Page 36 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Eva

I slowly opened my eyes, consciousness returning from the haze of sleep. My body felt deliciously sore from last night's passion, but my heart had never been more at peace. I turned to look at the man beside me.

Ruslan was still sleeping. His brow was smooth, breathing deep and steady, but the dark circles under his eyes were particularly visible in the morning light. My heart ached with tender concern. What kind of pressure had he been under these past few days?

I tried to quietly get up and let him sleep longer. But the moment I started to sit up, the arm around my waist tightened, pulling me back into his warm embrace. I startled, meeting his deep gaze.

"Morning," his voice carried that sexy rasp that came with dawn.

"Morning," I replied, slightly embarrassed with my cheeks warming. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head and brought my hand to his lips for a soft kiss. "No." He looked at me intently, the smile in his eyes rippling like water. "Last night I slept better than I have in the past five days combined."

His words made my heart ache and melt simultaneously. I leaned up to kiss his lips, giving him a proper good morning kiss. Ruslan gripped the back of my head and deepened it.

When we'd both showered and were sitting at the breakfast table, looking at the prepared meal, I belatedly realized an extremely embarrassing problem. Last night we'd been so wild, and the housekeeper had been staying in the guest room all this time. She didn't hear us, did she?

My face burst into flames like it might start bleeding.

Ruslan seemed to read my mortification and let out a pleased laugh. "Don't worry, sweetheart. The master bedroom walls and doors use the highest grade soundproofing materials. Even if we fired guns in there, the outside would only hear a muffled thump."

I glanced toward the kitchen where the housekeeper was preparing blueberry jam, having not heard Ruslan's words. I breathed a sigh of relief.

This breakfast was somewhat awkward for me.

Despite Ruslan's assurance about the soundproofing, just thinking about the housekeeper being next door while Ruslan and I were going at it like animals gave me quite the shock.

Ruslan remained completely composed, thoughtfully spreading blueberry jam evenly on my toast.

In the car on the way to set, I finally recovered from dwelling on last night's activities.

"From now on, I'll assign someone I trust to handle your daily transportation," Ruslan said, eyes on the road ahead. "His name's Andrew. Former special forces—top-tier driving, combat, and marksmanship skills."

I nodded and asked back, "What about you?"

"I'll be very busy for a while." His voice carried weight.

"After the kidnapping attempt, Joseph only sent his men while hiding behind his family name.

We can't deal with him directly, but Dimitri located several of his key strongholds.

We're planning to hit them soon, keep him scrambling.

But war with the Monteiro Family is inevitable—I can't stay passive forever.

The bratva and I are discussing our most effective strategy.

And there's Casimir—our people still haven't found any trace of him.

I need to speed up the search before he and Joseph can cause more trouble together. "

"I understand," I said quietly. "Be careful."

He turned to give me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. In this city, no one can truly hurt me."

His confidence carried regal authority. I chose to believe him.

The day's filming went unusually smoothly. Maybe because of my improved mood, I was in exceptional form—several difficult emotional scenes passed in one take. The director couldn't stop praising me.

Before six PM, we'd wrapped the day's final scene. I removed my makeup, changed back into my own clothes, said goodbye to the crew, and headed toward the set entrance. The bodyguards Ruslan assigned followed behind me, and Andrew's armored car was already waiting.

But I'd barely taken a few steps out of the studio when hurried footsteps came from behind.

"Miss Stone! Please wait!"

I turned around—it was Marcel, one of the production assistants. He was always hardworking and cheerful; everyone liked him.

"What's up, Marcel?" I asked with a smile.

"It's the director," he said breathlessly, anxiety written on his face. "He says there's a logic problem with one of your scenes. He wants to discuss it with you immediately, see how to modify the dialogue to make it flow better. He's waiting in his private trailer."

I was confused. Usually when there were script issues, the director would send the assistant director or screenwriter to communicate. But seeing Marcel's earnest, worried expression, I didn't think much of it. Elliot was a perfectionist who sometimes had quirky impulses.

"Okay, I'll head over now."

I turned to the alert bodyguards behind me, and they immediately followed .

We all followed Marcel through the bustling set toward the director's private trailer—a standalone building in a more isolated area.

At the trailer door, Marcel said, "Miss Stone, could your bodyguards wait outside?"

I knew Elliot's temperament—he didn't like having unrelated people around when discussing scripts. I turned to the bodyguards. "Guys, just wait out here."

The lead bodyguard looked troubled but nodded. "Yes, Miss Stone. We'll be right outside. Call us immediately if anything happens."

I gave them a reassuring smile. Marcel opened the trailer door and gestured for me to enter.

I stepped inside, and Marcel closed the door behind us.

The room was empty. I immediately sensed something was wrong, but before I could turn around, Marcel's hand clamped over my mouth from behind.

With his other hand, Marcel snatched my purse and set it on the table, then wrapped his arm around my waist like an iron clamp, lifting me completely off the ground.

I couldn't make any sound for help. I could only struggle violently, using my elbows to strike backward and kicking at his legs. But the massive strength difference between men and women made all my resistance futile.

He dragged me toward an inconspicuous closet in the corner. Using his knee to pin my back, he freed one hand to open the closet door—behind it was a hidden passage!

My eyes widened as endless terror flooded over me like a tide.

He roughly dragged me into the dark tunnel and quickly followed. The door closed behind us, cutting off the last trace of light.

I don't know how long I was dragged through that tunnel. At the end was an iron door leading to a back alley where a car waited.

He opened the trunk, stuffed fabric into my mouth, then—

The trunk door closed heavily, plunging my world into complete darkness and silence.

I could smell heavy gasoline and leather. I groped around desperately, hoping to find a tire iron or anything that could serve as a weapon, but the trunk was empty. Panic gnawed at my sanity, but I took a deep breath and pushed it away.

The car started.

I kicked hard at the trunk door, making loud banging sounds, hoping to attract passersby's attention. But the car seemed to be traveling on very isolated roads. All I accomplished was exhausting myself pointlessly.

Gradually, I couldn't kick anymore. I curled up dejectedly in the cramped space, gasping heavily.

Fear gripped my heart. Would Ruslan come save me? Did he know I was in trouble? When the bodyguards waited too long and realized I hadn't come out, would they get suspicious? Would they break down the door? Or would they assume I was deep in discussion with the director and not dare interrupt?

Countless thoughts flashed wildly through my mind.

No, I couldn't break down yet. There was a little one depending on me—I couldn't just give up.

I forced myself to stay calm. I closed my eyes and tried to feel the car's route. A left turn, then a bump—probably a speed bump. Then a long right turn—onto an overpass? I memorized every detail. It was the only thing I could do now.

After what felt like forever, the car finally stopped.

I immediately held my breath, every muscle tensing.

The trunk opened with a click as blinding flashlight beams shot in. I instinctively shielded my eyes. It was already night—completely dark.

Marcel's face appeared again as he yanked me out of the trunk.

"Sorry about this, Miss Stone," Marcel said.

I growled at him.

I couldn't speak, and I absolutely wouldn't accept his apology.

I looked around—this was an abandoned factory, the air thick with rust. The tall building contained only a few support columns, some abandoned shipping containers, and a wooden chair in the corner.

He pushed me toward that chair, pulling out pre-prepared rope to tie me up .

My brain raced. Just as he grabbed my wrists, I remembered a technique the stunt coordinator had taught me during City of Sins.

Instead of resisting, I let him bind my hands behind the chair back.

The moment he wrapped rope around my wrists, I secretly tensed all the muscles in my wrists and forearms as hard as I could.

This way, when I relaxed those muscles later, there would be a tiny bit of wiggle room between the rope and my skin.

This might be my only chance at survival.

He didn't notice my trick, just quickly tied me to the chair.

After finishing, he stood and pulled out his phone, dialing a number.

His voice echoed clearly in the empty warehouse.

"Sir, I've brought her to the factory warehouse."

My heart sank to the bottom.

Sir?

Who was behind my kidnapping? Was it Joseph, the vicious man Ruslan had mentioned? Or Casimir, the traitor who'd just escaped and killed without blinking?