Page 20 of Hunted By the Masked BRATVA
Not the usual nightmare, not the gunfire and blood and my youngest brother's eyes staring at nothing while I gasped for breath on top of his body.
This dream is different.
We're at our old house, the one Troskoy burned down after he killed us. It's summer, and my father is grilling in the backyard while my brothers argue about football. My mother is laughing at something I said.
I'm nineteen, whole, untouched by violence.
Then the scene shifts.
My father is looking at me, his expression serious. "You have to let go, Emilia."
"Let go of what?"
"The anger. The revenge. It's eating you alive."
"He killed you." My voice breaks. "He killed all of you and left me behind. How am I supposed to let that go?"
"By living." My mother steps forward, takes my hands. "You survived for a reason, my darling girl. Not to avenge us. To live the life we couldn't."
"I don't know how."
My youngest brother, Yuri, who was seventeen when he died, grins at me. "You're figuring it out. The scary enforcer guy seems nice."
"Yuri—"
"We're proud of you, sestritsa." My oldest brother, Alex, squeezes my shoulder. "All of us. But you don't have to carry us anymore. We're already gone."
"I'm not ready to let you go."
"You don't have to let us go." My father's voice is gentle. "Just let go of the need to die with us."
I wake with tears on my face and Konstantin's arms around me.
"Bad dream?" he murmurs against my hair.
"No." I turn in his embrace, pressing my face against his chest. "Actually, I think it was a good one."
He doesn't ask for details. Just holds me while I breathe through the emotion lodged in my chest.
When I finally pull back, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"What?" I ask.
"You're beautiful when you cry."
"That's a very strange compliment."
"It's true." He brushes away the remaining tears with his thumb. "You're beautiful when you're angry too. And when you're hacking. And when you come apart beneath me."
Heat floods through me.
"Konstantin..."
"Tell me what you need."
I don't have to think about the answer. "I need you."
He kisses me slowly, thoroughly, like we have all the time in the world. His hands explore my body with the same focused intensity he brings to everything else, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan.
