His bratva princess

The dashboard clock glowed a cruel, mocking neon blue: 2:14 AM. Milana Vance pressed her foot harder against the accelerator of her father’s pristine, midnight-blue luxury sedan. The German-engineered engine hummed in effortless protest as she took a sharp corner a little too fast, the tires chirping against the damp asphalt. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, driven by pure, unadulterated panic. She was supposed to be home two hours ago. What had started as a simple, much-needed girls' night out had devolved into a complete disaster. The club was too loud, her friends had drifted off with guys they’d never see again, and to top it all off, Milana’s phone battery had violently died right around midnight. But the absolute worst part? She hadn't told her dad she was taking his car. Her father was a highly successful accountant. He worked grueling hours to provide a comfortable, beautiful life for them, and this executive vehicle was his absolute pride and joy. It wasn't blood money expensive—they weren't rich-rich—but it was the kind of high-end, sophisticated car a man bought himself after decades of honest, meticulous hard work. He had sent her a text hours ago saying he’d be back from his business trip early tonight. If she didn’t beat him to the driveway, she would be dead. "Come on, come on," Milana muttered, leaning forward, her brown eyes scanning the empty, dimly lit highway. Her long lashes blinked against the exhaustion pulling at her eyelids, the lingering buzz of the night completely evaporating under the sheer weight of adrenaline. Up ahead, an intersection loomed. The light flashed yellow. Milana calculated the distance, knowing she should slow down, but the looming threat of her father's disappointment pushed her forward. She maintained her speed, ready to clear the light. She never saw the other vehicle coming. Out of nowhere, a massive, blacked-out armored SUV merged blindly into the intersection, running the light from the intersecting road. It was moving like a tank, dark and menacing. Milana gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. "Oh my God—" She slammed on the brakes, twisting the steering wheel violently to the left. The tires shrieked, losing traction on the slick road. The sedan fishtailed, but the sheer momentum was unstoppable. CRUNCH. The sound of metal tearing and fiberglass shattering echoed through the quiet night. The force of the impact jarred Milana forward, the seatbelt locking painfully across her chest. The sedan spun slightly before grinding to a halt against the curb, smoke beginning to hiss from the mangled front fender. For a terrifying three seconds, there was absolute silence. Milana sat frozen, her hands gripping the steering wheel, so tightly her knuckles were white. Shock held her captive as she stared at the crumpled hood of her dad's prized car. Then, the shock rapidly morphed into a burning, suffocating wave of fury. Her panic about being late vanished, replaced entirely by raw rage. *They wrecked it. They ruined his car.* She threw her door open and stormed out into the cool night air, seeing red. A few feet away, the massive black SUV had stopped. It barely had a scratch on its reinforced bumper. Before Milana could even open her mouth, the driver’s side door of the SUV flew open. A lean, sharply fit man in a tailored black suit stepped out. He didn't look like a sloppy street thug; he looked like an elite military operative—wiry, alert, and highly disciplined. Right now, his face was pale, and his hands were raised in a placating gesture. "Miss! Miss, I am so sorry," the driver said quickly, his voice urgent as he rushed toward her. "The blind spot—I didn't see you merging. Are you alright? Let’s settle this quickly. I can give you cash, whatever you need to fix it, right now." "Are you an i***t?!" Milana yelled, her heart-shaped lips twisting in anger as she gestured wildly at her ruined fender. "You completely cut me off! Do you even know how to drive a vehicle that size? Look at this car! You ruined it!" The driver looked anxious, his eyes darting nervously back toward the tinted rear windows of his SUV. "Miss, please, lower your voice. I told you, we will pay for everything. Just name a price and—" "I don't want your money, I need a f**ing time machine!" Milana snapped, pacing back and forth in front of the wreckage, her waist-long brunette hair tossing over her shoulders. "My life is over! My dad is going to kill me!" Inside the plush, leather-scented sanctuary of the SUV's back seat, Rodion Volkov closed his grey eyes and let out a slow, irritated breath. He had a brutal, throbbing headache behind his temples. It had been a grueling, endless day of handling family business, managing shipping routes, and dealing with incompetent subordinates. Because Rodion didn't drink a drop of alcohol—a strict rule of discipline he maintained in a world drowning in vodka and vice—he couldn't even numb the pain with a glass of scotch. He was stone-cold, sober, utterly exhausted, and the only thing he wanted was a hot bath and warm sheets. Instead, his driver had managed to get them into a fender bender with a civilian. Through the heavy tint of the window, Rodion watched the scene unfold. He expected his driver to throw some cash at the problem and clear the road. But the civilian wasn't backing down. Rodion sharpened his gaze, taking in the girl standing under the amber glow of the streetlamp. She was stunning—a slim-thick brunette with a defined, hourglass shape, a small waist, and wide brown eyes flashing with fire. She couldn't have been older than twenty-one. And she was currently terrorizing his highly trained guard, completely ignoring the man’s apologies. Rodion sighed, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive charcoal suit jacket. He didn't have time for this. He pushed the heavy door open and stepped out. The moment his 6'2", bulky frame hit the pavement, the entire atmosphere of the street seemed to shift. He was a massive man, packed with muscle under his tailored clothes, radiating an undeniable, lethal aura of authority. The driver instantly went quiet, bowing his head respectfully. "Boss. I'm sorry, I'm handling it." Milana didn't even notice him stepping out at first, too busy staring at her phone, trying to see if it would miraculously turn on. "Right. Because this looks completely under control," Rodion’s deep, gravelly voice rumbled through the dark. Milana spun around, her furious gaze locking onto the man who had just spoken. He was towering over her, his thick blonde hair catching the light, his piercing grey eyes looking down at her with absolute indifference. He didn't look like a regular wealthy businessman. He looked like danger incarnate. But Milana was too far past the point of rational thought to care. She marched right up to him, stopping just inches from his massive chest. "You think this is funny? Your driver is an i***t! He completely ran the light!" Rodion didn't even blink. He just leaned back against the hood of his armored SUV, crossing his arms over his broad chest as if he had all the time in the world, watching her pace back and forth like a caged animal. "Come with me. My driver will drop you off," he said smoothly, his tone flat, commanding, and entirely bossy. "Hell no!" Milana snapped, her hands flying to her hips. She couldn't leave the car here, and she certainly wasn't getting into a car with a strange, imposing giant. "I am not going anywhere without this car!" "We will have the car replaced," Rodion said, his patience officially wearing thin. The throbbing in his head was reaching a crescendo. "But you need to get home first." "No!" Rodion pushed off the hood of the car, his jaw tightening into a hard line. He didn't have the time or the luxury to play babysitter to a frantic girl in the middle of the night. "Fine. Suit yourself," he muttered, turning on his heel to walk back to his door. A choked, ragged sob cut through the quiet street. Rodion paused in his tracks. The sound of her crying hit him right in the chest, stopping him dead. He closed his eyes, cursing silently under his breath, and turned back around to face her. Milana was standing by her ruined bumper, her long lashes wet with tears, her heart-shaped lips trembling. The blinding fog of her anger was finally washing away, and the terrifying reality of what she had done to her father's car was crashing down on her. Rodion looked at her, his voice laced with heavy sarcasm. "Two minutes ago, you looked like you were about to beat both of us up. Now you’re crying?" She glared at him through her tears, sniffing defiantly, but before she could snap back, Rodion opened the heavy door of his SUV and gestured inside. "Get in," he commanded, his grey eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that brooked no argument. "Before I change my mind."