Page 61 of Bratva Knight

“Rawrr, we got ourselves a kitty cat fight,” Darren sang, racking his fingers through the air.

Belinda barged her way between Desiree and I. “Okay, why don’t we all just calm down? Desiree, go get changed into your uniform. Your shift has already started. Tatiana, retract your claws and take your boy toy home. Darren, shut up and go do your job.”

“Yes, Ma’am. You know I love it when you get all bossy,” he winked. He grabbed Desiree’s arm and began to lead her away, but our gazes stayed locked, like two apex predators about to have a showdown.

Belinda clicked her fingers an inch away from my face, snapping my attention to her. “There’ll be plenty of other opportunities to get into a fight with her. Preferably not in the workplace. Word of advice though? Don’t bring Level Five in here. Desiree’s the type of person not to give a shit about whether you’re his girlfriend. She’ll try and fuck him regardless.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I stated automatically, the words feeling poisonous on my tongue.

“Well, you're something. Most people don’t act like that unless—”

“No offence, but this isn’t something I want to talk about with a chick I just met.”

She put a hand to her chest in mock hurt. “Aw, and here I thought we were well on our way to becoming besties.”

I scoffed. “I have a best friend, and she’s the jealous type.”

“What? She’s going to kill me for being your friend or something?”

“Youandme.”

Her laughter made me think she thought I was joking. I wasn’t. It’s not like I couldn’t have other girlfriends. The spot for the top one however was firmly taken by a crazy, knife-wielding slightly erratic Bratva-Princess-turned-Cosa-Nostra-Queen. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re joking again, right?” Belinda asked with nervous eyes.

I glanced at Nikolai. “She’syoursister. What do you think? Am I joking?”

“No,” he answered bluntly.

Her eyes darted between us before landing on me. “You know, this is the second time you’ve mentioned killing someone. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually a murderer,” she chuckled, still refusing to see what was right in front of her. I guess it was to be expected. Most people found the idea of murdering someone absolutely abhorrent. Me, on the other hand? I found it fun.

“Alright, get going,” she continued. “I’ve got your number, I’ll text you the details for Trivia Night later.”

Once Nikolai and I were in the car and headed home, he spoke.

“You know nothing was going on, right? With that woman. I told her I wasn’t interested but she kept—”

“Nikolai, relax,” I said, cutting him off. Despite how cute he was when he rambled, I didn’t like seeing him so freaked out. “It doesn’t matter if something was going on. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I have no right—”

“You haveeveryright.”

“No, Nikolai. I don’t. You’re free to talk to whoever you want.”

He took his eyes off the road to glance at me. “It’s a good thing that the only person in the world I want to talk to is right here with me, then, isn’t it?”

Butterflies bloomed in my heart. For a man of such little words, he sure knew how to use them.

“How was your first shift, anyway? I didn’t see any cops outside, so I’m assuming you didn’t stab anyone?”

“It took every ounce of willpower I possessed, I’ll tell you that.” I told him about my day and he told me all about his. The whole thing was very…normal. Like a husband and wife having a long conversation and catching up at the end of their day.

I watched him closely as he spoke, admiring him. The way his body moved as he switched gears. The deep, baritone sound of his voice. I could watch him for hours and never get bored. Everything he did captivated me, made my heart pound like a jackhammer in my chest.

A thought streaked through my mind, spiralling into a daydream. I was powerless to stop it. Us together. Holding hands. Kissing. Falling asleep next to each other, wrapped up in each other's arms. Buying a house together. Getting married. Having kids—

Pain stabbed me like a dagger to the heart and I sucked in a ragged breath. I could almostfeelthe weight of our son in my arms, the memory so real, so vivid that I had to look down to make sure it wasn’t actually happening. He wasn’t there, but I could picture him as if he were. Wrapped up in a soft, baby blue blanket, his eyes closed like he was sleeping. Just sleeping.

The pain in my heart escalated from a light throb to pure, raw anguish, crippling me. My eyes welled and the tears fell before I could stop them, wetting my cheeks. God, I missed him. I missed him so much it physically hurt. Without him, I felt like half of me was missing. Half of my soul was gone. I couldn’t breathe, and I feared I might die from the pain. How could it still hurt so much?

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