Page 72 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
She immediately rolls her eyes, dramatic and dismissive.
“Please,” she says. “You’re the one who runs a fortress and an army of men. I think you’ll survive one fake trip.”
I hum softly, unconvinced.
Before she can turn away, I reach out and capture her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up toward mine. Her breath catches slightly at the suddenness of it.
Our eyes lock.
For a second, she looks like she might protest—but she doesn’t.
I lean forward and close the distance between us.
The kiss is firm, almost demanding, all the tension and frustration of the past week pouring into it. She responds instantly, her hand gripping the front of my shirt as if steadying herself. The taste of her pulls something darker out of me, something possessive and hungry.
I consider deepening it.
But I stop myself.
I pull back before the kiss can turn into something that would make it very difficult for either of us to think clearly.
Her lips are still slightly parted when I brush my thumb across her cheek.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur. My voice drops softer, more intimate. “And don’t get tired of me yet, Ellie.” I rest my forehead briefly against hers. “Because I’ll always come back to you.”
***
The next day, I leave the estate at exactly six in the evening.
The departure is deliberately ordinary.
Two guards walk beside me as I cross the courtyard. Sergei stands near the entrance, speaking with one of the men from logistics. When he notices me approaching, he straightens slightly.
“Boss,” he says.
I hand him a folder as I pass.
“Sergei, I need you to review the port shipment records tonight,” I say casually. “There are discrepancies in the customs documentation. I want them fixed before morning.”
He takes the folder without question, already flipping it open.
“That could take hours,” he says.
“That’s why I’m giving it to you,” I reply, clapping his shoulder once. “I’m heading to the 1401 warehouse to survey and see how we can pick operations back up.”
“Yes, Boss.”
The task is intentional. Detailed. Time-consuming. Just enough to ensure he has a reason not to accompany me without suspecting anything.
I slide into the backseat of my car. The doors shut. The engine hums to life.
As we pull out of the gates, I glance briefly through the tinted glass.
Sergei is still standing there, watching us leave.
Good.
The first fifteen minutes of the drive go exactly as expected.
