Page 70 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

“It’s from your papa,” Marco said softly, his voice strained. “He wrote it before….” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. My father had said his time was running out.

The funeral felt like a blur after that. Faces came and went, whispers and condolences barely registering. I felt weaker when Matteo drove back to his hotel, with Marco and some of Papa’s men accompanying him. He wasn’t ready to stay in the house. And by the time Rafayel and I climbed into the car, my chest felt hollow, as though the sorrow had emptied me out entirely.

I held the letter tightly, my gaze locked on the handwriting that was unmistakably his. Rafayel sat beside me silently, with his hand resting lightly on my knee. A quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone.

With a deep breath, I unfolded the letter, the faint scent of my father’s cologne lingering on the paper.

Principessa,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer by your side. I’ve always believed there would be enough time for everything—time to fix my mistakes, time to hold you close, time to tell you just how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. But time, it seems, is never truly ours.

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes, spilling over before I could stop them. Rafayel’s grip on my knee tightened, grounding me.

I promised your mother, my Angelina, that I would love you and your brother more than life itself. I gave it my best shot and loved every moment of it. But you two are the only ones that can say for sure if I did—

My heart shattered to more pieces. “You did, Papa. God. You did.”

Your best interests have always been my priority. Hurting you was not the plan. But I got blinded by my greed and selfishness, and I did it anyway. When you left and never once looked back, I knew I’d lost you forever. I forgive you for the rash choice you made, for the ones you couldn’t. I hope, in time, you can forgive me, too—for the things I didn’t say, for the moments I caused you pain. You and Matteo were my greatest joys, even when I failed to show it.

I let out a shaky breath.

You have my blessings, principessa. I hope to live long enough to see my grandchildren and to watch you be the wonderful mother I know you’ll be. But if I don’t, know this: My love for you and Matteo will carry on beyond this life and into the next. Never doubt that.

The letter ended simply, his signature scrawled at the bottom as though he’d run out of words but not love. I clutched it to my chest, sobbing openly now. Rafayel pulled me into his arms, and his warmth cut through the icy ache in my heart.

“If it’s any comfort, everyone knows how much your father loved you and your brother,” Rafayel murmured against my hair, and the world around me blurred as I buried my face into his chest, my sobs breaking the heavy silence in the car.

My hands gripped his shirt like it was the only anchor keeping me from drowning in the sea of grief that tore through me. His musky scent wrapped around me, but it did little to fill the hollow ache inside my chest.

“He’s gone,” I choked out, my voice cracking under the weight of the words. Saying it aloud made it unbearably real. My father was gone.

Rafayel’s arms tightened around me, as though he could physically shield me from the pain. “Let it out, Leonya,” he whispered, his breath warm against my temple. “I’m here.”

I cried harder, tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. His hand smoothed over my back in soothing circles, his presence grounding me in a way I’d grown familiar with.

After a while, the sharp edges of my grief dulled enough for me to lift my head and meet his gaze.

“I feel so…lost now. Papa was all we had,” I admitted. My throat was raw, my words fractured, but I needed him to understand.

Rafayel’s dark eyes brimmed with warmth, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. He cupped my face gently, brushing away the tears with his thumb.

“You’re not alone, Leo. I’m right here, and I’ll never let you feel unloved again.” The whirlwind was still in my chest when he said words I hadn’t dared to expect. “I love you, Leonya.”

My heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, I nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through the sorrow because that was what it had been this whole time—the mad obsession, the insane attraction, the stubborn need to always be close to him. The pieces fell into place.

“I love you, too, Rafa.”

He pulled me into a gentle hug, murmuring in soft Russian,“Everything will be fine.”

And for the first time since the world had shattered around me, I began to believe it. His arms felt like home, andthe ache in my heart lessened, replaced by the faint flicker of something new.

Something whole.

Chapter 23 – Leonora

Normal girls wanted normal men to cook for them, clean for them, and treat them like princesses, which honestly wasn’t a bad thing. But in the world where I came from, the women did the serving. They treated their husbands like kings, even if they were the world’s biggest assholes. Finding a man to uphold you like his queen—rub your feet, feed you breakfast in bed, eat you up like delicious dinner—was extremely rare.

Luckily for me, I found one. Or he found me.Or we found each other, really.

---