Page 37 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
What kind of man is Danil Yezhov beyond the ruthless Bratva leader?
What secrets does he keep?
I started with the obvious: his nightstand drawers. Predictably, they were tidy, almost sterile. A few watches, a slim wallet, nothing out of the ordinary. Too clean. Too perfect. Danil was a man of control, and his personal space would reflect that. He wouldn’t leave anything incriminating lying around. I ran my fingers along the smooth wood, my instincts telling me to look deeper.
Then I moved to the spacious walk-in closet. Rows of expensive suits, tailored shirts, and sleek leather jackets hung in military precision. Even his clothes seemed to exude a cold authority. I ran my hand along the back wall, feeling for any anomaly. My fingers brushed against a subtle seam, a barely perceptible line in the paneling. My heart gave a jolt.
A hidden drawer?
With a careful press, a small panel slid inward, revealing a shallow compartment. Inside, neatly folded, lay a single item: a white handkerchief. It was linen, delicate, with intricate embroidery in one corner. My eyes widened, a gasp catching in my throat. It was unmistakable.
W.
It was stitched in elegant, looping script.
My mother had embroidered one for me, and another for my father. Mine was tucked away in a keepsake box, a cherished remnant of a life I barely remembered. How was this handkerchief, so intimately tied to my family, in Danil Yezhov’s hidden drawer?
A wave of confusion, cold and sharp, washed over me, immediately followed by suspicion. This wasn’t just a coincidence. This was too personal, too specific.
A sudden, soft knock on the suite door broke through my stunned contemplation. I quickly slid the drawer shut, the panel clicking back into place as if it had never been disturbed. My heart still hammered against my ribs as I turned to face the door. Before I could even respond, it opened, and a familiar face peered in, a wry grin already forming.
It was Sava.
His eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned against the doorframe, radiating an easy charm that instantly began to dissipate the tense knot in my shoulders.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he drawled, pushing the door open wider and stepping inside. “The Beast has tasked me with a vital mission: ascertaining Her Ladyship’s breakfast preferences.So, spill it. Are we dining in the grand hall with the big, bad wolf, or are you craving something…more discreet?”
He winked, his gaze sweeping over me in my casual clothes, a silent acknowledgement of the drama from the previous night.
“Can I just have poison?”
“Right,” he quipped back, playing along instantly. “One black coffee and a cyanide omelet coming right up, I presume!”
I laughed, a hearty sound that brought a tiny amount of relief.
Saba’s grin widened, a flash of white teeth.
“Madam’s wish is my command. Though I must say, for someone who just got married, you seem remarkably eager to arrange your own demise.” He paused, stepping further into the room. “So, room service, then? Or are we brave enough to face the family breakfast gauntlet?”
I shook my head, my laughter still bubbling up.
“Room service, definitely. And definitely no Danil.” The thought of facing him across a breakfast table, after our raw exchange, was more than I could stomach. “Just…whatever doesn’t contain poison would be ideal. Unless you’re feeling particularly inspired by my request.”
He chuckled, already pulling out his phone.
“Consider it done. Though I do dabble in culinary arts of the permanently discreetfrom time to time. You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy in this line of work.” His eyes flickered to the closed closet door, then back at me, a hint of something knowing in their depths. “Anything else your heart desires this glorious morning, Kat? Besides, you know, freedom?”
I hesitated, my gaze involuntarily drawn back to the closet. The handkerchief. The nagging suspicion. This was my chance. “Actually, Sava,” I began, my voice lowering slightly, “do you know anything about Danil’s past? Anything personal?”
Sava stopped typing on his phone, looking up at me, his playful demeanor momentarily replaced by a curious seriousness. He gave a soft whistle.
“Digging into the boss’s personal life, are we? Already? That’s bold, even for you. And dangerous.” He tucked his phone away. “What makes you ask?”
“Just a feeling,” I hedged, not wanting to reveal the handkerchief just yet. “He’s so unreadable. And I’m stuck here; I need to understand what I’m dealing with.”
He nodded slowly. “Unreadable is his default setting. He’s been that way since, well, since forever, it seems. A closed book, even to those of us who’ve been around. He doesn’t let anyone in. Not truly.” He paused, his blue eyes studying me, a hint of something uncharacteristically soft in their depths. “Why? Did he upset you even more last night?”
“More than upset,” I admitted, a shiver running through me. “But it’s more than that. I found something odd. Something that doesn’t make sense.”
