Page 62 of Corrupted Guilt

“I get that boss, but it seems all you really care about is the disk, why is that?” he asked, a leading question.

“You tell me since you obviously have an answer to that.”

“My thinking is with the disk, you find out everything in a way that doesn’t put Katya at risk and that doesn’t alienate her from you— having to kill her father and all. The disk will solve that problem for you. But my question is why is that a problem at all? She’s not supposed to matter, but she seems to matter quite a bit to you.”

“That’s what you’ve figured out?” I demand. “Tasha died for whatever is on this disk, too. Maybe Dmitry. That’s why it matters to me. Fuck the plan working out either way. One way they died for nothing, but if we find out what’s on here, they didn’t.”

“Okay Yuri,” he held his hand up, palms out to me, “Whatever you say. Still, we should leave Katya alone, work on the disk from the apartment above the garage.”

“Okay, you go and gather all this stuff. I’ll let Katya know.”

“I figured you would, Boss,” he gave a knowing grin, an impudent smirk, until I stared daggers at him and he wiped it off his face before leaving.

Maxim was the dumb one.

There was no way he was right, unless I was so obviously in love with Katya that it was apparent even to him. I said the words because she needed to hear them, and I needed to say them, but I hadn’t reflected on them too much and whether they were actually true. They were true when Dmitry died, but I put that someplace deep and dark that no one could find. Not even me. Had Katya coaxed it out?

I wear this mask so often it’s difficult to tell where Yuri the Bratva don and Yuri the person starts and end. Lovesick and obvious wasn’t me, that was preposterous. And even if it wasn’t, I could hide it easily, unconsciously, from someone like Maxim.

Maxim is the dumb one, he’s wrong about this, like usual.

But a tiny, nagging voice in my head seemed to keep saying, ‘Maybe not’. He might be the dumb one, but usually it takes ages for him to warm up to a new person, and here he is, taking her side over mine. Sticking up for her. How the fuck did she manage that in just a few days?

She had made the terrible mistake of falling in love with me, but had I made the same terrible mistake?

It didn’t really matter in the end; it couldn’t be whatever it was. It wasn’t nothing. I feltsomething. Something I couldn’t put a name on, but it was still something, not nothing.

It would be a total victory in her eyes if I admitted to this something. Maybe I should give her this one. She’s been takingquite a few L’s lately, one W would be good for her, and it’s not like I can’t be magnanimous and spare one for her. That might make me feel better about leaving her here as cheese for the Petya mousetrap.

I try her door and it’s locked. Locked. On me.

“Open the door, Katya,” I speak through clenched teeth.

Pure challenge in that sotto voce reply, “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I might not be the boss of you right now, but I’m going to be the boss of this entire Bratva and youwillstop acting like a spoiled little brat, now open the door before I break it down,” I command her.

“Try,” she says.

I kick the door just to the left of the doorknob and the door and door jamb crack, but don’t break open. That just makes me angrier. I take one step back and kick with all my might, the door flies open in front of me.

“Come here, now,” I tell her, as if my face wasn’t enough.

Katya’s spine goes ramrod straight. “Say that again,” she snarls.

I don’t bother. Instead I grabbed her and toss her over my shoulder. I turn and haul a cursing Katya through the hall and take her to my bedroom since the door to hers is now splintered.

I set her down on her feet, and she immediately pounded at my chest with her closed fists. I let her. When she sees it having no effect on me, her rage doubles, I dodge a swing at my face, catching her fist.

Her eyes widen and she lifts her leg to swing at my balls as I turn my hips to dodge, her foot landing on my thigh. That’ll leave a bruise, no doubt.

When she tries it again, I’m mad, I grab her ankle and yank her off her feet, following her to the floor as I wrestle her docile, her wrists pinned on either side of her head.

“That’s enough,” I tell her calmly.

“Fuck you.” She’s so furious her chocolate eyes feel almost red with her anger and are shooting daggers at me.

“Shut up,” I tell her calmly, again.

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