Page 15 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

But I’m not.

And that’s the fucking problem.

I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement jolts me, shakes something loose inside my chest. I head for the door without another glance at the screen. I don’t let myself look back.

Not even once.

Because if I do—if I so much as glance at her face again—I’ll end up in that room, and I’ll make a mistake I won’t be able to walk away from.

I’m Kazimir fucking Rusnak.

I don’t make mistakes like that.

So I force my feet forward, every step away from her like a fight with gravity, and I leave the room. Leave the girl. Leave the goddamn part of me that’s already starting to forget why I don’t let anyone close in the first place.

Morning comes too fast.

The sky outside is still a moody gray when I step into the sitting room, nursing a black coffee that tastes like regret. I haven’t slept. Not really. I spent half the night staring at her on that goddamn screen, and the other half trying to forget her face and failing miserably.

I should’ve shut the camera feed.

Should’ve walked away the second her sobs started.

But I didn’t.

And now my head’s a mess.

I lean back on the velvet sofa, staring into nothing, when I hear the familiar weight of boots on marble.

Maxim. He steps into the room, watchful eyes on me. “You look like you haven’t slept. What’s on your mind?”

“Don’t start with me,” I snarl. “Is she awake?”

Maxim yawns. I had him watch the feed all night. “Yes. But she’s still in bed.”

“Bring her down.”

He nods once and turns away without question.

It’s only a few minutes later that I hear the soft patter of reluctant footsteps. My gaze drifts toward the staircase, and there she is—Violet.

She looks smaller in the morning light. Fragile in a way I hadn’t expected. Her eyes are swollen, her lips pressed into a thin line of defiance. She’s wearing the same clothes as last night—crumpled, loose—and her hair is a mess of curls. But she holds herself upright, even as Maxim gently guides her forward with a hand on her arm.

That’s when something sharp flares in my chest.

I hate seeing anyone touch her. I take a slow breath, trying to school the sudden possessiveness crawling under my skin.

“Step away from her.” My tone is so cold that Maxim releases her immediately.

He gives Violet a nod and backs off, settling near the fireplace.

I turn my attention fully to her now.

She doesn’t shrink away, but she doesn’t move closer either. She stands at a cautious distance, arms crossed over her chest, chin slightly lifted like she’s daring me to say something she can chew on.

“Come here,” I say, voice low, coaxing.

To my surprise, she does.