Page 15

I pace the living room, my heart pounding in my chest as I glance at the clock on the wall. 3:17 am. He said he'd be home by midnight. The worry gnaws at me. Dima isn't one to break his word, especially since he’s still trying so hard to make up for his mistake despite the fact that I’ve forgiven him. With each passing minute, my anxiety grows.

I've never been this worried about him before, and I can't help but feel responsible for his safety, as I know he would mine.

Just then, my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by shock when I run down the stairs to see Dima stumble inside. His face is bruised and bloodied, and my heart drops like a stone.

"Dima!" I cry out, rushing toward him. "What happened?"

He winces as he meets my gaze, attempting a reassuring smile that falls flat as he tries to hide his face from me, turning to the shadows. "It's nothing, Lara," he says, his voice strained. "Just some…complications at the club."

"Complications?" I echo, going to stand in front of him to see what he’s trying to hide. "You're covered in blood and bruises! This is far from nothing."

He sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Look, it's just part of the job sometimes. I promise I'll be fine."

"Please," I plead, my eyes filling with tears as I reach out to touch his battered face. "Let me help you. I can't stand to see you like this."

Dima hesitates, then finally nods, allowing me to lead him to the bathroom of my bedroom where I can clean his wounds. I watch his reflection in the mirror as I pull out the first aid kit, completely petrified to ask what happened.

All the while, my heart aches for this man who has become so very important to me.

"Sit down," I instruct gently, indicating the closed toilet lid, the box of supplies laid out on the counter beside us.

"Really, Lara, you don't have to fuss over me like this," Dima protests, wincing slightly as he lowers himself onto the seat.

"Of course I have to," I snap, the worry in my voice betraying my attempt at sternness. "You must be in so much pain."

His sigh is one of resignation, and I take that as permission to proceed. Darting into the mini fridge in my room, I quickly retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, feeling my heart race with each second that ticks by.

"Here," I say softly, pressing the cold pack against his swollen eye and jaw. He flinches at the initial contact but then relaxes, allowing the icy relief to soothe his bruised skin.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The sight of him so vulnerable makes my chest tighten with concern.

"Who did this to you?" I can't help but ask, my voice barely more than a whisper as I continue to hold the ice pack against his face. The darkness of the Bratva world has always been a looming presence in our lives, but seeing the consequences up close and personal is a different kind of terrifying.

In fact, it’s a consequence I’ve never personally seen before. Even the dangers of our world always seemed like rumors to me, a form of storytelling to keep the legend alive.

Now, I’m beginning to feel differently. At the back of my head, I begin to wonder, is this what my brothers have been protecting me from all this while?

"Doesn't matter," he replies, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Just some random thugs at the club. They didn’t hurt anyone.”

But what about you? I want to scream, yet I swallow the words, letting them fester in my chest like a poisonous wound. Instead, I focus on tending to his injuries, hoping that somehow my touch can heal more than just the physical damage.

Then, I notice the glint of something embedded in Dima's forehead, and my heart lurches. Small shards of glass are embedded in his skin, sparkling like sinister constellations. I retrieve a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet, my hands trembling slightly as I return to his side.

"Stay still," I instruct gently, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “This might sting a bit.”

I grasp one tiny shard with the tweezers and slowly pull it free, watching as a bead of blood wells in its place. Dima doesn't flinch; he just watches me with that familiar intensity that both unnerves and captivates me.

"Your siblings…" I begin, needing to fill the silence with something other than the echoes of my own anxiety. "Do they also get into this kind of danger?"

Dima's gaze drops from mine for a moment, his jaw tensing. "I do what I have to," he says simply, his voice low and strained. “Nikolai has a lot on his plate, and I try to take over the…darker side of things. Fedor and Artyom and the girls are busy with their lives as they should be.”

"You protect them so, even if it means putting yourself in danger?" The words escape before I can stop them, my heart aching with each tiny shard I remove from his skin.

He says nothing.

"Tell me more about why you take these risks," I urge gently, my fingers brushing against his. "Is it just for your siblings, or is there more to it?"

Dima hesitates, his gaze flickering away from mine as he searches for the right words. "It's not just them," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm responsible for everyone in our organization. The nightclub, the Bratva— you— they're under my protection. If anything happens to them, it's on me."

"Even at the cost of your life?" I ask, unable to hide the worry that lingers in my voice.

"Especially then," he replies, his eyes locking with mine once more. "If I don't stand up for my family, who will? Our world is built on loyalty and strength. If I show even a hint of weakness, everything could come crashing down."

His loyalty is staggering but also terrifying. "But who protects you, Dima?" I ask softly, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes hold mine for a long moment, filled with a sadness that makes my chest ache. "We all have our burdens to bear," he admits, his voice raw and vulnerable. "But that's the price I'm willing to pay for their safety."

"Does it ever get easier?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly, trying to ascertain just what kind of life I’m in for.

His eyes flicker open, dark and unreadable. "It's part of what we do, Lara. We’re the Bratva, after all…it’s for life.”

We. He says we . In this moment, I realize just how much danger we’re constantly in and how much the men in our families do to protect us. But, unlike my brothers, Dima is different.

Dima isn’t lying or sheltering me from this world with fake promises of how everything will be okay. He’s not shying away from speaking the truth about the sacrifices that must be made and how danger will follow us forever by virtue of who we are.

He doesn’t think I’ll break like glass.

And for that reason, I feel compelled to prove him right, to not break his faith. I do what I feel I must.

I swallow hard and then speak. "You know you don't have to do this alone," I say quietly, my hands steadying as I begin to put antiseptic on the wounds. "I want to help you, Dima. I want to be there for you, too. Perhaps if you talk to me, we can come up with measures that can keep you and everyone else safe. Certain strategies to ease your burden…if you’d let me help."

He chuckles bitterly, wincing as the movement aggravates his injuries. "That's a nice sentiment, Lara, but it's not how things work in our world."

"Maybe it should be," I insist, my determination grows stronger. "Maybe we need to find a better way—a way that doesn't put you at such risk."

Dima looks at me for a moment, his expression softening. "You truly care, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with wonder.

"Of course I do," I reply without hesitation.

"Are you sure you want that?" he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty. "It's a dangerous world, and I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Whether I want it or not, we're in this together," I remind him, my resolve unwavering. "And if there's even a chance that I can help make things better for you, for your family—then I have to try."

He smiles faintly, his eyes holding mine as the last of the antiseptic is applied. "Thank you, Lara," he says softly, his words sending a shiver down my spine. "Perhaps it won’t be such a bad idea to talk about what goes on in our everyday operations. But mind you," he chuckles. “You have to promise not to be shocked.”

I nod and gently reach out to caress his cheek. “I won’t be shocked,” I whisper. “Nor will I judge.”

Dima's gaze softens at my touch, an unspoken gratitude passing between us as he leans into my hand. “That, Lara,” he whispers. “Is the kindest thing you could have said.”

"However," he continues, his tone firm, "if at any point you feel overwhelmed or in danger, I want you to promise me that you'll tell me right away. Your safety is more important than anything else."

"Promise," I agree without hesitation, knowing how much it means to him.

I smile and stand back, all done now. Dima rises to look in the mirror before turning to me to take me into his arms, gushing a sweet thank you into my ear. I lean into his hug, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which is still racing from all that adrenaline.

"Maybe we should get some rest," I suggest tentatively, unwilling to relinquish the comfort of Dima's arms but knowing that he must be exhausted from the day's events. "We can continue this tomorrow."

Dima hesitates for a moment before nodding his agreement. "That sounds like a good idea." We walk out of the bathroom to my bedroom, and he continues to walk toward the door but I catch his hand, gently urging him back toward me.

"Stay," I whisper, my cheeks warming at the boldness of my request. "Just for tonight. We could both use the company, and it's late anyway."

He studies me for a moment, as if searching for any hint of insincerity. Seemingly satisfied by what he finds, his features soften into a gentle smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

"Alright," he agrees. I lead him to the bed and fluff up some pillows despite his protests, and soon, he’s reclining back against the plush cushions. I climb in from the other end. Our fingers remain entwined as we settle into a deep sleep.

A few hours later, I wake to see the last of the moonlight casting a soft glow through the curtains. Our breaths mingle, warm and steady, as I feel Dima stir and his strong arm wrap around me, pulling me even nearer. The sensation of his skin against mine sends a shiver down my spine, but not from fear or apprehension. No, this is something different entirely—a connection that transcends mere physicality.

I fall back into a deep, peaceful sleep, leaving only the gentle hum of the air conditioning to fill the room. The world outside fades away, replaced by a serenity that seems almost unreal in its stillness. I’ve never felt more at peace.