Page 60 of Scarred Bratva King

Her expression softens, her lips parting as if to speak, but she stays silent, letting me go on.

“I learned from him,” I admit. “But not in the way he wanted. I saw how his way of leading destroyed everything that mattered to him—how it killed the people he claimed to protect.”

Her voice is soft. “Your sister.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I nod. “Katya deserved better. My mother deserved better. They both paid the price for his obsession with control.”

Veronica shifts slightly, her fingers brushing against mine.

“You said you’d run things differently,” she says. “What does that mean?”

I take a deep breath, my thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on her shin. “It means leading with loyalty, not fear. Itmeans making sacrifices to protect the people who matter. Even when it’s hard.

“You know, I’ve run the figures. We can make more from Elena’s architecture plans than we can from gun running. But to make that happen, sacrifices must be made.”

Her eyes search mine, her voice steady but questioning. “And is that what I am? A sacrifice?”

28

MAXIM

The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t find any suitable words.

“You’re not a sacrifice,” I say, my voice quieter. “You’re…”

I stop myself, the words I can’t say hanging heavy in the silence. I let my hand linger for a moment longer before pulling away.

"You're good at this," she says, her voice teasing, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

I raise a brow. "Good at what?"

"Making me forget the pain." She tilts her head. "You could have been a physical therapist in another life."

"Unlikely," I reply, my voice low as my thumbs press gently into the arch of her foot. "I don’t have the patience.”

She laughs softly, the sound warming something in me I’ve long kept cold. "You have a willing patient though."

“That’s true.” I let my hands move slowly, deliberately, up her calf. I knead the muscle there, the fabric of her leggings soft under my touch.

Her eyes meet mine, and the teasing edge in her gaze fades, replaced by something deeper. Vulnerable. Intense. It roots me to the spot, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

Her lips part as I pause, my fingers stilling just below her knee. For a moment, I think she’s going to tell me to stop. Instead, she shifts slightly, her leg brushing against mine.

The tension snaps like a live wire.

I lean down, catching her mouth with mine, my hands sliding up to cradle her face. She gasps softly against my lips, her hands gripping the front of my shirt as if she’s afraid I’ll pull away.

But I don’t.

I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair, tilting her head back to give me better access. Her body arches into mine, her warmth searing through me as my lips trail down her jaw, her neck, the curve of her shoulder.

"Maxim," she whispers, my name trembling on her lips.

I tug her top over her head, my hands roaming her bare skin, mapping every curve and hollow. She clings to me, her nails raking lightly down my back as I press her down onto the floor, my mouth finding hers again.

Every wall I’ve built, every rule I’ve sworn by, crumbles in the heat of her touch. She’s everywhere—her scent, her taste, the softness of her body beneath mine.

When we finally break apart, her chest rises and falls against mine, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. Her eyes search mine, and I know she sees too much.

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