Page 38 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
Sara’s expression turned genuinely intrigued.
“Odd? In Danil Yezhov’s meticulously organized world? Now that’s a story I want to hear. What did you find, Kat?” His tone was still light, but his posture shifted, leaning in slightly, signaling his full attention. He was genuinely curious, and for a moment, I considered confiding in him fully. He had a way of making me feel heard and less alone.
Sava’s lighthearted demeanor had vanished, replaced by a focused intensity that made him feel less like a court jester and more like the seasoned soldier he was.
I hesitated, the white handkerchief with the embroidered ‘K.W.’ feeling like a physical weight in my mind. Revealing it felt like a gamble, a desperate plea for help from a man who, despite his charm, was still part of the Yezhov Bratva.
“He’s a closed book, Kat,” Sava said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. “Always has been. The boss doesn’t do ‘personal.’ He’s ‘calculated.’ You won’t find old love letters or a diary of his hopes and dreams. You’ll find schematics for safe houses and encrypted financial reports. Trust me, if there was a crack in that armor, someone would have exploited it years ago.”
I felt a surge of frustration.
“But this is different,” I pressed, almost blurting out the details. “It’s not about money or—’’
A sharp, impatient knock on the door cut me off.
Sava straightened instantly, his playful grin returning as a mask. He gave me a quick, subtle head shake, a clear signal to drop the topic.
“Saved by the bell,” he murmured under his breath. Then, he called out cheerfully, “Come on in! The circus is open for business!”
The door swung inward, and Marielle stepped inside, radiating warmth and color that instantly brightened the room. She wore a vibrant emerald-green dress, her hair a cascade of perfect waves. Seeing her felt like a breath of fresh air after the claustrophobia of Danil’s suite and the grim solemnity of my thoughts.
“Kat!” she exclaimed, her smile genuine and wide as she came over to hug me. “I thought I’d come and check on you. I hoped you were not still sulking in your black dress.” She laughed, a light, melodic sound that was a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had filled the room.
“It’s a wonder she’s not wearing it again,” Sava said with a wink, picking up the breakfast tray that had been discreetlyplaced outside the door. “One black coffee and a cyanide omelet, as requested. Though I regret to inform you that the omelet is just regular eggs and cheese.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled, a sense of normalcy washing over me. Marielle and Sava had an effect on me. They were the only two familiar, friendly faces in a world of strangers, a world where every smile felt like it hid a sharp blade.
We sat in the lounge area of the suite, the comfortable sofas and armchairs feeling less intimidating with their presence. Marielle chatted brightly, recounting a funny story about her husband, Eduard, that had Sava chuckling. For a few minutes, I allowed myself to just exist, to listen, to forget that I was a pawn in a deadly game.
Then, Marielle’s tone shifted.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I came to tell you about the gathering tonight. Feliks Durov is hosting a welcome party for you. To officially introduce you to the Yezhov Bratva.”
Feliks. The note I had found in the crumpled blossoms of my bouquet:“Feliks knows the truth.”
The words, which had been a distant, confusing whisper in my mind, now screamed with a horrifying clarity. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my hands, resting in my lap, clenched into tight fists. A dizzying wave of paranoia swept over me.
I forced myself to take a deep, steadying breath, my smile feeling stiff and unnatural. I glanced at Marielle’s face. She was completely guileless, her eyes shining with excitement for me. She had no idea. Telling her now would only needlessly worry her and put her in a dangerous position. I decided, in that moment, that I would handle this on my own.
“That’s…unexpected,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. I turned my attention to her, feigning ignorance. “Feliks Durov? Who is he? I don’t think I’ve met him.”
Marielle’s smile was warm and reassuring.
“He’s practically a legend. He’s an old and trusted soldier in the Bratva, been with the Yezhovs for decades. He’s like family, really.”
Just then, the outer door of the suite opened again, and a new presence filled the room. The air shifted, the light, easy atmosphere instantly dissipating.
Danil.
He walked in, fully dressed in a tailored black suit, his movements as sharp and precise as a predator’s. His ice-blue eyes scanned the room, landing on Marielle, then Sava, and finally on me. There was a possessive spark in their depths that made my skin prickle.
“Marielle,” he said, his greeting a nod that was both respectful and dismissive. Then his gaze, heavy and intense, settled on me, “Katria.” It wasn’t a question or a greeting. It was a statement of ownership.
Danil’s presence was a physical force, sucking the easy atmosphere from the room. His gaze locked with mine, and the silent challenge that had simmered all night flared to life. I saw Marielle and Sava subtly shift, sensing the coming storm.
“The gathering tonight,” Danil began, his voice low and commanding, his eyes never leaving mine. “Feliks is hosting. It’s an invitation, and you will attend.”
“You already have my answer,” I shot back, not bothering to hide the venom in my tone. “I’m not a prize to be paraded around. I’m not some trophy you can take to a funeral.”
