Page 9 of Taken By The Bratva
Dimitri finally corners me after watching me snap at three different business partners over minor issues, my patience worn thin from sleepless nights and the constant ache of missing her.
"Whatever's wrong with you, fix it," the pakhan says bluntly, settling into the chair across from my desk with the kind of authority that doesn't invite argument. "You're useless when you're miserable, and frankly, the rest of us are tired of dealing with your mood."
"It's complicated," I begin, but Dimitri cuts me off with an impatient gesture.
"It's a woman. Specifically, it's the smart one who used to serve drinks and actually understood when we discussed market projections." At my surprised look, Dimitri's mouth curves in what might generously be called a smirk. "I notice everything, little brother. She had more financial sense in her little finger than half our business partners. The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
"She quit," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "She quit because I was an idiot who prioritized appearances over her dignity. I kept her at arm's length during business functions, introduced her as 'just staff' to associates, and never once acknowledged what she really meant to me."
"And?" Dimitri leans back in his chair, his weathered fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest, clearly waiting for more.
"And nothing. She made the right choice. She deserves someone who isn't afraid to claim her publicly, someone who won't hideher away like a dirty secret. Someone brave enough to stand beside her regardless of what others might think or say."
"So become that someone."
The simple statement hits me like a physical blow, resonating through my chest with painful clarity. My breath catches as the words penetrate the carefully constructed walls of my excuses. The truth of it settles deep in my bones, making my heart pound against my ribcage with uncomfortable force. "It's not that easy—" I protest weakly, my voice trailing off as I recognize the hollowness of my own defense.
"It's exactly that easy," Dimitri interrupts, his voice carrying the kind of finality that's made him the most feared pakhan on the East Coast. "You want her? Fight for her. You think she's worth the complications? Prove it. Stop making excuses and start making choices."
The answer comes to me with crystalline clarity, so obvious I can't believe it took me this long to see it. I'm going to stop being a coward. I'm going to claim Brooke publicly, completely, and deal with whatever consequences that brings. She deserves a man who's proud to stand beside her, not someone who hides her away like she's something shameful.
I find her at the coffee shop where she's picked up extra shifts, looking beautiful and tired and completely unimpressed when I walk through the door. The hurt in her eyes when she sees me nearly brings me to my knees, but I push forward, knowing this is my only chance to make things right.
The afternoon crowd is substantial—college students with laptops, business people grabbing caffeine fixes, a handful oflocals who clearly recognize the drama unfolding. Perfect. I want witnesses for this.
When I drop to one knee in front of her workstation, producing the engagement ring I bought the day after she walked out of my life, the entire coffee shop goes silent. Conversations stop mid-sentence, laptops close, and every eye in the place focuses on us.
Brooke's face drains of all color before flushing crimson, her delicate hands visibly trembling as she grips the gleaming chrome espresso machine for physical and emotional support, her knuckles whitening under the pressure.
"I was wrong," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear, my voice carrying across the quiet space. "Wrong to hide what we have, wrong to prioritize my convenience over your dignity, wrong to think I could protect you by making you feel unworthy of protection."
Her eyes fill with tears that pool along her lower lashes before threatening to spill over, but she doesn't speak, doesn't offer a single word to ease this moment of reckoning between us. Good. I don't deserve easy, don't merit any softening of this necessary pain that I brought upon myself through my own cowardice.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I want everyone to know it," I continue, opening the ring box to reveal the three-carat diamond I chose because it reminded me of the way her eyes sparkle when she's passionate about something. "You're brilliant and brave and beautiful, and you deserve a man who's proud to call you his. I want to be that man, Brooke. I want to spend the rest of my life proving you made the right choice."
The silence stretches, heavy with possibility and the weight of months of pain between us. I can see the war in her expression—hope battling with hurt, love fighting with self-preservation.
"You let him touch me," she whispers, and the quiet words cut deeper than shouting would have. "You sat there and watched while he disrespected me, and you did nothing."
"I know." The admission tastes like poison, but she deserves my honesty. "I was scared of what acknowledging our relationship would mean, scared of putting a target on your back. But I realized something this week—you were already in danger. From men who thought they could treat you however they wanted because no one was protecting you. I should have been that protection, should have made it clear from day one that touching you meant answering to me."
"And now?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
"Now I'm done being afraid. Done hiding what I feel for you. Marry me, Brooke. Let me introduce you as my fiancée at the next poker game, let me show everyone who matters to me exactly how precious you are. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for being an idiot who almost lost the best thing that ever happened to him."
A tear slides down her cheek, glistening in the soft light of the coffee shop, and my heart clenches painfully with the terrifying fear that I'm too late, that I've irreparably damaged something precious between us that can't ever be fully repaired.
Then she smiles—radiant and forgiving and full of the unconditional love I was too stubborn and blind to recognize before—and nods, her eyes sparkling with emotion that takes my breath away.
"Yes," she says through tears of joy and relief, her voice catching and breaking on the simple word as she reaches for my hand. "Yes, you impossible, frustrating, wonderful man. I'll marry you."
The coffee shop erupts in applause as I slide the ring onto her finger with hands that shake slightly from relief and joy. When she launches herself into my arms, kissing me with desperate hunger that tastes like forgiveness and second chances, I know I've finally become the man she deserves.
"I love you," I whisper against her lips, the words flowing effortlessly now that I've shed my fear of public declaration, my voice carrying a conviction I've never felt before.
"I love you too," she replies, her voice thick with emotion, trembling slightly as unshed tears glisten in her eyes. "But if you ever make me feel like a secret again, like something to be ashamed of?—"
"Never," I promise fiercely, holding her tighter against my chest, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine. "Never again, not for a single moment. From now on, everyone—friends, family, colleagues, strangers—will know exactly who you are to me, what we are together."
