Page 71 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
Feliks went sprawling. He scrambled for a weapon, but Danil’s men were already there—shadows of precision and violence. A storm of close-range gunfire tore the air, quick, merciless, final. Feliks’s men didn’t stand a chance.
And then it was over. The silence that followed was almost obscene. The whimper of a dying man, the sound of boots moving with brutal efficiency. Feliks, bleeding but alive, was on his knees, cuffed and disarmed. His arrogance clung stubbornly to him, though his jaw was tight with fury.
Danil didn’t look at him. He scanned the room, cold eyes searching—finding me.
“Katria.” His voice was low, rough. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, words stuck in my throat. My body trembled, frozen between terror and relief.
Danil approached, each step deliberate, his presence a calm counterpoint to the chaos. He reached out, cupping my face with surprising gentleness. “He didn’t touch you, did he hurt you?”
“No.” My voice is fragile, broken. Then, stronger: “You came.”
A breath left him, relief softening his harsh features. “I swore I would. I swore I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”
He turned from me, the softness gone, replaced with the iron mask of command. “Tie him up. He’s coming with us. The family will see this for themselves.”
Feliks spat blood onto the floor before asking, “You think parading as a Bratva boss makes you strong? You’re still just a boy pretending.” He spat blood again on the floor. “You think this changes anything, Danil?”
Danil didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Take him,” he simply instructed.
The drive back to the estate blurred past in a flash of lights and a hum of silence. I sat beside Danil, his hand gripping mine, firm and steady, an anchor to reality. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His silence was its own promise.
At the estate, tension hung in the air like smoke. Men moved swiftly, their faces grim. Feliks had already been taken to the underground cells. Inside the main hall, a group of Yezhov family heads waited, their expressions a storm of suspicion and unease.
Then: “Katria!
Marielle’s arms wrapped around me before I even registered her. Her embrace was warm, grounding, her voice breaking. “My God, we heard there was an attack. Are you—are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered, churching her hand. My eyes found Danil across the room. “He got there.”
Marielle pulled back, searching my face, relief flooding her own. “Thank the heavens.”
Beyond her, Irene stood with sharp poise, her expression unreadable. When our eyes met, something passed between us—a fleeting, fragile understanding. She looked back at Danil.
Danil took his place at the head of the room, his presence silencing the murmurs instantly.
“Gentlemen,” he began, voice steady, stripped of emotion, “thank you for coming. Today, one of our properties was attacked. It wasn’t random—it was an assassination attempt.”
Shock rolled through the room.
“The perpetrator is in custody,” Danil continued, steel in his tone. “You will see him. And you will witness his crimes.”
The heavy doors opened. Feliks was dragged in, bound and beaten, but his sneer was intact.
“This is your justice, Danil ?” he spat, his words venomous. “A mock trial? You think this makes you king?”
“You mistake me,” Danil said calmly. “This isn’t a trial. It’s the truth.” He gestured to Luka. “Show them.”
Luka moved forward, setting a laptop and two ledgers on the table. The screen flickered, projecting emails, documents, transactions.
“These,” Danil said, voice sharp with precision, “are a decade of exchanges between Feliks and foreign brokers. Proof of the compromise of Sivella Holdings. And here—” he gestured to the ledgers, “ —the paper trail. Millions funneled offshore. Signed in my wife’s name.”
Gasps and murmurs filled the room.
Feliks laughed, the sound hollow.
