Page 49 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
Behind me, Vika shifts again. “Dimitri,” she calls softly, uncertainty lacing her tone now. She’s not used to doubt when it comes to me. I can feel her eyes on my back, can imagine the frown tugging at her lips, the confusion stirring in her chest.
I ignore her.
Every reminder of her presence grates. Her perfume suffocates, cloyingly sweet where Annie always smelled of something clean, sharp, unpredictable. Her voice scratches against my ears, too careful, too measured. Even the warmth of her body still lingering in the sheets feels intrusive.
I thought I wanted this. I thought calling her would be enough—familiarity, comfort, a return to old habits I could rely on. It isn’t enough. It was never going to be.
None of it is her.
Annie’s ghost lingers in this room louder than Vika’s whispers, more vivid than the woman still lying in my bed. I can almost see her, standing there with her arms crossed, fire in her eyes, daring me to admit what I won’t say aloud.
The vodka sits heavy in my hand. I pour another, slower this time, watching the liquid catch the faint glow of the lamp. My reflection stares back from the glass—hard eyes, clenched jaw, lines deeper than they should be. A man haunted.
Vika murmurs again, softer, trying to reel me back to her. I don’t answer. I don’t turn.
The silence grows thicker, pressing in until the room feels smaller, the air heavier. For the first time in years, I realize that even surrounded by walls I built, by people who fear me, by control I carved out with blood and fire… I feel alone.
Not because the bed is empty. Not because Vika’s presence isn’t enough.
Annie’s absence is louder than anything else.
Her ghost will haunt me in every shadow, in every glass of vodka, in every silence I once thought was safety.
I wanted control. I got emptiness.
Vika shifts on the bed again, propping herself up on one elbow. Her perfume drifts across the room, clinging to the sheets, to my skin.
“Dimitri,” she says, voice sharper now, “what is this? You call me here, and then you shut me out. You don’t even look at me.”
I swirl the vodka in my glass, eyes fixed on the pale glimmer of moonlight outside the window. “I looked.”
“Not at me.” She stands, silk clinging to her body as she crosses the room. “I know the difference.” Her hand comes to rest on my arm, warm and insistent. “You used to want me.”
I set the glass down with a sharp click and finally meet her eyes. “I still want someone, just not you.”
Her mouth parts, a flicker of surprise breaking through her confidence. “So this is what I am now? A distraction?”
“Yes.” My voice is flat, unyielding. “That’s all you were ever meant to be.”
Her jaw tightens. “Then you should have left me where I was. You don’t summon me here, use me, and then sit there brooding like a ghost in your own house. That’s not who you are.”
I turn back to the window. “You don’t know who I am.”
She laughs, bitter and low. “I know enough. Enough to see you’re chasing a shadow. Whoever she was, she’s under your skin. That’s why you can’t even touch me without thinking of her.”
The truth of it cuts sharper than I expect. My silence confirms it.
Vika sighs, softer this time, as if conceding the point. “She’s gone, Dimitri. Whatever she did to you, whatever you did to her—it doesn’t matter now. You should let it go.”
I grab the bottle, pour another drink with too much force. Vodka splashes over the rim. “I decide what matters.”
For a moment she just watches me, her sharpness dulled by something that almost looks like pity. Then she shakes her head, hair spilling over her shoulders. “You won’t find her in me. You never will.”
Her hand trails from my arm, lingering a second too long before it falls away. The warmth fades instantly, leaving only the cold.
“Get dressed,” I say, my tone clipped. “I want you gone before morning.”
Her lips part again, as though she might argue, but the look I give her leaves no room. She gathers her clothes in silence, pulling them on with quick, angry movements.
