Page 28 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

I can’t watch this.

Still, I follow his car.

I have to stop.

Still, I park across the street from the restaurant.

I need to get her away from him.

Still, I watch through the window as he pushes in her chair.

As she smiles at him.

As she looks like a chertova boginya —fucking goddess—in her little black dress. It’s simple, but I can’t stop staring.

She’s not yours anymore.

She’ll always be mine.

She hasn’t been for years.

She has, she simply doesn’t know it.

Logic and desire wrestle within the confines of my mind until it’s quite possible I’ll go insane. Or perhaps insanity has already happened, hence why I’m unable to look away when he reaches across the table for her hand.

I’m going to kill him.

Happily. Slowly. Consequences be damned.

What consequences?

I tear my gaze away, hands tight around the steering wheel, and my attention drops to the ribbon around my wrist. It’s my claim on her, but the fact it’s around my wrist says it all.

It’s never easy seeing Katya with anyone else, but this feels like more . Maybe it’s because, with others, she acts like a spooked bunny who’ll bolt if they breathe wrong. With this one, she’s looking like?—

I don’t even finish the thought, wrenching my gaze away from the couple once again. The way she’s sparkling under his attention breaks me—what little of me is left.

She might be sparkling, but I can make her glow…if she gives me another chance.

Take it.

God, how many times has that sick fantasy creeped up over the years? To forgo all respect and kidnap her, lock her away to keep her safe from my father and anyone who’d harm her.

Except she’d hate me, and that’s the only thing ever stopping me.

If Katya weren’t so smart, I’d kill anyone she went out with. But after the second death, I doubt she’d think it’s a coincidence. She’d know it was more; maybe that it was specifically my doing.

When my phone buzzes, I’ve never been happier for a distraction.

“Da?”

Lev’s voice comes through. “Normally, a person’s contact information is easy to find, but the Corsettis hide well—not surprising.

Regardless, the underboss, Rafael Corsetti, owns a sex club in Montreal.

Public business means public contact information, so I got in touch with them.

Didn’t say who you are, only that you’re a businessman with an offer for their boss.

The staff said she’d pass your number to him. Not a guarantee, but it’s a start.”

“That’s promising. Anything on Caleb?” Unwittingly, my eyes flick to the couple again, who’s now speaking with a waiter. Well, Katya is. Caleb’s staring at her. Before my fist ends up in his throat, I twist away.

“He was way too simple to dig up. Why’d you want information on this person?”

“Lev.”

“Fine. Caleb Carter. Thirty years old. Lives at—” He rattles off an address, the same place I walked to the other night.

“Finished his teaching degree about four years ago in Kingston, Ontario. He got hired three years ago by Toronto’s school district, and he and his girlfriend at the time moved there.

He left that job recently, his social media citing ‘a change of pace’, and got hired at the youth centre. ”

“Girlfriend?” Be a cheater so I have more reason to kill you.

“Yeah,” Lev replies slowly, like he’s reading from something. “They met in Kingston. She was completing a nursing degree and got a job in Toronto. The two married shortly after their move but divorced last year.”

All my hope dwindles.

“That’s it,” he finishes in an apologetic tone. “No criminal record. Seems clean. Whyever you’re curious about him, he’s a regular guy. Thirty-year-old divorced teacher if I were to sum him up.”

Fuck. “Any reason why they split up?” Anything to suggest he’s wrong for Katya.

“Nothing public, which says it’s not for criminal reasons.

He has some old post about first loves and soulmates on his social media.

Guess they figured they weren’t right for one another?

Which is stupid since soulmates don’t exist. It’s a notion society sells to themselves to make sense of romance.

” Lev hardly understands the concept of emotions at all, let alone something as strong as impacting love that hits at the soul level, so his comments aren’t unlike him.

Seems he’s looking to make Katya his “right one.”

Bile rises in my throat, and I risk a look towards the couple, now sharing food and deep in conversation.

I feel sick. Murderous.

“Thanks.” It’s more strained than before. “I’ll wait for Corsetti’s call. What’s the update on the list of criminals in this city?”

“Getting that list is easier said than done. I’ve hacked the Toronto Police Force’s systems to look through all the people charged, figuring they’ve probably had quite a few gang members come through.

So I’m still compiling the list. Prioritized Corsetti and that Carter guy, figuring they were the simpler tasks. ”

“I appreciate you, Lev.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, before you go, I should note I’ll be working from Italy soon. By then, we should have found Ivan, but in case we don’t, just know my timings might change.”

“Visiting Zeno?” Lev doesn’t visit places, especially people he barely knows. Hell, he hardly leaves his basement willingly, where he keeps his computer lair. I think it’s a form of safety. Down there, his father won’t come and toss him into prison again—shit from his past he doesn’t talk about.

“Not quite. He’s asked for a favour. Seems I’ll be following his sister to her classes for a bit. Zeno’s worried her boyfriend is someone from another Cosa Nostra family.”

“The marriage deal Ursin struck with the Vitales,” I muse, thinking of Ursin’s journal Vanessa recently found hidden in his office that detailed the arrangement. “She’s to be engaged to one of them, eh?”

“ Da. I get to be the one to verify that.”

“Why’d you agree?”

“Serafina asked for me. Figured if she’s brave enough to request whom she wants as a bodyguard, the least I could do is follow through.”

Now that’s interesting. Lev doesn’t do well in crowds, which a university is packed full of.

Even after years, I don’t understand his reactions.

He’s clearly uncomfortable at social events, which his father made him attend one too many times.

He tolerates very few people. Vanessa out of loyalty and friendship.

Me from our time together as soldiers beneath Ursin’s rule, and Anastasia, whom I believe he only deals with because she’s his twin.

He’s putting himself into a busy place for a person he barely knows because she asked him too.

“Well, have fun with that then.”

“Thanks,” he replies wryly. “I leave for Rome at the end of the month. I’ll be in touch when that list is done or anything else that comes down the pipe. Good luck…with all that you’re doing.”

The call ends with my sigh, and my head drops to the seat, eyes tightening. Fuck knows how long their date will last, but she needs to cut it short and go home before I go nuts.

A while passes before Caleb pays the bill and he and Katya leave. I straighten in my seat and switch on the car, readying to follow them back to her apartment. It better be her apartment, anyway, and not his. Her apartment where he’ll drop her off and leave with his life intact.

With her arm looped around his, they exit the restaurant and walk the short way to his car, a modest Honda Civic. An average car for an average guy who’s taking an extraordinary girl home.

Katya smiles and flicks her hair over her shoulder before she climbs in. The light catches on her expression before she disappears from view. Fuck. I rub at my chest where my heart should be beating. Should be, had she not ripped it out ten years ago on her doorstep.

My phone rings again, pulling my attention away from Caleb, who’s sliding into the driver’s side. It’s Lev.

“Hey—”

He rattles out an address before yelling, “Go!”

There’s only one reason why he’d be directing me somewhere with this kind of urgency, so with a final glance at Katya, I’m forced to trust that Caleb will get her home safely so I can ensure the monsters of her past don’t pop up again.

At some point, my call with Lev disconnects, but it doesn’t matter. With the address, I quickly type it into the GPS and allow the car to direct me to it.

Traffic makes the drive excruciating; other vehicles cutting me off and pedestrians jaywalking have me ready to run them over, consequences be damned. They couldn’t be any worse than my father escaping.

Whenever the cars space far enough apart, I weave in and out of traffic as fast as physically possible, ignoring stop signs and blowing through red lights. Every passing kilometre is one nearer to ending all this. To my father finally getting what’s long owed.

The list of names in my pocket feels heavier with the knowledge that soon, the final one will be crossed off.

It’s over, Papa. I have you.