Page 18 of Scarred Bratva King

I sigh. “I’ve been trying to forget her ever since,” I admit, my voice dropping. “But I can’t. She’s in my head, Dmitri. Every night, I see her face. Feel her skin cold under my hands. I can’t marry her. I’d never be able to focus on anything else.”

“Are you telling me you fell in love with her after spending ten minutes together in a river?”

“It’s nothing to do with love.” I shake my head, clenching my fists. “It’s something much darker. Something I don’t know how to control. It’s gnawing at me. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Maxim. I know how you feel. When I met Elena, I felt the same?—”

“No.” I cut him off, my tone biting. “I can’t do it.”

Dmitri steps closer, his expression shifting from anger to something sharper. “You think you can walk away? You do this or you don’t inherit. Her attacker remains at large. Vito Lombardi roams free. All because you’re too pussy to marry her for two fucking months? That what you want, you fucking coward?”

I lurch forward, my voice a low growl. “Careful, cousin.”

He doesn’t flinch, stepping right into my space. “No. You be careful. Because if you don’t step up, you’re going to drag all of us down with you.”

I glare at him, my jaw tightening as his words hit their mark. Dmitri’s voice softens, but his intensity doesn’t waver.

“You’re not the one in trouble. She is. And she doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for you to figure your shit out. You’re the only one who can keep her safe. And without this arrangement, we’re all vulnerable. I don’t care how you do it, but wrap your head around this. You must marry her or we’re all fucked.”

I let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand down my face. “You don’t get it. I’ll destroy her, Dmitri.”

His voice softens, but his words hit harder. “Sixty days, Maxim. That’s all I’m asking. Two months to protect her, to winthe city for the Bratva. Avenge her. Kill Lombardi like we always swore we would.” He taps the scar that runs down my face. “Remember?”

The memory hits me. Me and Dmitri aged fifteen, being beaten black and blue by Lombardi himself. Swearing to each other afterward that we’d kill him one day.

My chest heaves, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. “Fine,” I bite out. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to like it.”

Dmitri’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “I never expect you to like anything, cousin. Just do your duty for the family, like the rest of us. Now come and meet her properly. Try not to scare the shit out of her.”

10

MAXIM

Veronica is still in the games room, perched on the edge of the armchair I abandoned, her posture stiff, her expression uncertain.

Her fingers twitch against the armrests, and I can see her debating whether to stay or leave as I come in. Her wariness is palpable, and it only tightens the knot in my chest. I see the scar on her arm and mine seems to burn with pain.

My jaw tightens as my gaze locks onto her, her wide eyes snapping to mine. Her chin tilts up, defiance flashing there despite the vulnerability she’s trying to hide.

I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of her, my cane tapping softly against the floor as I shift my weight. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to speak. “We need to talk.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly in the chair. “Oh, now you want to talk? What happened to ‘not her’?”

The corner of my mouth twitches, but the smirk doesn’t fully form. “Fate is fucking with us both, it seems.”

“Why didn’t you stay with me?” she asks, her voice softer. “The night you saved me.”

“I had a business deal to conclude,” I reply, my tone flat. “I got shot. Twice. First one fucked my hip. Second put me in a coma.”

Her lips part slightly, her expression shifting from disbelief to something closer to understanding? Pity? No. I can’t stand the thought of anyone pitying me, especially not her.

She exhales slowly, her brow furrowing. “I remember something else. Someone talking to me. Covering me with a jacket.” Her voice lowers. “That was you, wasn’t it? I didn’t dream it, did I?”

“No.” I shift my cane to my other hand, the weight of her gaze unsettling in a way I can’t explain. “You never gave me my jacket back, by the way.”

For a moment, silence hangs between us. Then, to my surprise, she snorts—a soft, involuntary sound that turns into a faint laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, her tone dry but laced with humor. “Should I FedEx it to you?”

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