Page 47 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

Damn Ivan to the deepest depths of Ad . Just when I thought I’d gotten through to Katya, he went and ruined everything again by putting that shit in her head.

I saw the moment the realization hit her, when all my progress got shut down by the thick wall separating us. The wall I’m about to take a motherfucking nuclear bomb to.

Halfway through yet another silent drive from the prison to Moscow, my phone rings, the sound filling the car over Bluetooth. It’s Vanessa, and I tap the screen to answer.

“Chto?” I bark.

“What?” she repeats, her greeting in English echoing through the car’s speakers. “Hello to you, too. No wonder Katya’s done with your ass. You’re moody.”

My hands tighten around the steering wheel, ignoring the little snicker Katya lets out beside me.

“What can I help you with, Vanessa?”

“Better,” she chimes, every cheerful syllable grating my nerves. “Never know where you are these days, so I figured I had to catch you as soon as I was able to. Get in your calendar and all that.”

My teeth slide painfully together. What the hell is with Vanessa right now? She’s purposely getting on my nerves.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I need you around next week, so be here. Zeno is meeting with the other Cosa Nostra Capos to discuss our alliance, forged around an eventual union. He wants to make it known to the rest of them that they’ll be fighting against a fellow Five Family, should any of them get the idea to strike against us or target our territory.

He wants me in the meeting, at least for his part, as a visualization of the alliance.

His second, Nero, will also be there as a show of unity, and he thinks it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to be there as well. ”

This required a call?

“Sure. Will do. Text me the details when you have them. Anything else?”

“Nope. Hope you and Katya are playing nice with one another. Gotta go.” She hangs up, leaving Katya and I sitting in silence once more.

Upon reaching Moscow, I drive towards the neighbourhood I visit frequently, but she hasn’t been to in a decade. The moment she realizes where we are, she gasps and presses closer to the window.

We turn down her old road and stop by the curb of the house she once called home, parking where I have countless times before.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “It’s like nothing’s changed.”

Because it hasn’t.

I exit my side of the car and go around to hers to help her out.

She allows me to take her hand and lead her up the skinny path, a trip we’ve taken many times before, so I call it a win.

We once walked this same route many times as stupid kids who believed happily-ever-after was more than a fictional concept recited in fairy tales.

“Dimitri, we shouldn’t be here. The owners will think we’re breaking in.”

Ignoring her, I continue up the stone steps—the very ones stained with remnants of my shattered heart. Standing beside those very remnants, I rifle for my keys, choosing the ones for this house, and stick it inside the lock.

“You’re the current owner?”

I open the door, stepping inside when I sense she won’t make the first move. “I’ve owned it since your parents sold it.”

“You were the buyer who paid over asking.” It’s not a question, but a realization.

“Da.” I reach for her, tugging her inside, and she all but trips over the threshold with her unwillingness.

She steps by me, slowly spinning in a circle as her eyes devour the empty house.

In that second, a memory of when she first brought me here slips into place.

She was wearing a pink dress, and when she spun to point out various things, her dark hair flared around her, and her dress picked up at the knees.

I blink, and we’re back in the present. No pink dress. No joyful expression. Just one of sadness and surprise, heartbreak and trauma.

“I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t allow anyone else to move into the place you were born in. Your entire life was spent here.”

She flinches, turning away, her hair a wall between us—as thick as the one around her heart.

She says nothing as she continues through the sparse house, and I stay at a safe distance a few feet behind.

She heads down the hallway until reaching the staircase, her hand cupping the banister for a long second before ascending.

At the top, she peeks into the room that was once her parents’, then the bathroom, and then down the hall towards her old one. She remains a few feet away from the doorway and turns to me.

“So you, what—own it? You don’t furnish it? Rent it out?”

“Have strangers live in your home? Never. That’d defeat the purpose of me buying it.”

“It’s not my home anymore. That was the idea behind selling it.”

“I bought it because I wanted to.” I shove my hands into my pockets, needing them hidden before accidentally doing something I shouldn’t, like reaching for her.

“It’s sat empty since you moved out. A cleaning crew comes through every couple months to dust and mop, air it out, and keep the place from growing stale and dirty. ”

Her eyes bounce around the walls that once were decorated with family portraits, and the layout she spent years running throughout. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. I brought you here so you can see that what you ran away from is still waiting.” Your home. Me.

She finally walks through the entrance of her old bedroom. “I never ran . And this place being available means nothing.”

Her eyes flicker with fear, uncertainty, and a look I recognize from years of stalking her—the bravado of her lie. It thrills me, encourages me to back her into the nearest wall—literally and metaphorically, consequences be damned.

At this point, I’ve laid it all out for her. My father is imprisoned, the scum who raped her are all dead and long gone, she has her house if she wants it…

She has me.

The choice is hers.

“You’re lying to yourself.”

Her chin lifts, her body becoming rigid as I take a step in her direction.

“Your father was right, as much as it pains me to admit. And before you blame him, no, he didn’t put these thoughts in my head.

Ten years ago, I left, not only because of what happened to us , but because of why it did.

Your father may have wanted us apart, but it was only so you could take your rightful place in the Bratva.

A place that, as much as you deny it, was always yours to claim.

If not him, at some point between graduation and this present moment, the organization would have split us up, and you know it. ”

They would have made it complicated, but they wouldn’t have ended us. I wouldn’t have allowed it.

“You’re making excuses; what-ifs you have no way of proving. Theories that’ll never come to pass.”

She angles away from me. “Back then, I thought I was okay with you being in the mob, but I was a kid, Dimitri. We both were! We had no idea what the consequences of loving one another would be. Like it or not, we existed in two different worlds…and we continue to. I, I…I can’t handle this, and you need someone who can.

A woman who’s from a family like yours, who knows what to expect. ”

Fuck that.

I step near her. “The organization doesn’t deem whom I can love. Then or now.”

“It does, though,” she replies with a frustrated huff as she continues slowly backing towards to the wall.

“You told me yourself how Vanessa would eventually be forced into an arranged marriage to forge a connection between organizations. Out there, there’s a woman belonging to another organization whose father is dying to get in with Vanessa.

It’ll be through you that happens, and I can’t be in the way of how it should be.

Of what just is . Such practices are your life, and it’s fine. ”

Is she really bringing an imaginary woman into this?

I walk into her, forcing her back, tired—no, fucking done —with these little steps. The will-they-won’t-they these damn four walls are laughing at me over. I continue walking until she has nowhere left to go, her back hitting the wall and my body caging her in.

“I am not engaged now, nor will I ever be to a stranger. There’s only one woman who’ll wear my ring, the Bratva and alliances be damned.”

Her expression softens into heartbreak, but it doesn’t ease my mood at all. No, it stokes the fire within me.

“Marriage or not, you know I’m right about your job.

Eventually, someone will come for one of us.

You’ll kill yourself trying to protect me, and I won’t be able to offer the same to you.

It’s not fair. Or—fuck, Dimitri, I work with children.

Children. What if someone shows up to kidnap me at gunpoint for ransom?

I live a quiet life, and you…don’t. Which is okay. ”

My fists punch the wall beside her head, my arms the only thing keeping me off her. I hang my head between us, getting as close to her as I’ll allow myself. She realizes the cage I’ve placed her in, her gaze darting around like an animal seeking freedom.

“This is why my father said what he did. He’s made you second-guess everything .

Katya…” I pause, my thoughts only formulating semi-coherent responses.

“What life have I truly led? What life do I even have ? You’ve owned every breath I’ve taken.

Every minute of my free time has been spent by your side, even if you were unaware.

You are my life. Then and now, and until my dying breath.

I will never be driven away from you. And the sorry soul who thinks he can take you from me is already a dead man walking.

” My chest heaves, teeth gnashing together as I grind out the rest. “My room. The prison. Here. Where else do I have to bare my fuckin’ soul to you?

What else can I say to make you comprehend this, moya dusha ?

You underestimate everything I’d do to keep you.

I’ll leave the Bratva if it makes you feel safer. ”