Kidnapped by the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #5)

Chapter Seven - Maxim

I lean back in my chair, my eyes fixed on the ceiling as the memory of my brief encounter with Kace Preston’s daughter plays in my mind. Sophia. She’s prettier in person than in the photos I’d seen. The pictures didn’t do her justice. There was something more to her—a quiet elegance, even with the sadness in her eyes. Her long blonde hair framed her face perfectly, and though her expression seemed composed, I noticed the subtle signs of strain. Her eyes were slightly puffy, like she’d been crying not too long ago. Despite that, there was a kind of beauty in her sorrow. It made her seem… human. Vulnerable.

I smirk to myself. She’s definitely not just another spoiled Mafia princess. There’s something else within her. She wasn’t made for this life. At least, not the way her father intends.

My gaze shifts to the phone on my desk. She’s still at home, as far as I can tell. I planted a bug on her purse the day I ran into her, a little insurance in case I needed to keep an eye on things. According to Artem, she carries the same purse around most of the time. She’s consistent, predictable. That works in my favor.

I unlock the phone and pull up the app connected to the bug. The screen lights up, showing her current location—a quiet part of the Preston estate. I turn on the audio feed, the soft buzz of ambient noise filling my office. Then I hear her voice, clear and close.

She’s talking to someone. A friend, maybe. Her tone is lighter than when I met her, but there’s still a hint of frustration. I turn up the volume, catching the tail end of her conversation.

“…the date the other day was a disaster,” she’s saying. There’s a pause, and then a laugh. “I mean, he’s just not attractive. At all.”

I can almost hear the smirk in her voice, the way she’s holding back the real depth of her annoyance. I settle into my chair, listening as she continues.

“Jackson Miller? He’s… how do I put this nicely?” Another pause, then she sighs. “Shit personality, and he’s not even attractive to make up for it.”

I chuckle under my breath. That sounds about right. Jackson Miller is the same as a million other men—annoying, entitled, always running his mouth about things he doesn’t fully understand. He’s a fool playing at being a king, thinking that his last name and daddy’s money will earn him the respect he desperately craves. I’ve dealt with him a handful of times, and each interaction made me want to slam his face into a wall.

He’s apparently trying to marry Sophia Preston. The thought alone makes me laugh.

I listen a little longer, her voice filling the quiet of my office as she vents to her friend about Jackson’s shortcomings. I’m not surprised that she doesn’t find him attractive. Sophia seems like the kind of woman who sees through shallow charm and empty words. She’s not interested in someone who’s all flash and no substance. That’s exactly what Jackson is.

“Well, my dad’s thrilled about it,” she adds, her voice dropping slightly. There’s a tension there now, a weariness that tells me this isn’t just a casual complaint. “He thinks it’s the perfect match, but I just… I don’t want it. I don’t want him.”

I close my eyes for a moment, imagining her sitting wherever she is, probably frowning as she talks to her friend. I can picture her perfectly, the way she looked when we ran into each other—her beautiful face framed by frustration and sadness.

She doesn’t want Jackson. That much is clear. Kace has other plans, plans that, no doubt, involve securing some kind of alliance through marriage. I can see the pieces coming together. Kace is using his daughter as leverage, just like he uses everything else in his life. Sophia is just another tool to him.

I feel a pang of… something. Maybe it’s sympathy. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, I find myself more interested in her than I expected. She’s trapped in a situation she doesn’t want, just like so many others in this life. The way she carries herself, the way she fights it, even in small ways—it’s intriguing.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and Artem steps into the office.

“Everything alright, Boss?” he asks, his usual calm demeanor in place.

“Fine,” I reply, turning off the audio feed and setting the phone aside. “Sophia’s just confirming what we already know. She hates Jackson Miller.”

Artem raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Not surprising. You think that’ll play in our favor?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “It already is. She’s not interested in him. She doesn’t want this marriage any more than we want her stuck with him. If we play this right, she could become an asset. One Kace will never see coming.”

Artem crosses his arms, nodding thoughtfully. “You want to keep tabs on her?”

“Definitely,” I say, a grin tugging at my lips. “Keep listening. If she starts talking about anything important—anything related to Kace or Jackson—I want to know.”

Artem nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Alone again, I sit back in my chair and stare at the phone on my desk. Sophia Preston is more than just Kace’s daughter. She’s the key to something bigger.

I press the volume button on my phone, leaning in as Sophia’s voice fills the room again. There’s a playful edge to her tone now, like she’s trying to keep things light after venting about Jackson. I know it’s not easy for her—being stuck in a situation she doesn’t want, surrounded by people who only see her as a bargaining chip.

Her next words catch me off guard, and I can’t help but smirk at what she says.

“You know,” she says, her voice lowering slightly, “I bumped into some random guy earlier. A total stranger, but… God, he was at least ten times hotter than Jackson could ever be.”

I chuckle, leaning back in my chair as her words sink in. A random guy, huh? She has no idea that I’m listening, that the random stranger she’s talking about is the very one keeping tabs on her now. If she knew, I wonder if she’d still be saying that.

My mind flicks back to that brief moment when we crossed paths—her wide eyes, the way she looked up at me, startled but curious. I could feel her reaction even in that fleeting encounter. The tension, the flicker of something she didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore. She has no clue what that stranger is going to do to her. How closely I’m watching.

Her voice continues, and I can hear her pacing, the rustle of fabric as she moves around. “I mean, seriously,” she adds with a soft laugh, “Jackson doesn’t even compare. This guy… he had this intensity about him. Like he wasn’t just looking at me—he was seeing me. It was kind of unsettling.”

I smirk, my fingers tracing the edge of the phone. Unsettling. I’ve heard that before. People often feel that way around me—like they’re on the edge of something dangerous but can’t quite pull themselves away. The difference with Sophia? She didn’t run. She didn’t recoil. She stood there, holding her ground, even if she didn’t fully understand why she was drawn in.

On the other end of the line, her friend lets out a laugh. “Sounds like you had quite the encounter. So, what, are you going to ditch Jackson and find this mystery man?”

Sophia laughs softly, the sound sending a strange, almost electric pulse through me. “I wish,” she says, a hint of something playful in her tone. “He was just a random stranger, though. Probably never see him again.”

Oh, you’ll see me again, Sophia.

Her voice grows softer, and I listen closely, my pulse quickening slightly as I catch the subtle change in her tone. She’s not just talking to her friend anymore. She’s thinking aloud, her thoughts slipping into the conversation without her realizing. “But… I don’t know,” she continues, “there was something about him. Like, when he looked at me… I felt it. This pull. It was so strange. So intense.”

I can picture her now, her expression softening as she tries to make sense of what she felt. She doesn’t know I’m listening—doesn’t realize how much I’m enjoying this. She’s trying to rationalize it, to chalk it up to a brief moment of attraction. I know better. That pull she’s talking about? It wasn’t one-sided.

Her friend laughs, but Sophia brushes it off. “Anyway,” she says, her voice still carrying that breathy tone, “I don’t even know why I’m talking about him. It’s not like it matters. I’m supposed to be marrying Jackson, right?” She pauses, and I hear the frustration creep back into her voice. “God, this is so messed up.”

There’s a silence on the line, and I can almost feel the shift in the air around her. She’s not talking anymore, but I can hear the way she’s breathing—slightly uneven, like she’s lost in thought, like the memory of that brief encounter is lingering in her mind. I know that feeling. It’s the same one I had when I walked away from her.

It’s strange. I’m used to being in control, to keeping a cold distance between myself and whatever I need to get done. There’s something about Sophia that has me curious, that makes me want to get closer—to see how far this pull between us can go. I don’t even have to be in the room with her, and I can already feel it. The tension. The desire.

Her voice cuts through the silence again, but it’s softer now, more vulnerable. “I just… I want something real, you know? Not this arranged bullshit. Not Jackson. Someone who makes me feel alive.”

Careful what you wish for.

“Shit, Soph,” her friend mutters, “I gotta go. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret, okay?”

She snorts. “Sure. Bye, Jen.”

Her words hang in the air, and I can hear her shifting, maybe lying back on her bed, her thoughts drifting. She’s quiet for a few moments, and I let the silence stretch, listening to the faint sound of her breathing. There’s something almost intimate about it—being able to hear her like this, without her knowing I’m there. It’s like I’m inside her mind, hearing the things she wouldn’t say to anyone else. The things she barely admits to herself.

Then she lets out a little moan that makes my pulse quicken. Her breath stutters and the bedsheets rustle; it’s enough to make my cock half-hard.

I picture her lying there, her body stretched out on the bed, the tension from the day slowly melting away, fingers sliding beneath her waistband. Is she wearing something as pretty as the dress she wore the other day? Or, even better, is she only in her panties?

She probably doesn’t realize how beautiful she looked when she bumped into me—how the sadness in her eyes only made her more intriguing. I wonder what she’s thinking about now, in this quiet moment, when she’s not putting on a face for anyone. Is she thinking about Jackson? Doubtful. If anything, she’s probably thinking about that stranger she can’t quite forget.

Me.

I can feel my pulse quicken as I listen to her shift again, the soft rustle of sheets beneath her. She doesn’t know I’m here, that I’m listening to every breath, every moan. She has no idea how much power that gives me.

I listen as she pleases herself, and it’s only a matter of minutes before her quiet sighs go soft, and I know she’s finished. I imagine her pretty face, dark eyes and full, wanting lips.

Fuck, it’s going to be impossible to keep my hands off her.