Page 108 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
Konstantin folds his arms. “We’re recognizing reality.”
Dimitri nods once. “Your war has always been territorial. Territory, influence, alliances.”
Timofey adds, “But Ellie’s battlefield is different.” He looks directly at me through the screen. “Her war is intellectual.”
The words settle heavily in the room.
Mike stops pacing.
I can see the conflict on his face—every instinct he has screaming to shut this down, to lock the doors, to keep me close where he can protect me.
But this fight isn’t one he can win with guns or soldiers.
Finally, Konstantin exhales and leans back.
“We’ll give you two time to decide,” he says.
Timofey nods. “Call us when you reach a conclusion.”
The call ends.
The screen goes dark.
And suddenly it’s just Mike and me standing in the quiet room, the weight of the decision pressing between us.
It takes me an hour.
An entire hour of arguments, logic, frustration, and stubborn silence.
Mike paces the length of the living room like a caged predator, every instinct in him rebelling against the idea. He lists every risk, every possible way the plan could go wrong. Federal custody. Isolation. Interrogation.
Every scenario ends with the same conclusion for him.
I’m not safe.
But I don’t back down.
Finally, when he refuses again, I say the one thing I know will force him to listen.
“If you won’t help me do this,” I tell him quietly, “I’ll run away and do it myself.”
He stops pacing instantly.
The room goes very still.
Mike turns slowly, staring at me like he’s trying to determine whether I’m bluffing.
I’m not.
“You would do that?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The word comes out calm and certain.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then his shoulders slump just slightly, the fight draining from his posture as reality settles in.
