Page 7 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

I zoom in on the screen, letting the cursor hover over her image. She looks…soft. Curious. Terrified.

And still so goddamn beautiful.

I know every inch of that face.

I’ve traced it before with the pad of my thumb in the privacy of my own darkness—photos, stolen glances, videos mymen took of her that she didn’t know about. It’s not the first time I’m holding her image in my hands.

But it might be the last time I get to look at her like this.

Innocent.

Untouched by the blood and dirt I live in.

I clench my jaw because the truth tastes like ash in my mouth.

She’s not just some girl anymore. Not after tonight.

Now she’s evidence. And I’m going to have to treat her like I do all others. Right? Yeah, fucking right!

What the hell was she doing in that alley?

She’s twenty-two and fucking old enough to know dark alleys are dangerous for a helpless woman like her. Fuck, just last night, a man was killed in the same alley. What could she be doing there?

Maxim and Milos walk into my study, but I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I feel them come to a stop beside me. Maxim, my childhood best friend and second in command, shuffles closer, holding something in his gloved hands. “We tracked her back,” he says simply, like it’s nothing. “Broke into her place. Found the camera.”

He hands it over, cool and heavy in my palm—a vintage piece of shit she carries everywhere with her.

“We left a note in its place,” Maxim adds. “Didn’t want to touch her. Figured we’d wait on your call for whatever comes next.”

I don’t respond. Not yet.

But I know why they didn’t touch her. Why they left a note instead. They know of my interest in Violet. I’ve had Maxim and Milo, a trusted soldier, shadow her secretly to get me photos and videos. Milo never asks questions, but Maxim always does.

“Why do you need her pictures? If you want her, just take her.”

I could. But I don’t. Violet isn’t built for this life. She’s too pure. Too sweet. Let her finish college and do something civil with her life. She doesn’t belong with someone like me.

But now….

I power on the camera and scroll through the memory.Click. Click. Click.There they are—three crystal-clear shots of the execution. Blood. Chaos. The victim mid-collapse. All lit by her damn flash.

And then—

One last image.

Me.

I stare at myself, frozen in time, eyes locked on the camera. The flash must have gone off just as I turned. My face is sharp. Focused. Unmistakably mine.

Fuck.

I exhale slowly, eyes never leaving the image.

She caught me.

She fucking caught me.

And now…I have to decide what to do with her.