Page 70 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

When Katya mentioned home, she meant the mansion, but that isn’t where we go.

The closer we get, the more my insides knot. Today feels different from bringing her here after a decade, or anything else that’s happened over the past two months. There’s a twisting sensation I attempt to taper down.

We haven’t spoken since leaving the burning building, and I’m thankful for the reprieve. To get lost in my thoughts—doubts forming.

What if she doesn’t like it?

She watches me as I turn into her old neighbourhood, silent even when pulling into the small driveway.

“What are we doing here?”

Wordlessly—not from choice but because I’m positive words won’t be happening—I retrieve her from the passenger seat and hand her one of two house keys before leading her to the front door.

Words caught somewhere in my throat, I gesture for her to unlock it.

Above the lock, the fingerprint reader waits to be coded to our fingers.

She hesitates only a second before pushing the key into the lock and twisting the handle.

“Home,” I manage.

Katya takes in the updates and furnishings.

Where her couch used to be is now a padded, leather sofa, overlooking a large flatscreen.

Side tables matching the mahogany coffee table fence them, all on top of a burgundy rug, making the room warmer and ‘homey’.

At least, that’s what the interior designer claimed.

Professional photos of Toronto’s skyline hang on one wall, a tribute to where Katya called home for a while. She may deny missing it, but I know a part of her does and always will.

Beneath the Toronto skyline is a side table of frames; pictures I’ve handpicked for the designer.

Some of us as teenagers, in school, lounging on the front lawn.

Ones of her as a kid, thanks to her parents’ help, who’ll be visiting in a couple weeks—unknown to Katya.

Photos of her parents, so she can always see them.

It was with a pang, I realized the only recent photos I have of Katya are ones taken from afar; something to rectify.

She examines them while slowly passing and heads into the kitchen with its refreshed coat of light blue paint and updated appliances. The cupboards and drawers are filled with all new dishes, ready for evenings where we cook supper together, and breakfasts after late sleep-ins.

“Dimitri,” she breathes, continuing to the other side of the kitchen and eventually reaches the stairs, where I reach by to flick on the light, the fixture overhead also a new addition. It’s a bit more opulent than expected, but it’ll be up to Katya to keep or change it.

The old carpet has been swapped out for a refreshed, plushier one in the same shade of grey.

At the top landing, she peeks into the bathroom that’s been outfitted with a new glass shower and sinks, while keeping the same layout.

Her old room remains as empty as when she last saw it; I figured she can decide what she’d like done with it.

The master bedroom has been designed with a bed similar to mine in the mansion, simply because she seems so comfortable in it and I enjoy the look of her in it entirely too much to change. It’s a four-poster frame that fills most of the room, and given how she smiles at the sight, I’ve chosen well.

She paces forward, tracing her fingertips along the emerald green comforter

“You…”

“Katerina helped, technically.” Actually, she made ninety percent of this possible.

“The interior designer. After telling her what I believed you’d want, she made it possible.

If there’s anything you don’t like, change it.

If you hate it all, undo everything. I don’t care.

” Fuck, why is this so much harder than murdering people. “I mean?—”

“It’s perfect,” she breathes. “Homey, and nice. It’s us.”

It’s normal. Regular. Average.

Average, except the amount of security Lev installed.

There’s cameras covering every inch of the outdoors, alarms on every door and window, fingerprint sensors on all exterior doors, remote monitoring software that’ll alert me to anything amiss, as well as send a secondary alarm to Lev, just in case.

All of this is what makes this place perfect. In her words: us.

Outside is the neighbourhood I once spent so much time hanging around. Having neighbours this close is different from the mansion and its chunk of land, where the closest people are far down the road. That’s the life I grew up in; all I’ve known.

It’s this one I’ll prefer. The quiet one, where after a day with the Bratva I come home to Katya after she returns from her counselling job. We cook dinner, talk, and hang out.

No more stalking. No more pain. No more revenge.

Only peace.

There’s just one more thing.

Nerves over what she’d think of the house aside, this nearly had me turning around and undoing my every plan.

She paces the room, heading for the right side of the bed—her side. Chosen because it’s the half she most often takes at the mansion. She stops abruptly, and that’s when I know she’s noticed the addition to the night stand.

A ring box, lid opened to reveal the ring that waits for her inside. A mix of emeralds to match the ribbon representing our relationship, and surrounded by small diamonds. Nothing huge, despite what I would want for her, but knowing Katya, she wouldn’t enjoy the weight.

“Is that…?” She trails off, tearing her attention from the ring and over to me. The sight of her watery eyes nearly drops me to my knees.

“Since telling me you were coming home, I’ve driven myself crazy trying to determine when would be the right time.

For you, we’ve only recently gotten back together, so you might want to wait.

For me, we were never apart. We’re long overdue.

The best way, I figured, would be to leave it with you.

Katya…from the moment we met, you were it for me.

This ring should have been on your finger years ago, but that future was robbed from us, so I’m reclaiming it.

With this ring, I’m asking you to marry me without the threat of a timeline.

Marry me, moya dusha , whenever you’re ready.

The ring is yours to keep. You can close it up for the next few days, months, or years.

Only wear it when you’re ready to be engaged, and then I’ll ask you again.

Or you can slip it on today. You choose, Katya, because choice is something I’ve never truly given you.

Our past is the past; today has proven that. Our future is on your terms.”

The fact I got all that out is worthy of a fucking medal.

She stares at the ring. At me. At the ring.

There’s no consideration in her expression. No concentration. Just curiosity. Shock. Words unspoken, thoughts unannounced.

She reaches forward, no doubt to flick the box shut and hide it for the next few years. It’ll break me a bit, but my words were the truth. I’ll understand and respect the time she needs.

“I wanted a bigger stone. You deserve everything, Katya. But I figured you wouldn’t enjoy wearing it if it was too heavy.”

“You’re right,” she murmurs, stroking her finger over the emerald. “Besides, a lot of my clients don’t always have much in terms of finances, and boasting a rock on my finger makes me less relatable.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but of course she did.

She takes the ring and slides it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It hurts that I couldn't be the one to do it for her, but she really needed the choice more than I needed to satisfy my selfish desires. Besides, my turn will be at our wedding ceremony.

She turns to face me. Her eyes are watery, and my mind stops working. She smashes every defense left standing when she cups my face and brings me closer, lightly pressing her lips to mine.

And she nods.

“ Da . I’ll marry you. I accept your proposal right now. You’re right; we’ve waited too long already.”

She kisses me harder and I sweep her into my arms to lay her on our new bed, where all my thoughts shift to consummating the engagement.

“Maybe a long engagement, though,” she murmurs when I reach for her pants. “A couple years?”

“Whatever you want.”

Her socks and shoes are discarded. Pants following. I’m working on her shirt when she mutters, “Whatever I want? I’m half-naked, and have barely processed what you’ve done here. Clearly one of us is in charge of the decision-making.”

“Mhm.” Without her shirt, my lips trail up her stomach until reaching the edge of her bra. “Keep processing.”

She arches when I reach behind her for the clasp, and with the bra now being discarded, I come up onto my knees between her thighs..

Katya. My teenage dream, my first love, my soulmate, my everything.

My fiancée.

Her arms lay comfortably at her side, the emerald and diamond ring making my inner demons want to ignite the place on fire, to worship her on a throne.

She’s wearing my ring. After so long, she’s accepted me—accepted us .

I don’t ever want to stop looking at her.

She arches her hips until she’s rubbing against me, her dark eyes twisting with excitement. So open and not nervous, like every other time I’ve had her since leaving Toronto. As though being back got rid of all her other fears. In so many ways, she’s the girl from school again.

“You look like you’re thinking hard.”

“Maybe a bit,” I rasp, unsure how to put words to my wandering thoughts.

She rocks against me, and my cock jumps to life, begging me to unzip my jeans. “Well, if you could think and fuck at the same time…”

I reach to flick apart my jeans, and take my damn time doing it because the eagerness and lust consuming her expression is nearly as good as being inside her.

Nearly, but not quite, and cock in hand, I stroke myself while preparing her with my thumb, rotating it around her clit until she’s wet enough to take me.

I line myself up and thrust slowly, enjoying the way her lips part and head tilts back. How whatever comment she was going to make dies on her lips and instead a breathy moan fills the air.

I fall to my hands and knees and reach for her, linking our fingers together until the metal of the ring greets me. I position them above her head, watching her expression for a hint of fear, of the reminder of the time they had her in ropes.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done here,” she whispers.

“All for you.” I release one hand to grasp her thigh, spreading her wider as her pussy ripples around my cock—the beginning stages of her orgasm.

“I don’t want you to wake up regretting this one day, Katya.

This has to be real, because if it’s not, and you one day regret our lives, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for trapping you.

But if you don’t tell me now, then I won’t be able to stop myself.

The ring on your finger, this house, you ”—I pull almost all the way out, only my head remaining inside her—“you’re all mine. ”

I thrust to the hilt, laying a physical claim alongside my verbal one.

I do it again and again, mumbling mine, mine, mine both in Russian and English into her neck until her cries turn to keens and she lays her own claim.

“I’m done running, Dimitri. I love you, I’ve told you that. This is real.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Exasperation lines her words but she stares into my eyes and finds the emotion—the fear—the nakedness—I’ve been masking since we entered the house. “I promise,” she repeats softly. “I love you too much for this to be fake.”

“Thank fuck.” I grip her tighter, thrust harder, faster. “I love you too, moya dusha .”

In the past, present, and future. Forever and always.