart doesn’t let me forget.

“Pull yourself together,” I whisper to my reflection as I grip onto the sink. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have let him touch me. Every time I weaken, I put him in danger.

But God, the feel of his hands on my waist, his lips against mine—it felt like coming home after being lost for so long.

I have to force myself to stop thinking about Ilariy. Though there’s nothing more I want than to hide out here and pretend Ilariy’s just an arm’s length away, Tikhon will be looking for me by now. I pray that whatever commotion pulled Ilariy and me apart has kept him distracted.

He’s been watching me like a hawk all evening. The time I found to slip away and talk to Ilariy was a miracle of timing and sheer luck.

When my hands stop trembling at last, I exit the bathroom. The closer I walk to the ballroom, the higher the voices get.

I walk faster out of curiosity, wondering who is arguing and what the cause of all this is. I hear some glass shatter, as if it has been thrown, and my stomach drops.

I reach the entrance of the ballroom, but I can’t bring myself to step in. The scene before me freezes my blood.

A very furious Tikhon stands at the center of the room, with Andrei and Alexey beside him.

Ilariy, Agafon, Bogdan, and the rest of Ilariy’s siblings stand opposite. The other guests mill about, too afraid to stop whatever is going on.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” Tikhon yells at Ilariy. “You’ve been hovering around my sister all night, Letvin, and now she can’t be found. Where did you take her?”

I shrink back, not wanting to be spotted yet.

“I don’t know where she is,” Ilariy says calmly, keeping his gaze on Tikhon.

“Liar!” Tikhon roars.

“How dare you accuse Ilariy of whisking her away? Do you think he would still be here if he did?” Faddey steps forward, his face flushed with anger. “Besides, we aren’t monsters like you. Let’s talk about how you threatened to murder Tatiana if Arina didn’t go with you.”

Gasps ripple through the watching crowd. My cheeks burn with shame as I remember what Tikhon did.

“That’s a lie,” Alexey snarls, but there’s a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

“Is it?” Faddey challenges, taking another step forward. Several Letvin men shift forward with him, and I see Tikhon’s hand move slightly toward his jacket, where I know he keeps his gun.

My heart hammers so hard I fear it might break through my ribs. Someone is going to die here tonight, and it will be because of me.

Then Ilariy moves, placing a restraining hand on Faddey’s shoulder. “Enough,” he says. “Not here.”

I watch, transfixed, as Ilariy steps forward to stand directly before my brothers. His back is straight, his shoulders squared, and he looks every bit like a real boss. Even from across the room, I can feel the authority radiating from him.

“We all know the measures you took to get your sister back,” he says. “And we all know what will happen if this escalates here. Is that what you want, Tikhon? Blood on the Volkovs’ floor? An all-out war with every family in this room forced to choose sides?”

Tikhon’s eyes narrow, but Ilariy continues before he can speak.

“We can resolve this another time, another place. For now, let’s not ruin our hosts’ evening.” He turns slightly, acknowledging the Volkovs with a respectful nod.

I stare, stunned by the diplomat that’s emerged from the man I know as a fierce protector. He could crush my brothers right now—they’re outnumbered, and everyone in this room knows the Letvins have the upper hand. Yet here he stands, offering peace when war would be easier.

And then it hits me, a realization so powerful it nearly knocks me back—I love him. Not just desire, not just gratitude, not some twisted Stockholm syndrome. I love Ilariy Letvin with every fiber of my being.

The revelation sweeps through me like a flood, washing away my doubts and fears. I love his strength and his kindness, his fierce loyalty and unexpected gentleness. I love how he looks at me as if I’m the only person in the room, how his touch makes me feel both safe and wild at once.

Tikhon’s shoulders relax slightly, though his expression remains hard. “This isn’t over,” he says, but he takes a step back.

“Far from it,” Ilariy agrees. “But it’s not for tonight.”

As the standoff slowly dissolves, with both sides backing away from the precipice, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe there’s a way through this after all. Maybe we can find a path for us, for Ilariy and me, that doesn’t end in bloodshed.

But does he even want that? In the library, when he pressed me for the truth, he never once talked about his own feelings.

He asked what I wanted, what had changed, but not once did he say he loved me or needed me.

Was it just physical for him? Just the thrill of possessing something that belongs to his enemy?

Even as the doubt creeps in, I make my decision. I need to know. I need to stand by his side and see if there’s a future for us beyond this feud.

I step out of my hiding place, ready to cross the room to him, to face my brothers by his side, and hope for the best when a hand catches my elbow.

I turn, expecting to see someone I know, but instead find myself face to face with a man I instantly recognize—the man who followed us in Cancun.

I freak out. I begin to pull away, but his grip on me tightens.

“Miss Sokolov,” he says, his voice a flat, emotionless murmur. “You need to come with me.”

“Let go of me,” I hiss. My eyes dart toward Ilariy, but his back is to me now as he speaks quietly with his brothers.

Just then, I feel something sharp press against my side—the point of a knife. “Don’t make a sound.”

Fear spikes through me as he begins steering me toward a side exit. I open my mouth to scream, but before I can make a sound, I feel a sharp prick in my neck. Cold spreads from the injection site, and my vision immediately begins to swim.