Page 38 of The Bratva King's Pregnant Bride

I looked at the passenger-side mirror to see the five cars with blazing headlights following behind us. It was just like Dominik; he never liked to take anything to chance, always on the lookout for surprises.

I looked back at him, my heart starting to pound in my chest again. He looked so beautiful, his hair blowing about in the wind as the car zoomed down the road, his firm jaw—that sexy five-o’-clock shadow that always made me weak in the knees. Even the way his sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veined forearm and big hand gripping the steering wheel—all of it made me want to jump this man.

And it wasn’t only that, either.

I appreciated his daily efforts to assure my safety. It was something worthy of note. It was, indeed, worth applauding.

I returned my gaze to the line of trees, which eventually dispersed into a clearing lined with headstones. Somewhere up there was my brother’s grave, and in a way, I was pleased he was not alone. Just at the sight of it, my hand tightened on the bouquet of flowers I’d brought for him.

Dominik stopped the car, exited, and came around to open my door.

I stepped out, bouquet of roses in hand, and Dominik closed the door behind me. With Dominik following sedately behind, I led the way to my brother’s grave.

We approached a headstone with Michael Stone, Beloved Son and Brother engraved on it in somber lettering, and we came to a stop before it.

I was clad in black, with my dark shades on. I bent and lowered the bouquet of roses next to Michael’s headstone.

Michael. Remembering the manner in which his death had been relayed to me, what he may have experienced alone in his last moments without family around him, called tears to my eyes.

I shook a little, and the tears slipped below my dark shades. I dabbed at them with my handkerchief.

“Was he your brother?” Dominik asked.

I nodded. “My twin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while now. His killer was never found. He was deprived of justice. It was all street-gang-fight related, they said. The police said it’s hard to identify anyone when no one comes up to speak forward.”

I drew in a shaky breath. “I knew his killer was out there, which is why I wanted to study law and join the police force—to get my revenge on the gangs responsible for his death. I followed the issue so hard, even hired multiple lawyers, yet, nothing happened.”

Shaking my head, I remembered the anger I’d felt, the helpless rage that had no outlet. “I was eager to become a lawyer myself, to see if I could reopen the case… failing that, I would join the police force to keep the people who killed my brother behind bars and off the street.”

Dominik watched me, a sympathetic gleam in his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with finding justice for him?”

“Because his killers—the men who did this to him—they could have been identified.”

“How?” Dominik’s voice sounded oddly subdued.

Wiping my nose, I turned away, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. “There was a CCTV footage around the place my brother was killed. I heard it was most likely caught on camera, but some asshole had it removed and, to date, the criminals have never been found.”

While I explained this, I didn’t look at Dominik for once. I didn’t want him to see the tears in my eyes. I was feeling the ache of my brother death again, yet for some reason, I didn’t want Dominik to see me as weak and fragile. It wasn’t that I thought he’d mind, but I felt I needed to be strong—if not for myself, then for the children I carried inside me.

“It’s very clear that whoever was behind my brother’s death was someone powerful enough to interfere with the evidence,” I continued, “most likely someone powerful, who had influence in the justice system. That’s why you have to understand my initial dislike of you.”

I sniffed, laughing a little. “Sorry. It wasn’t dislike—it was actually hate. I hated you, because you represent everything I stood against. You’re just like the people who killed my brother and got away with it.”

Dominik said not a word, and I worried that I’d angered him. I knew being a Bratva boss must have made him coldblooded as well.

To my surprise—and relief—he wasn’t mad. He merely looked at me, the sadness in my heart reflected in those deep green eyes. There was compassion living in his gaze, too.

“Maya, I don’t blame you for hating me. What happened to your brother and the things he was involved with were terrible, horrible, and unforgivable, and hurt the people he loved. It scarred your lives. I’m sorry.”

“But—”

“No,” he cut in. “It wasn’t your fault. Not anymore.”

I sighed quietly as I let his words wash over me, and I all I could do was nod silently. For once in my life, a man actually understood how I felt about justice and vengeance. I felt my heartache ease a little.

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