Page 82 of Beautifully Damned
Her face tightens into a scowl. She dips the cloth into water, wringing it out. “She left.”
She left.
But she came back for me. She touched me. She told me she loved me. She begged me to live. So let her run. Let her try to tear herself away. She’s mine to chase.
I was supposed to give her space, to let her breathe free of me. But the second she confessed what I have bled for—what I have torn myself apart for—that promise turned to ash. If she loves me, she believes I am worthy. And if she believes it, I will crawl, kneel, and bleed until it is true.
I will grovel, but I will never lose her.
The door closes behind a sniffing Elena. Ayla’s grip is deeper than anyone realizes. She has the entire Bratva under her thumb.
The door opens again. Mikhail steps in, eyes swollen. He carries a tray of food that steams in the dim light. He sets it down, drags a chair across the floor, and sits opposite me.
“Eat,” he says, voice cracking. “Please.”
I want to refuse, to sink further into my punishment, but her voice slices through the negative thoughts:It guts me when you don’t eat.
I grab the food and shove it in. Mikhail stares like I’ve sprouted horns. “We’ve been begging you for days. Threats, bribes—nothing worked. And all it took was one visit from her?”
I ignore him, chewing. His words don’t need an answer. He leans back, chair groaning. “You’re in love with her.”
I swallow, throat raw. “I can’t breathe without her. I’ll do anything to prove I deserve her. If it means starving, bleeding, burning myself alive—I’ll do it. As long as she never doubts she is sacred to me.” I wipe my mouth, meeting his eyes. “Is that love, brother? Or something worse?”
Mikhail laughs once. “Love? No, Roman. You’re not just in love. You’re obsessed.”
“Does she love you?” he asks carefully after a long silence.
“She does.” She told me so herself yesterday; she doesn’t get to take it back.
Mikhail exhales, shoulders slumping. “Then go get her.”
If only. I stare at the empty tray. “I’m not worthy. Not after what I’ve done. I only understood what I felt after I almost lost her. What woman wants a man who feels nothing for anyone else? Who can’t even promise to love their future children? She’s the only one I’ve ever felt this ‘love’ for. And I already broke her once. She won’t hand me her pieces again.”
Mikhail slams his fist against the chair arm. “You’re blind. You carried this Bratva when father died. You fed men, kept us alive, made us stronger. Any woman would be lucky to have you, rough edges or not.”
“I am the lucky one. Without her, I am only surviving. With her, I live.”
He narrows his eyes. “Then stop killing yourself. Starving won’t bring her back. It’ll only leave you too weak to fight when another man tries to take her.”
A red haze spills over my vision. “No one will take her.” My voice is a growl. “No one.”
“Look at you,” he spits. “A shell. Rotting. That’s how men lose what matters. Is that what you want?”
I roar, chest heaving. “It’s all I know! When I fail, I starve. When I’m unworthy, I bleed. That’s what I was taught.”
Mikhail pales. Chest rising and falling like he’s choking. “Taught by who?”
I drain the cup of water with shaking hands. “Father.”
Mikhail’s face twists into something savage. “That bastard.”
Memories crawl up my spine. Dark rooms. Fists. Hunger so deep it chews at my bones. Days without food until the weakness itself became a lesson. Discipline through suffering. Always failing. Never enough.
Mikhail’s eyes burn, wet with tears he refuses to let fall. “I was jealous once. Jealous that father gave you all his attention. I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t meant to know,” I mutter. “You weren’t the future Pakhan. I was.”
“No. That’s not why. He knew exactly who you’d become. And he hated it. He hated that you were stronger than him.” He mutters, not looking at me.
