Page 75 of Bratva Prisoner

“Drinking alone is never a good sign,” Dmitri notes from the doorway.

“It also means nobody has to listen to me complain,” I reply without looking up from my glass.

“Mind if I join you anyway?”

Before I can answer, he’s already taking a seat in the chair across from my desk with his own glass of whiskey. Brothers have a way of inserting themselves into your misery, whether you want them there or not.

“What’s eating at you?” he asks after we drink in silence for a few minutes.

“Nothing. Everything. Take your pick.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman who’s been tiptoeing around this house like she’s afraid to breathe too loudly, would it?”

“She’s not afraid. She’s just… working through things.”

“Working through what?”

“The fact that I’m an idiot who moves too fast and scares off women who’ve already been through enough trauma.”

Dmitri raises an eyebrow at my self-flagellation. “Is that what she told you?”

“She didn’t have to. Actions speak louder than words, and her actions are screaming that she wants distance.”

“Maybe she’s dealing with something else.”

“Like what?”

“Look, adjusting to our world isn’t easy, even when you want to be part of it. Cecily went through something similar when we first got together.”

“Cecily didn’t run away from you every time you tried to have a conversation.”

“Actually, she did. For weeks. I thought she regretted marrying me, that she wanted out but didn’t know how to say it.”

This catches my attention despite my determination to wallow. “What changed?”

“I stopped assuming I knew what she was thinking and started asking her directly. Turned out she was scared of disappointing me, not running from me.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Or are you so convinced she’s going to leave that you’re not seeing what’s actually happening?”

Before I can answer, footsteps in the hallway signal someone approaching. Alyssa appears in the doorway, looking surprised to find us here.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company,” she says, already backing away. “I’ll come back later.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” Dmitri urges with a knowing look in my direction. “I was just heading out.”

He stands and drains his glass before heading for the door. “Think about what I said,” he tells me quietly as he passes.

Alyssa loiters in the doorway like she’s debating whether to stay or flee.

“Did you need something?” I ask after a moment.

“Just… wanted to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight then.”

She turns to leave, but something about the defeated slump of her shoulders makes me call out, “Alyssa.”