Loving The Bratva Boss

Chapter 7

Irina told me to stay in the room and wait for someone to fetch me for dinner.
But I just got here.

And she's a woman—older, calm, not unkind. Maybe with time she'll help me. Maybe she'll be the only person in this house who looks at me like I'm human and not... property.

For now, though, it's just me and this enormous mansion... and silence thick enough to feel like it's pressing down on my shoulders.

I take a slow breath and turn back into the room.

My room.

It still feels strange to think of it that way, because nothing about it matches the word captive—yet everything about it reminds me that leaving won't be easy.

The air smells faintly of lavender and something warm—like a fresh book left open on a sunny windowsill. The lighting is soft, golden, coming from sconces shaped like curled leaves. It makes the walls glow, and for a moment it doesn't feel like a mafia don's home at all. It feels... peaceful.

Which makes me more suspicious.

The first thing I check are the windows. They're tall, arched, draped in sheer linen curtains that whisper when I tug them aside. Beyond the glass is darkness—the sun must've set—but even if it were bright daylight, I doubt I'd see much. There's a metal grid hidden between the panes. Reinforced. Custom.

I push gently at the latch.
It doesn't budge.

Of course.

I crouch to check the air vent next. My fingers brush cold metal; it's screwed shut so tightly I doubt even a screwdriver could convince it to move. There's a hum behind it—not the normal soft whoosh of airflow, but deeper, mechanical. Security.

The entire room is monitored.
Locked down tighter than Fort Knox.

My stomach twists, but I stand and push the worry aside for now. I can spiral later—right now I want to know what else Nikolai has decided belongs to me.

I turn to the closet.

When I open the double doors, warm light pours out automatically, revealing a walk-in space the size of my old bedroom. I swear the air in here even smells expensive—like cedarwood and new fabric.

And I freeze.

It's... perfect. Too perfect.

Shoes line the shelves in neat rows—heels, boots, flats—organized by color like someone curated an exhibit. Dresses hang on velvet hangers, everything from silk slips to soft sweaters to gowns I'd never have the occasion to wear in my entire life. Every texture imaginable brushes my fingertips when I reach out—cashmere, satin, wool, cotton so light it almost floats.

It's overwhelming in a way I'm not prepared for.

This is every girl's fantasy closet.
It feels stolen. Wrong. Beautiful.

Jade would lose her mind.

Jade.

My heart drops—heavy, fast.

It's been a full day since I've seen her. A full day since she shoved me into that stupid dress and joked about a night out, completely unaware she was sending me into a lion's den.

I hope she's okay. I hope she doesn't blame herself. I hope—
...no, I don't even know what I hope anymore.

I press my palm to my chest and breathe slowly, trying to keep my thoughts from unraveling. The closet lights hum softly above me, comforting in a strange way.

This place is gorgeous.
This place is a cage.
Both can be true.

And as much as I hate admitting it... this is my new home. At least for now.