Page 46 of Paid for By the Bratva

"Here," I say softly, pressing the cold pack against his swollen eye and jaw. He flinches at the initial contact but then relaxes, allowing the icy relief to soothe his bruised skin.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The sight of him so vulnerable makes my chest tighten with concern.

"Who did this to you?" I can't help but ask, my voice barely more than a whisper as I continue to hold the ice pack against his face. The darkness of the Bratva world has always been a looming presence in our lives, but seeing the consequences up close and personal is a different kind of terrifying.

In fact, it’s a consequence I’ve never personally seen before. Even the dangers of our world always seemed like rumors to me, a form of storytelling to keep the legend alive.

Now, I’m beginning to feel differently. At the back of my head, I begin to wonder, is this what my brothers have been protecting me from all this while?

"Doesn't matter," he replies, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Just some random thugs at the club. They didn’t hurt anyone.”

But what about you? I want to scream, yet I swallow the words, letting them fester in my chest like a poisonous wound. Instead, I focus on tending to his injuries, hoping that somehow my touch can heal more than just the physical damage.

Then, I notice the glint of something embedded in Dima's forehead, and my heart lurches. Small shards of glass are embedded in his skin, sparkling like sinister constellations. I retrieve a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet, my hands trembling slightly as I return to his side.

"Stay still," I instruct gently, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “This might sting a bit.”

I grasp one tiny shard with the tweezers and slowly pull it free, watching as a bead of blood wells in its place. Dima doesn't flinch; he just watches me with that familiar intensity that both unnerves and captivates me.

"Your siblings…" I begin, needing to fill the silence with something other than the echoes of my own anxiety. "Do they also get into this kind of danger?"

Dima's gaze drops from mine for a moment, his jaw tensing. "I do what I have to," he says simply, his voice low and strained. “Nikolai has a lot on his plate, and I try to take overthe…darker side of things. Fedor and Artyom and the girls are busy with their lives as they should be.”

"You protect them so, even if it means putting yourself in danger?" The words escape before I can stop them, my heart aching with each tiny shard I remove from his skin.

He says nothing.

"Tell me more about why you take these risks," I urge gently, my fingers brushing against his. "Is it just for your siblings, or is there more to it?"

Dima hesitates, his gaze flickering away from mine as he searches for the right words. "It's not just them," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm responsible for everyone in our organization. The nightclub, the Bratva—you—they're under my protection. If anything happens to them, it's on me."

"Even at the cost of your life?" I ask, unable to hide the worry that lingers in my voice.

"Especially then," he replies, his eyes locking with mine once more. "If I don't stand up for my family, who will? Our world is built on loyalty and strength. If I show even a hint of weakness, everything could come crashing down."

His loyalty is staggering but also terrifying. "But who protects you, Dima?" I ask softly, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes hold mine for a long moment, filled with a sadness that makes my chest ache. "We all have our burdens to bear," he admits, his voice raw and vulnerable. "But that's the price I'm willing to pay for their safety."

"Does it ever get easier?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly, trying to ascertain just what kind of life I’m in for.

His eyes flicker open, dark and unreadable. "It's part of what we do, Lara. We’re the Bratva, after all…it’s for life.”

We. He sayswe. In this moment, I realize just how much danger we’re constantly in and how much the men in our families do to protect us. But, unlike my brothers, Dima is different.

Dima isn’t lying or sheltering me from this world with fake promises of how everything will be okay. He’s not shying away from speaking the truth about the sacrifices that must be made and how danger will follow us forever by virtue of who we are.

He doesn’t think I’ll break like glass.

And for that reason, I feel compelled to prove him right, to not break his faith. I do what I feel I must.

I swallow hard and then speak. "You know you don't have to do this alone," I say quietly, my hands steadying as I begin to put antiseptic on the wounds. "I want to help you, Dima. I want to be there for you, too. Perhaps if you talk to me, we can come up with measures that can keep you and everyone else safe. Certain strategies to ease your burden…if you’d let me help."

He chuckles bitterly, wincing as the movement aggravates his injuries. "That's a nice sentiment, Lara, but it's not how things work in our world."

"Maybe it should be," I insist, my determination grows stronger. "Maybe we need to find a better way—a way that doesn't put you at such risk."

Dima looks at me for a moment, his expression softening. "You truly care, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with wonder.

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