Page 22 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

At four o’clock, Katya exits from one of the youth centre’s side entrances and starts down the road.

I trail her from my usual distance, staying back farther in case anyone alerts her to me following.

She’s never given any indication of being aware of the monster lurking behind her.

Of the past she ran from who continues to chase her.

It’s Friday, so she stops at a studio located halfway between her work and apartment. The studio’s name, Warrior’s Gym , never ceases to make me smile, because that’s what the self-defence classes have made Katya into—my little warrior.

Her training thrills me, and the only thing that’d make it better is if she chose to attend a studio with a different building design, because this one means lingering across the street, blind to what’s going on inside.

An hour later, Katya leaves, chugging from a metal water bottle as she continues her usual route home, thankfully sticking to the busier roads of the Toronto neighbourhood. Her apartment is a fifteen-minute walk, letting her avoid the busy bustle of public transportation.

Her apartment comes into view and, with a satisfied sigh, I slow slightly, giving her the chance to get inside the building, something I’ve ensured is safe.

When Katya and her parents moved to Toronto ten years ago, they used the money from the sale of their house to buy a new one, paid full in cash, on the outskirts of the city.

Katya lived with them for a few weeks before moving into the University of Toronto’s dorms. It became both harder and easier to stalk her there.

Campus dorms are monitored for students’ safety, and me hanging around would have alerted the wrong people.

But the large property gave me plenty of places to hide from afar.

Either way, back then and presently, I have to be careful how much attention I catch. As a Bratva soldier, I’m skulking on Corsetti territory, and the Boss of the Canadian mob won’t take kindly to me being here.

Five years ago, after her degree, she moved in with her parents for a couple months before renting this downtown apartment within a decent distance of the youth centre who hired her.

So I purchased the building and claimed the apartment directly beneath hers.

Since then, I’ve had the building security systems upgraded, only allow people who pass my background checks—which I make Lev complete—rent, hire the best landlords to maintain the place, and have been very careful with my comings and goings.

It was the simplest way to remain close to her while maintaining her safety.

She has no idea, of course, that each month her rent money gets deposited into a savings account that will one day be returned to her.

One floor below is much too far for my liking. It’s a tease to hear her steps crossing her rooms. A form of self-torture with how near she is, yet out of reach. Every little sound becomes my fix. Like an addict, I take anything she gives.

I wait a few minutes after she enters the building, giving her time to check her mailbox and ride the elevator to her floor.

It’s been years of carefully choreographed movements to ensure we never end up in the foyer or the elevator at the same time.

Twice, there were near misses, but I escaped before anything could happen.

From across the street, I watch her fifth-storey apartment light flick on, reassuring me she’s tucked inside. Normally, I would go inside now, but today I linger on the streets, studying everyone who passes by all because of the fucking message he sent the other day.

I rub my finger along the green ribbon tied on my wrist, the very one I took from her the last time we were face-to-face, and the secondary one permanently marked beneath it. It helps ease a bit of that weight my father’s text dropped on my chest.

Ivan

You really thought I didn’t know where she disappeared to? You destroyed our lineage the moment you chose Vanessa. So now, I’ll destroy you, and I’ll be starting with her. Want this to end? Come find me.

My father didn’t agree with my cousin, Vanessa, claiming the role of Pakhan after her papa was killed by the New York Famiglia over two years ago.

Pakhans are traditionally always male, and with Ursin having no male heir, it would have fallen to me.

Which is the last thing I wanted and everything Vanessa was meant for, so I took her side—much to the revulsion of my papa.

Ivan tried to use the newfound connection between Zeno Mancini, a Cosa Nostra Capo Vanessa was getting close to, and their shared half-sister, Serafina, to get her to hand over leadership.

His plan ultimately did not work, and with the help of Lev and Anastasia, Vanessa saved both and captured my father.

Then his army waiting in the wings managed to free him, and he escaped our grasp.

Now, he’s running because he knows.

Vanessa underestimated my father’s cruelty, but I’m aware of the kind of man he is. I’ve been living— surviving —the outcome of his actions for too long.

His message is a clear threat, but how and when he’ll act is unknown. If he knows I’ve been stalking her for nearly a decade, then he’s also aware I won’t let her out of my sight, which means he’ll strike at an unexpected time.

Watching Katya isn’t enough. I need to be searching for him, but until we get a trace of where he fucked off to, Toronto is way too large. Canvassing the streets will lead to only dead ends.

For now, I need to lie in wait until he strikes. And he will , at some point.

With my phone out, I bring up another text thread:

Me

Anything yet?

Lev

Same response as the other four times you’ve asked: No, and I’ll tell you when there is.

Me

He wouldn’t risk hanging around Russia any longer or trying to get in with one of the Five Families now that Mancini is in the picture for good. If one of the Capos talks, and Zeno catches wind, he’d be easy to nab. Focus only on Canada.

Lev

What about somewhere else in the world? European countries. Australia. The US.

Me

He’d be pulling the strings from afar then.

Not the first time he’s done that, but this has gotten too personal. He knows if his cronies miss attacking Katya, he’ll lose. No, he’s close. I feel it.

Lev

Why are you thinking Canada?

Me

Because he threatened someone I care for here.

The message hangs on read for a while before more bubbles appear.

Lev

…not elaborating on that? No? Okay.

Me

Just trust me.

Lev

Always. Good luck. I’ll continue pinging cell towers. Can I get a rough location to narrow down the country? You didn’t give me much to work with when you took off.

Me

Toronto.

Lev

Perfect. Thanks.

I slip the phone away, positioning myself against the wall of the abandoned building across the street from Katya, and settle in to wait until night falls on the off chance my father does have hired guns stalking her from the shadows.

Night falls, and Katya’s living room light switches off.

It’s early for her to be heading to bed, but when my gaze slides to the smaller window to the left, no bedroom light flickers on.

Minutes later, the building’s front door opens and Katya exits, dressed in leggings and an off-shoulder top, a purse hanging from her hand.

She walks down the street, head down, and I follow. It’s not unusual for her to go out in the evening to meet up with her coworker-slash-friend, Nora, but it’s not often they do either.

She walks quickly, with an urgency I’d find alarming if I wasn’t aware of her patterns. Katya speed-walking when it’s dark out is her norm. Hell, it’s progress considering she wouldn’t stay out past sundown for years.

She walks a few blocks until stopping outside a bar, one of those ones where shows and performances are often held. A crowd lingers, but no one pays her attention.

Impossible to not.

The sign on the building casts a fluorescent glow on her, making the natural brown of her hair a deeper shade.

When a breeze blows, she wraps her arms around her sternum, and I long more than anything—even more than killing Papa—to wrap her in my arms. To dress her my hoodie and cloak her in my scent, a signal to any other man that she’s mine.

In another world, I would.

A few minutes later, Nora approaches. Long ago, when they got close, I ran all the necessary background checks to ensure there are no ghosts in her closet. Nothing dangerous that could potentially harm Katya. Nora and her family are as average as they come.

The two talk and are joined by another couple a few minutes later, and then almost immediately, another man. He positions himself beside Katya, angling her way when he murmurs to her, not paying the others attention.

Fuck no.

I shove off the wall as though intending to storm across the street and tear him away, even when the tiny voice in my head forces me to remain, denying every urge to keep her for myself.

Stay away.

I fucking despise this part. The part where I’m torn between running away and snatching her, all to avoid witnessing her interact with other men. Men who smile at her like she’s the sun, bright and shiny for them.

She’s not the sun. She’s the goddamn moon. She’s my light in the darkness. The glow in the sky that illuminates a path within the night.

He’s looking at her like he’s allowed to. Like I’m no longer allowed to. His eyes travel over the length of her and, fuck, I want to tear them out.

She’ll hate you. Don’t ruin any chance of her happiness. It’s the whisper in the back of my mind, the one always reminding me of my vows.

“Can you promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t look for me, Dimitri. Forget about me.”

Vows I broke as soon as I made them. Once she left Russia, I looked for her, found her, and followed her. At first, it was to ensure her family got settled, but in the weeks following, I kept flying back, continuously compelled to her like a mosquito is to light.

Her other request, to forget her, was also impossible. Never, not once, did I forget about her.

How can one forget the other half of their soul?

How does one survive, knowing they’re only half a person, that the other wants nothing to do with them?

They don’t.

Regardless, if she learns I haven’t obeyed her requests, it won’t end how I dream it will. Her happiness, even when she’s with others, is the single thing that keeps my restraint in check and those other men still breathing. If anything, they should be thanking her.

After a couple minutes, the group goes inside after having their phones—tickets, presumably—checked by the bouncer.

Sometimes, I linger outside when she’s hanging out with Nora since the places they often go to are small and I don’t want to risk being spotted.

But tonight, I head across the street and slip a hundred-dollar bill to the doorman, who merely shrugs and allows me to pass through.

As I hike my hood over my head and blend into the crowd merging into the large room, I tell myself this is simply to stay close for her protection. Only that, and not to allow my masochistic self to witness my own downfall while she’s smiling at someone else.

Katya’s group claims a round table near the right side of the room by the stage, so I head for the same side, remaining in the back to keep a clear view over the other circular tables and people settling in for whatever show they’re about to see.

Katya takes the chair in my direct line of sight, Nora to her right, and that asshole on her left. The other couple seems wrapped in their own world and sits across from the trio.

A low buzz of conversation fills the room but is soon extinguished when the lights dim to make the club dark, only the stage’s light allowing me to see Katya.

As the performer—a stupid magician—crosses the stage, greeting his guests and flicking coloured cloth around, Katya shivers and wraps her arms around herself.

The asshole immediately sheds his sweater and drapes it over her shoulders. She smiles at him before slipping her arms through the sleeves and hugging the material tight to her.

Fuck off. The only thing that could make this night worse is my father finding her.

The gun in my waistband gets heavier with the reminder of how I could fix my new problem: End his life before he considers putting anything else of his on her, then give her my hoodie, enveloping her in my scent instead.

Christ. My hands tighten into fists by my side. It’s always bad seeing Katya, but never like this. Never so… pressing . I’ve come to train myself over the decade, the reminder of her wishes making letting her move on possible. But fuck, tonight is the ultimate test of my control.

The most difficult part over the past decade has been witnessing Katya move on and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. Not without breaking her wishes and revealing what I’ve been up to.

Thankfully, there haven’t been many. Rarely do her relationships last months, more often only a few weeks.

She didn’t go near anyone until nearly the end of her degree—four years after she left Russia—and it felt like she wiped out the shreds of my long-dead heart, leftover from our breakup, when she did.

Yet, when she had, a tiny— very small—fraction of me was pleased she trusted someone.

That after years of therapy, she was able to put behind what the four fuckers did to her on that ripped, stained mattress enough to try intimacy.

I only wished she moved past the trauma with me, but it’s exactly as she requested: to find herself and heal away from the memories surrounding me and my family.

Maybe, just maybe , if she ever settles down permanently with someone, I’ll finally grant her wish and leave her be. Once she’s truly happy and officially no longer mine.

Maybe. Or I’ll just kill him before they speak their vows to one another.

The guy on her left leans back in his seat, the movement shattering my thoughts. His shoulder comes close to Katya, like he’s gravitating to her energy. She casts one of her blinding smiles at him, and I die inside all over.

The show begins, and the audience is captivated. Meanwhile, Asshole is captivated by Katya, and I’m captivated by her.

It’s a fucked-up circle that never seems to end.