Page 40 of Deadly Knight
That and fear interrupt any positive progress—something Ava is insisting we target soon. At some point, I stop breathing and fear controls me, believing they’re part of something bigger. That they have a family who’ll do anything to keep us apart, and that’s when I end the relationship to protect myself and the memories haunting me.
That’s when I have to lay another rock in my foundational wall I’ve been erecting since my first session pre-Ava, during university. A strategy Ava’s been helping me continue. One where I rebuild myself from the ground up—everything positive and new in life gets placed on one side, while anything from my past gets hidden behind it, allowing me to separate my past and present. It’s a fragile wall that is constantly losing a few levels and having to be rebuilt, but it’s part of the process and work I’m okay with putting in.
Nora’s sudden snap yanks me back to the present. She’s watching me with scrunched brows and a concerned expression. “You good? Lost you for a moment.”
“I’m fine.”
I’m fine.Words recited so often because it ensures people do exactly what Nora is: move on and address literally any other topic.
“Good. I was saying, yes, the new teacher. We barely know the guy, so I figured it’d be nice since now it’s a group event. Bring him into the fold and all that. Have you met him?”
I nod. “His first day.”
Her phone’s alarm rings, and she hops to her feet with a groan. “Have to prep my next sport. See you this evening. Meet you there?”
“Sounds great.” I force my fake smile until she leaves, and once my office door shuts behind her, I let it all drop with an exhausted sigh.
Before finishing my meal, I rush to the door and switch my status on the door sign fromavailabletoin a meeting. A lie, but no one will know the truth—that my head is stuck reflecting on what tonight will bring and how desperately I want out of it.
A group event.
I’m in for a night of pain.
My hand drifts to my bare arm, nails teasing old scars—and the desire to calm myself.
It’ll be fine.
Yeah. Fine.
As fine as I am leading a life with half a heart.
At four o’clock,Katya exits from one of the youth centre’s side entrances and starts down the road. I trail her from my usual distance, staying back farther in case anyone alerts her to me following. She’s never given any indication of being aware of the monster lurking behind her. Of the past she ran from who continues to chase her.
It’s Friday, so she stops at a studio located halfway between her work and apartment. The studio’s name,Warrior’s Gym, never ceases to make me smile, because that’s what the self-defence classes have made Katya into—my little warrior.
Her training thrills me, and the only thing that’d make it better is if she chose to attend a studio with a different building design, because this one means lingering across the street, blind to what’s going on inside.
An hour later, Katya leaves, chugging from a metal water bottle as she continues her usual route home, thankfully sticking to the busier roads of the Toronto neighbourhood. Her apartment is a fifteen-minute walk, letting her avoid the busy bustle of public transportation.
Her apartment comes into view and, with a satisfied sigh, I slow slightly, giving her the chance to get inside the building, something I’ve ensured is safe.
When Katya and her parents moved to Toronto ten years ago, they used the money from the sale of their house to buy a new one, paid full in cash, on the outskirts of the city. Katya lived with them for a few weeks before moving into the University of Toronto’s dorms. It became both harder and easier to stalk her there. Campus dorms are monitored for students’ safety, and me hanging around would have alerted the wrong people. But the large property gave me plenty of places to hide from afar.
Either way, back then and presently, I have to be careful how much attention I catch. As a Bratva soldier, I’m skulking on Corsetti territory, and the Boss of the Canadian mob won’t take kindly to me being here.
Five years ago, after her degree, she moved in with her parents for a couple months before renting this downtown apartment within a decent distance of the youth centre who hired her.
So I purchased the building and claimed the apartment directly beneath hers.
Since then, I’ve had the building security systems upgraded, only allow people who pass my background checks—which I make Lev complete—rent, hire the best landlords to maintain the place, and have beenverycareful with my comings and goings. It was the simplest way to remain close to her while maintaining her safety.
She has no idea, of course, that each month her rent money gets deposited into a savings account that will one day be returned to her.
One floor below is much too far for my liking. It’s a tease to hear her steps crossing her rooms. A form of self-torture withhow near she is, yet out of reach. Every little sound becomes my fix. Like an addict, I take anything she gives.
I wait a few minutes after she enters the building, giving her time to check her mailbox and ride the elevator to her floor. It’s been years of carefully choreographed movements to ensure we never end up in the foyer or the elevator at the same time. Twice, there were near misses, but I escaped before anything could happen.
From across the street, I watch her fifth-storey apartment light flick on, reassuring me she’s tucked inside. Normally, I would go inside now, but today I linger on the streets, studying everyone who passes by all because of the fucking message he sent the other day.
