Page 23 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Ruslan

Eva had been working with the new crew for about a week now.

This film's shooting intensity was way beyond anything she'd done before.

Elliot was a complete tyrant on set—he demanded perfection in every shadow, every micro-expression from his actors.

And Eva was soaking it all up like a thirsty sponge, absorbing every detail.

I loved seeing her like this. Focused, driven, glowing with passion for her craft.

But I'd also noticed some things that didn't sit right with me.

At 5:30 AM, I was jolted awake by movement beside me. Eva bolted from bed and rushed into the bathroom. Then came the unmistakable sound of dry heaving.

I immediately followed, finding her gripping the sink, face pale as death.

"What's wrong?" I steadied her with my hands on her shoulders.

"It's nothing," she waved me off, taking the towel I handed her to wipe her mouth. "Probably just something I ate last night that didn't agree with me. "

I frowned, studying her face. This was the third time this week.

"Really, I'm fine," Eva forced a smile. "It's just the stress from filming. My stomach's been acting up—lots of actors deal with this. Elliot's standards are insane, and we're doing take after take for every scene."

I knew Elliot's work style—perfectionist to the point of obsession. But that shouldn't cause Eva's body to react like this.

"Take the day off. I'll go with you to see a doctor, or I'll have my private physician come here," my tone left no room for argument.

"No!" Eva's reaction was unusually intense. She immediately caught herself and softened her voice. "I mean, we have really important scenes today. I can't call in sick. And it really is just a minor thing—I'll feel better after some rest. I don't want to hold up production over something so small."

She grabbed my arm, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes that held some kind of plea I couldn't read. I stared at her for several seconds. Her gaze was evasive, shifty. Looking at her pale complexion, I finally gave in.

"After this film wraps," I cupped her cheek, my thumb tracing the faint shadows under her eyes, "you're taking a real break. No arguments."

"Okay," she looked relieved, standing on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "I need to get ready—call time's at seven."

Watching her forced casual demeanor, my frown deepened. She was hiding something.

But now wasn't the time to push. I decided to have my assistant quietly arrange for a doctor to be on standby at the set, just in case.

Pushing aside my worry and suspicion for now, I threw myself back into company business.

That morning, I chaired a board meeting about Stellar Entertainment's five-year strategic plan.

Under my direction, the company approved an aggressive expansion—we'd invest in at least ten S-tier film productions over the next two years and establish deep partnerships with Europe's three major film festivals.

In the afternoon, I flew to New York. The luxury apartment project in Midtown Manhattan was entering its final phase.

I went over every detail with the project manager and chief engineer—from the floor-to-ceiling window materials in the penthouse units to the final security system calibrations.

I wouldn't tolerate even the slightest deviation.

After that, I had to attend a celebration dinner at the Waldorf Hotel's opulent ballroom.

Wall Street bankers and various celebrities filled the golden space.

I moved through the crowd with a champagne flute, navigating between all those smiling faces.

They congratulated me. I smiled back, clinked glasses, and made appropriate small talk.

But my mind had already flown back thousands of miles to Los Angeles.

How was Eva feeling today? Had she been sick again? Was she already asleep?

My phone buzzed and I immediately checked it, thinking it might be Eva.

It was my secretary with the project data.

Eva's chat thread still showed my message from this afternoon—telling her I was flying to New York for the project check.

I swallowed my disappointment and continued mingling. But I checked my phone every few minutes.

At 8:30, I finally found a quiet moment and stepped onto the ballroom's secluded terrace. The night breeze was cool, clearing my head of the alcohol and meaningless socializing.

I pulled out my phone and texted Eva.

Me: feeling better? remember to eat on time

Minutes ticked by. No response.

That suffocating worry wrapped around my heart like an invisible net again. I wanted to leave the party immediately, fly back to her side, and confirm with my own eyes that she was okay.

But reason told me I couldn't. As the host of this project, I had to play my part.

I sent another message.

Me: still filming? dont overdo it

Still no response.

"Ruslan?" A sultry female voice came from behind me .

I turned to see Victoria, a well-known real estate mogul. She wore a daringly cut black mermaid gown and held two champagne flutes, swaying toward me on high heels. Her aggressive, cloying perfume made me instinctively wrinkle my nose.

"All alone out here?" She approached and offered me one of the glasses, her exposed skin nearly brushing my arm. "Tonight's guest of honor shouldn't be hiding in corners."

"Just getting some air." I took the champagne but didn't drink it, setting it down on a nearby table instead.

It was a clear signal to maintain distance, but she obviously wasn't picking up on it.

"I hear you've been investing heavily in Hollywood projects lately," she moved closer, the perfume becoming even more overwhelming.

Her fingers traced over my arm where it rested on the railing.

"Interested in collaborating? I know quite a few talented directors.

And personally, I have some unique insights into. .. art."

As she spoke, her carefully made-up eyes roamed over my body without any attempt at subtlety, her gaze full of blatant appraisal.

This woman's intentions were painfully obvious. I pulled my arm away from her touch with zero expression.

"Not interested." My voice was ice-cold as I turned to leave.

I missed the citrus scent that clung to Eva's skin.

Back in the ballroom, I went straight to my assistant. "Cancel everything else tonight. I'm leaving."

"But Boss, there's still—"

"Cancel it." I left no room for discussion.

Leaving the hotel, I practically sprinted to my private jet back to LA.

When my car pulled into the mansion, it was already 2 AM. The whole place was quiet, with just a few wall sconces casting warm, dim light.

I moved quietly into the bedroom.

By the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see Eva lying peacefully in bed, her breathing steady and deep .

My heart, which had been suspended all evening, finally settled back into place.

I took off my jacket and sat on the edge of the bed. Her face was still pale, her brow slightly furrowed—she didn't look like she was sleeping peacefully.

I reached out to stroke her cheek, and she unconsciously nuzzled into my palm like a kitten seeking warmth.

Looking at her peaceful sleeping face, my worry eased slightly. Maybe she really was just exhausted. After all, she'd been pushing herself so hard to become a real actress. Once this film wrapped, I'd take her somewhere for a proper vacation.

I pressed a gentle kiss to her smooth forehead.

Just as I was about to head to the bathroom for a shower, my phone started buzzing urgently.

I grabbed it, checking the caller ID—Dimitri.

He'd never call at this hour unless it was serious.

I walked to my study, closed the door, and answered.

"Пахан." Dimitri's voice came through the speaker with unprecedented gravity.

"We've got a problem. The Black Sea route was hit."

My pupils contracted sharply.

"Black Sea" was one of our most classified arms trafficking routes, spanning the Atlantic to serve high-profile clients from the Middle East and Africa who couldn't use official channels.

This route was one of the bratva's most important revenue streams—our golden artery.

Less than five people knew the specific shipping data and encrypted handoff coordinates.

"What happened?" My voice turned to ice.

"One of our ships disguised as a cargo vessel was ambushed in the open-water exchange zone by unidentified armed personnel.

They were well-equipped—clearly top-tier mercenaries.

" Dimitri's voice was suppressing volcanic rage.

"Twenty million dollars worth of merchandise was completely cleaned out, and we lost three loyal men. Their operation was way too precise."

"Any idea who's behind it? "

Joseph's greedy, stupid face immediately flashed in my mind. He had a grudge against me and had always coveted my arms deals. But with his intelligence and capabilities, he could never organize such a tight operation.

"Nothing yet, Boss." Dimitri's voice carried rare defeat.

"That's the problem. They moved like ghosts—didn't leave a single trace to follow.

The weapons and vessels they used were all common black market models, impossible to trace.

And they seemed to know our communications perfectly—they jammed the entire area during the operation.

We couldn't get a single distress signal out.

Afterwards, we interrogated everyone with potential access to the leak, including route planners and the captain. Nothing."

I listened in frowning silence, unconsciously tapping my fingers on the desk.

Clean operation, precise strike, professional electronic interference... This wasn't an outside enemy. This was someone on the inside.

"Try a different angle," I said coldly. "There are only a few people who could access the shipping data and encrypted handoff coordinates. Check their overseas account activity for the last three months. I want to know where every penny went."

"Copy that."

"Send me the list of those people."

Seconds later, my phone received an encrypted file. I opened it. Five names stared back at me from the screen.

My gaze settled on the second-to-last name: Casimir Yvannov. My so-called half-brother.

Dimitri had reported that Casimir had been quietly recruiting bratva members, trying to build his own power base. I'd been aware of these little moves but hadn't bothered dealing with them because they seemed like no real threat.

If this was actually connected to him, it was time for some house cleaning.

Bloodthirsty killing intent flared in my eyes.