Bought by the bratva boss

Sofia Petrova had learned a long time ago that silence was safer than speaking.

The small apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of cars moving through the Moscow streets below. Sofia sat on the edge of her narrow bed, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap while she stared at the faded wallpaper across the room. Nights like this always felt endless, stretched thin with waiting.

Waiting to find out what kind of mood her stepfather would come home in.

The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment.

Sofia’s shoulders stiffened instantly.

Heavy footsteps stumbled across the hallway, followed by the crash of something hitting the kitchen counter. The sharp smell of alcohol drifted through the thin walls, confirming what she already knew.

He was drunk again.

She stayed where she was, barely breathing, hoping maybe tonight he would collapse on the couch and forget about her completely. It had happened before, rare nights where exhaustion or alcohol knocked him out before he remembered she existed.

But luck had never stayed on Sofia’s side for long.

“SOFIA!”

His voice tore through the apartment.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

Slowly she stood from the bed and walked toward the bedroom door, forcing her legs to move even though every instinct inside her screamed to stay hidden. Hiding never worked anyway. He always found her eventually.

The hallway light flickered weakly as she stepped out.

Her stepfather leaned against the kitchen counter, a bottle of vodka dangling loosely in his hand while his red eyes searched the room. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair messy, and the anger rolling off him felt familiar enough to make Sofia’s chest tighten.

“There you are,” he muttered.

She didn’t answer. Silence was safer.

His gaze dropped briefly to the faint bruise along her wrist, the one he had left there two nights ago when she tried to pull away from him. The mark had started turning yellow now, fading slowly but not fast enough.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said with a rough laugh.

Sofia kept her arms folded across herself, her fingers pressing into her sleeves.

Something about the way he looked at her made unease crawl along her skin.

“Don’t worry,” he added suddenly, lifting the bottle for another drink, “you won’t have to deal with me much longer.”

Her brows pulled together slightly.

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed a mouthful of vodka before answering, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A strange smile began spreading across his face, the kind she had never seen before.

“Turns out you’re actually useful after all.”

A cold feeling slid slowly down Sofia’s spine.

“I solved my problem,” he continued.

“What problem?”

“The debt.”

Her stepfather had been drowning in gambling debts for years. Angry men came to the apartment often, knocking loudly on the door and shouting threats through the hallway. Sometimes they broke furniture. Sometimes they grabbed Sofia by the arm when her stepfather refused to answer.

She had grown used to living with that fear.

But tonight his tone felt different.

“How did you solve it?” she asked quietly.

He pushed himself away from the counter and staggered a step closer to her, the smell of vodka growing stronger with every step.

“Let’s just say,” he said slowly, “I made a deal with some important people.”

The words made Sofia’s heartbeat start pounding harder.

“What kind of deal?”

He looked at her, the way someone might examine something valuable they were about to sell.

“Tomorrow night you’re coming with me somewhere.”

Her throat tightened.

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

The answer sent a wave of panic rushing through her chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sofia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment the apartment went completely silent.

Then the bottle slammed down on the counter with a sharp crack.

“You don’t get a choice,” he snapped.

He crossed the distance between them quickly and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging painfully into the same bruised skin. Sofia sucked in a sharp breath but refused to cry out.

“You should be grateful,” he continued angrily. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me all these years? Feeding you, housing you, putting up with your attitude

“I never asked you to”

The slap came fast and hard.

Her head snapped to the side as pain exploded across her cheek, the force of it sending her stumbling back a step. For a moment the room blurred around her.

Sofia slowly straightened again, her cheek burning, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to let fall.

Crying only made things worse.

Her stepfather watched her for a moment before laughing again, the sound rough and unpleasant.

“You’ll understand tomorrow,” he said.

His grip loosened before he finally let go of her arm.

“You’re going to make me very rich.”

Sofia stood frozen in the hallway as he turned away and grabbed the vodka bottle again.

Her cheek throbbed where he had hit her, but the pain barely mattered anymore.

Because something much colder had settled deep in her chest.

A quiet, creeping fear that tomorrow night would change her life forever.