Page 16 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Ruslan

"I don't want to see you cry."

The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth. Even I was surprised by them.

My voice sounded rough, unfamiliar. I could feel my body tensing slightly—this wasn't the kind of thing I said. I was used to solving problems with action, with orders, not with explanations or comfort.

Those green eyes of hers still held traces of tears, but she was stubbornly fighting to keep new ones from falling. She looked so fragile it made something in my chest clench painfully—a strange, crushing sensation that left me struggling to breathe.

"Thank you, Ruslan." Her voice was muffled against my chest.

I didn't say anything else. Just tightened my arms and pulled her deeper into my embrace.

I'd never held a woman like this before. No sexual intent, no agenda. I just wanted to hold her, to use my body heat to warm her.

I found myself gently patting her back—the motion came from some distant, hazy childhood memory. I remembered being very small, burning with fever, and my mother doing the same thing.

After a while, I felt her breathing slow and even against my chest. I looked down to find she'd fallen asleep, but even in sleep, her brow was furrowed with worry. I smoothed away the crease with my thumb, then carried her to the bedroom.

She curled into a ball on the bed, looking so small and vulnerable.

Something tightened around my heart.

I sat beside the bed for a long time, just watching this girl who'd crashed into my world and turned all my rules upside down.

Finally, I got up and walked back to my study.

I closed the door behind me, but Eva's tear-stained face was still burned into my memory.

An hour ago, I'd been in the middle of an international video conference when Anna told me about the negative Twitter buzz around Eva and me.

"...so as you can see, Mr. Yvannov," came a heavily accented British voice, "the London division's third-quarter profit projections..."

I clicked on the link Anna sent. The vile comments those bastards were posting about Eva made my pupils contract sharply.

Rage shot up from the base of my spine, instantly igniting every nerve in my body.

I could feel the muscles in my neck tightening with fury.

My phone was about to crack under the pressure of my grip.

"Stop." I cut him off.

The London division head went pale. "Sir, is there something wrong with my report?" he stammered.

"I have an urgent matter to handle. Meeting's postponed until tomorrow. My secretary will send the new time." I killed the connection, catching a glimpse of the guy's relieved face.

I immediately called my PR team.

"Twitter," my voice was ice-cold. "There's negative trending content about Eva that needs to disappear from that fucking platform within fifteen minutes."

"Understood," the PR head replied. "I'll have tech flood the hashtag off the trending list while legal sends an immediate cease and desist to Twitter's general counsel demanding manual intervention."

"Find the asshole who posted that original photo and make him regret it."

"Copy that, Boss."

Hanging up didn't make me feel any better. When I saw Eva's obviously tear-stained eyes, something in my chest felt like it was being torn apart.

I used to think my interest in Eva was just a transaction born from lust. Her young body, those defiant eyes, the way she came apart beneath me—it was all just an amusing diversion to satisfy my need for conquest.

I funded her career, moved her in with me. I thought I was feeding a pretty pet, just keeping her caged by my side for my entertainment.

But seeing her hurt and upset over those rumors awakened more than just rage at those bastards—I felt genuine concern for Eva. I realized my feelings for her had evolved beyond simple interest. This woman had somehow gotten under my skin.

Eva was beautiful and vibrant, like a beam of light cutting through my dark world. I could feel emotions I'd buried for years slowly stirring to life. It was a completely new sensation, but I wasn't fighting it.

Her every expression had started affecting my mood. I didn't want her to suffer anymore, didn't want to see her frown, didn't want to watch her cry over this bullshit. I knew she was with me for my resources, but I didn't mind giving her more opportunities.

I picked up the phone and called Anna.

"Tomorrow at 3 PM, call together all core members of the strategic investment division. I want to discuss expanding into the entertainment industry."

"Yes, Boss. I'll prepare the relevant materials."

My маленькая кошка deserved the best the world had to offer. Since I'd already decided she belonged to me, I'd consolidate Hollywood's top resources and create a dedicated entertainment company for her, putting the best team at her disposal.

I'd use my power to pave her way. I'd give Eva the world.

The next morning, after dropping Eva at the set, I called my sister Elena.

Yvann Group had never touched the entertainment industry, but I could learn from Elena and her husband, Aris. They'd started their own entertainment company to help Ivanka navigate Hollywood.

She picked up after two rings, her voice carrying its usual warmth.

"Ruslan? Did the sun rise in the west today? You're actually calling me voluntarily."

"I need to talk to Aris about the entertainment business."

"Just business?" She laughed softly. "Here I thought you were missing my black sea bass. Want to come over?"

"Fine." I hung up.

The drive from the set to Beverly Hills took less than an hour.

Elena was waiting at the front door, wearing a cream cashmere dress and that gentle smile she always had. She gave me a hug when she saw me.

"You look tired, Ruslan." She patted my back lightly.

"Too many meetings." I let her lead me into the living room.

Aris was sitting on the couch—tall, composed, the kind of steady presence that had probably helped him survive in Elena's orbit all these years. He stood when he saw me, genuine warmth in his expression.

"Ruslan, Elena's been talking about your visit all morning," he said with obvious exaggeration.

"Don't listen to him," Elena shot her husband a look, then turned to me. "Sit. I told Aris you wanted to learn about our entertainment company."

"Yeah," I settled into a chair. "I want to know everything."

After talking with Aris for a while, I had a clearer direction for starting my own company .

"So what made you suddenly decide to get into entertainment?" Elena asked.

I tried to use the line I'd prepared. "It's a strategic investment—"

"Cut the bullshit." Elena interrupted, seeing right through me like she always did. "I know you, Ruslan. You've never given a damn about Hollywood money."

I stayed quiet for a moment, then finally admitted, "It's because of a girl. I want to make her career easier."

"A girl? Girlfriend? When are you bringing her over for dinner?" Elena didn't push for details, just extended the invitation.

"Maybe someday."

"Ruslan, you've been single for so long, I thought you'd stay a bachelor forever," Elena teased.

Just then, a loud voice burst through the house.

"Mom! You will not believe what that idiot director made me do today!"

Ivanka stormed in, carelessly tossing a Hermès bag onto the couch.

"He wanted me to scream and cry at the same time! Said it was 'for the art!' God, I don't even know how many screaming scenes I've done—"

She stopped mid-sentence when she spotted me. The girl who'd been going off like a firecracker suddenly looked like a mouse who'd just seen a cat. All that anger vanished instantly, replaced by careful wariness as she straightened up.

"Uncle Ruslan," she said quietly.

I nodded at her.

Aris couldn't help laughing. "See that, Ruslan? You're the only person in the world who can make our little tornado shut up in three seconds flat."

Elena shook her head helplessly and pulled her daughter closer. "Relax, sweetie. Ruslan's not going to eat you. Go upstairs and change—lunch's almost ready."

Ivanka looked like she'd been granted a reprieve and practically sprinted upstairs .

Aris sighed, wrapping his arm around Elena's shoulders. "We started the entertainment company to protect her from the worst of this industry, but she insists on making it on her own merit. Whatever—at least with the company backing her, she won't have to deal with the really dirty shit."

"Ivanka's lucky to live so freely under your protection."

Looking at this couple, seeing the warm, secure castle they'd built for their daughter, I couldn't help thinking about our parents—who'd never shown their children this kind of care.

Elena was ten years older than me. She'd been taken in by our grandmother before I was born, kept away from the family's influence so she could live her own life. We'd always gotten along well. I was glad she'd never experienced what I had.

When I was five or six, my father was too busy with bratva business and chasing mistresses to bother with me.

He'd even taken his most loyal men to his girlfriend's apartment, leaving only the head butler to check on me once a month.

Mother was off traveling the world, searching for her so-called "true love.

" They forgot about me for long stretches, leaving me alone in that empty mansion.

The staff picked up on this quickly. Their looks went from respectful to dismissive. At dinner time, I'd often sit alone at that massive table, waiting for food that never came, while I could hear the kitchen staff laughing and preparing their own meals.

I got thinner and quieter.

Until one night, when hunger finally consumed me completely. I couldn't take it anymore and walked into that kitchen that always smelled amazing but had nothing to do with me.

"I'm hungry," I said.

The chef who'd been kissing ass to the butler on the phone earlier just gave me a lazy glance.

"Dinner time's over." He wiped the knife in his hands.

"But I didn't eat."

"That's your problem," one of the maids sneered. "You should learn to show up to the dining room at the right time."

My empty stomach was churning. I stepped forward and pointed at the steak on the cutting board, my voice hoarse. "I want to eat that. Now."

The chef finally put down his knife, his fat face showing offense and anger.

"Get back to your room, you little bastard!

" He shoved me roughly. I was too small, too weak from hunger, and couldn't keep my balance.

I fell backward, my head hitting the floor hard.

The world spun, my ears ringing. Through blurred vision, I saw the maids' mocking laughter, saw the chef's massive form looming over me as he raised his hand high.

"Time someone taught you a lesson, you little shit."

Something exploded inside me in that moment. A survival instinct, cornered and desperate like a wild animal. Just as his palm was about to strike, I used every ounce of strength I had and bit down hard on the soft muscle of his inner calf.

"Ahhh!" The chef screamed, his slap never landing. He tried to shake me off, but my teeth were locked like a vise that had been welded to his leg. Warm, salty blood filled my mouth, but I didn't let go.

My eyes stayed fixed on the other servants, who were backing away like I was a rabid wolf cub. My bloodthirsty stare kept them from moving.

The chef thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge me.

When that didn't work, he started pounding on my head with both fists.

The pain made my vision go black, but I only bit deeper.

Blood ran down my chin. The agony finally brought the chef down, and I saw my chance.

I climbed on top of him and wrapped both hands around his throat.

His screaming stopped abruptly, replaced by wet, choking sounds as his arms and legs flailed uselessly.

I squeezed tighter and tighter, watching his face slowly turn purple. But I wasn't scared—I felt exhilarated. All the days of being ignored and bullied transformed into surging power in that moment. My expression grew more savage. Just a little more, just a little—

"Stop!"

A commanding voice cut through my bloodlust. I froze and looked up sharply .

Father stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an expensive dark suit, the butler behind him. Father held a small pistol pointed directly at me. His heavy brows were drawn together, his gaze completely cold—not looking at a son, but evaluating prey.

"Get up," Father said again.

I had no choice but to obey. Father's eyes swept over my panting form, then down to the barely breathing chef on the floor. Then he aimed the gun at the chef's head.

Bang.

A hole appeared in the chef's skull. The servants screamed and covered their heads.

"Killing is like drinking water," Father's voice slithered over me like a snake. "Do you understand now?"

I straightened up. Even though my body was still trembling from the exertion, I met my father's gaze directly. I pressed my lips into a thin line and said nothing.

"Remember this feeling," Father's tone turned almost instructional. "This is power. Remember it. Learn to control it."

Then he turned to the butler. "Get new staff and a new chef. Tonight, Ruslan and I will dine together."

From that day on, I never went hungry again.

Because Father had finally realized he needed to train an heir. And that began another chapter of darkness.

"Ruslan?"

Aris's voice pulled me back from those bottomless memories. I blinked and realized my hands had clenched into fists at some point.

"Nothing." I relaxed them, my voice betraying no emotion.

Elena gave me a worried look but didn't say anything.

"I have to go." I was suddenly desperate to see Eva, to see my маленькая кошка, even if just to look at her without doing anything else.

"Lunch is almost ready," Elena said, surprised.

"Not today."

I walked to the door and drove toward the set.