Page 61 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

She doesn’t ask why. She just slips on her sandals and follows, trusting me.

And that—that—cuts deeper than any betrayal ever could.

She walks beside me, humming something under her breath, brushing her fingers lightly along the banister as we descend the stairs. We pass the guards stationed at the hall, and she finally glances at me and asks, “Why are there so many guards here?”

I don’t answer.

Because if I do, I’ll unravel.

We reach the panic room—a cold, steel-lined vault of a space with reinforced walls, bulletproof doors, and security systems that would impress anyone who knows their stuff. Violet pauses at the threshold, her brows furrowing.

“Where are we going?” she asks, tilting her head as I input the passcode.

I pull the door open.

Inside, it’s clean. Minimalist. A bed. A bathroom. A stocked kitchenette. Everything designed for survival. Nothing for comfort.

She looks at it like it’s a cage.

“I need you to stay in here for a few hours,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “I have some errands to run.”

She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she backs up slightly. “You’re joking, right? I’m not staying in there. That looks like a damn prison, Kaz.”

I meet her eyes, and the smile drains from her face.

“You don’t have a choice,” I say quietly.

Her breath catches. “Kaz….”

But I can’t listen.

I pull her gently—gently—inside, then step back.

The door begins to shut.

“No!” she screams, running forward. “Kaz, don’t do this! Please!”

Her palms slam against the steel just as the door locks in place with a heavy clunk.

I close my eyes. My chest burns.

Her voice echoes through the speaker system. “Kaz! Let me out! Don’t do this to me!”

I press the speaker button, and my voice comes out low and firm:

“You are mine, Violet.”

I pause, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

“And this is how I protect what belongs to me.”

She’s still screaming, but I force myself to finish.

“Stay there. Safe and sound. While I kill every bastard who’s ever thought of touching you.”

I slam the speaker off and walk away, her screams clawing at my spine. I do not look back. Not because I don’t want to. But because if I do—I’ll never be able to leave.

Her screams echo down the corridor even after I shut off the speaker. I’m halfway down the hall, and I can still hear her pounding on the door.