Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)

“MOMMY?”

I’m standing in our old living room, watching my mother as she sits at her writing desk. Her face is younger, her pen moves frantically across the paper, her expression a blend of intense focus and pure happiness.

“Laura honey, come here,” she calls, a smile lighting up her face, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of creation.

I get closer, curious. “What’s this story about, Mommy?” my younger voice asks simply, watching her write.

“It’s about a little girl who dreams big,” she answers, her voice brimming with excitement. “She travels through wondrous lands, meets magical creatures, and faces challenges with bravery and heart.”

“The little girl, does she find what she’s looking for?” I ask, completely drawn in.

“Every step is a discovery,” she says. “She learns about courage, friendship, and the magic within herself. It’s a journey of wonder and daring, a story to remind us all to dream and explore.”

“I wanna have adventures, too, Mommy,” I say with a smile, touching her cheek. “I miss you so much.”

She kisses my cheek gently. “Silly girl, I’m right here with you.”

Then, the moment shatters. “Don’t be ridiculous!” my father’s voice cuts through, dripping with scorn. “Your stories are pointless. No one cares about them.”

I want to stand up for Mommy, to scream at him to leave her alone.

But I can’t. I just watch as Mommy’s face falls, her light dimming.

Soon, she stops writing. The table, once cluttered with papers and pens, now hosts a collection of empty bottles, her bed becoming her world. I try to write with her, to bring back the spark, but she can’t—or won’t—get up.

“Mommy, no…”

The room fades into darkness.

There’s my mother again, but this time, she’s different—haggard, her eyes dull. More of those empty bottles clutter the table where her stories once blossomed.

“Mommy, please, let me help you,” I plead, extending my hand toward her. “Let’s get rid of all this pain and start over together.” Wanting to wipe away the pain, the addiction, the slow destruction.

“Mommy?” I reach out to touch her. Her head lolls back grotesquely, eyes rolling up, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “No, no, no, Mommy! Please…” My cries echo in the void, tears streaming down my face.

“Stupid woman.” My father’s shadow looms over us, his voice cruel. “Serves her right.” His laughter is a harsh, grating sound.

“No!” I scream at him. “Go away!” I want him to disappear, but his laughter only grows, a booming mockery in the darkness.

I snap my eyes open, my heart racing, cold sweat coating my skin. It’s that same haunting dream that’s been chasing me since I was eighteen, the day I discovered Mom lying lifeless in her bed.

Brushing the tears from my face, I let out a shaky breath.

The dream’s grip loosens, but the room’s reality hits hard. Lifting my head, I’m awed by the ceiling. It’s huge, ridiculously high, dwarfing me beneath its vast expanse of elaborate plasterwork.

This isn’t my place.

The bed beneath me is too soft, the sheets too silky.

Where am I?

I sit up slowly, my head spinning, trying to piece together the fragments of memory from the night before, but before I can even start to figure things out, I am taken aback by the room.

Blinking hard, my eyes take in the scene. This room… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale—all pastel pinks and soft, luxurious fabrics. The delicate glow from the crystal chandelier above casts a warm light over everything, highlighting the opulence of the furnishings.

What the actual hell?

I spot the door across the room, half expecting someone to burst in any second. But the door stays firmly closed. Surreal. Clutching the bedsheet, my mind racing, the memory of what happened crashes over me like a wave.

The ledger, David, and the break-in at my apartment, the shadowy figure, and then… darkness.

Oh, God. Fear prickles over my nerve endings as I realize the gravity of my situation.

I’m not just in a strange room; I’m a captive.

Slipping my toes off the bed carefully, I feel the plush rug under my feet. “Wha-what? This rug is probably worth a fortune,” I whisper, a bit overwhelmed.

Is this a dream?

Pinching myself, I flinch. “Ouch! Nope, definitely not dreaming.” A chill breeze from the window cracked open. Weirdly quiet in here, like too quiet.

What’s this twisted game?

My eyes widen as I take in the bizarre scene—toys scattered around, children’s books stacked in a neat pile; my attention shifts to the picture frames lining the walls. Each one features the same little girl, a bright smile on her face, gray eyes sparkling with mischief, and dark hair cascading in gentle waves.

There’s something hauntingly familiar about those eyes, like I’ve seen them before… but where?

I stand up, my movements cautious, and as I walk past a giant mirror, I freeze.

What the…?

Glancing down at myself, I see the cashmere robe clinging softly to my figure. It’s elegant, way too elegant for a simple sleeping outfit. The fabric is smooth against my skin, a rich cream color that contrasts sharply with my bewildered expression in the mirror. It’s like I’m dressed for a fancy sleepover, not like someone who’s been kidnapped.

Are you kidding me right now?

“Who changed my clothes?” I whisper to myself. And who strips a kidnapped woman and dresses her in luxury nightwear?

Out of nowhere, I catch a glimpse of movement in the mirror, a small figure appearing behind me. For a moment, I think I’m seeing things.

“Ahhh!” I can’t help but let out a startled yelp. I spin around so fast I almost trip.

Standing right behind me is the girl from the picture frames, real as day. My heart’s doing a crazy dance, and for a split second, I’m half-convinced I’m about to wet myself.

“What? Who are you?” I blurt out, my heart pounding. “Are you a ghost?” As soon as I say it, I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

Great, Laura, talking to ghosts now, are we?

The girl laughs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yes… Boo!” she teases, taking a step closer.

Her eyes dancing with mischief. “Gotcha!”

I squint at her, almost certain I’ve lost it. “So, you’re actually real, huh? Didn’t just pop out of a picture frame or something, right?” I mumble, unsure if I’m hoping for a yes or a no.

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Of course, I’m real!” She comes closer. “I’m Elizaveta, but you can call me Eli. And you’re in my room!”

“Well, Eli, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” I can’t help but chuckle despite the surrealness of the situation.

She grins, proud of her little stunt. “You should’ve seen your face! It was like this!” She scrunches up her face in a comical expression of terror.

“Wait. I’m in your room?” I glance around again, finally connecting the dots—the toys, the books, it’s all stuff that would belong to a kid.

“Yes, I beg Mommy to have a sleepover in my room.” Eli beams, her smile infectious. Despite the bizarreness of my situation, her cheerfulness is hard to resist. It’s like she’s a tiny beacon of light in this confusing darkness.

A sleepover?

Who is “Mommy”?

“Eli, do you know… who brought me here?” My voice falters, a mix of confusion and a creeping sense of dread.

How do you even ask a kid why you’ve been kidnapped?

Eli just shrugs nonchalantly, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Don’t know,” she chirps. Her casualness about the whole thing is almost comical. “Mommy says you’re going to marry Dyadya Vi…”

“Eli, that’s enough.” The sharp command makes both of us spin around.

“Mommy!” Eli exclaims, rushing to the woman and wrapping her arms around her legs. “She’s funny,” she whispers loudly, casting a glance back at me.

My eyes follow Eli’s scamper to the commanding figure in the doorway. Standing in the doorway is a woman with an air of authority that’s almost tangible. She’s striking. Holy moly. She might just be the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Her dress clings to her like a second skin, a deep black that contrasts sharply with the whimsical decor of the room. The fabric hugs every curve of her hourglass figure, and the slit along the thigh suggests a blend of sophistication and peril. Her hair, dark as the dress, flows in voluminous waves, framing a face that could grace any magazine cover.

Holy smokes, she’s drop-dead gorgeous and absolutely terrifying.

Her eyes get me, gray and sharp as shards of ice. They pin me down, all the power and mystery in the world crammed into those irises. She walks in, and it’s like the dark corners of the room get the memo to back off. The light bends around her like she’s the boss of it.

And those eyes… Where have I seen those eyes before?

They soften momentarily as she looks down at Eli. “I see you’ve made our guest feel at home in your room,” she says, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.

“Hello,” I start, my voice low and husky. “But I think there’s been some mistake…” I clear my throat, trying to find my voice.

She fixes her gaze on me, her eyes scrutinizing yet unreadable. “Ksenia,” she introduces herself crisply, her voice carrying a hint of an accent. “There’s no mistake, Laura.”

She knows my name?

Eli’s grip tightens around her. “Mommy says you’re gonna be family, so you’re in my room! I wanted you to feel at home,” she says, her eyes shining with excitement.

What?

Eli tugs at Ksenia’s dress, bringing her down to whisper range. “Mommy,” she stage-whispers, not quite the secret she thinks it is, “she’s going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Huh? Guess this must be some mistaken identity mix-up.

Ksenia’s gaze doesn’t waver from me, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?” Her tone is light, but I sense something sharp hiding behind her words.

I feel like I’m missing pieces of a puzzle, the whole picture frustratingly out of reach.

Who?

Me?

Bride?