Page 40 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “So we’re still playing the game, then.” She walked past me, the air around her thick with the sweet scent of perfume and a heady mix of defiance.
The drive to the hotel was a silent, tense ordeal. We sat in the back of the car, the space between us humming with unspoken fury. She kept her gaze fixed on the passing city lights, and I kept mine on her reflection in the dark window. Her back, her smile, the way the silk hugged her soft curves—every sight of her was a fresh insult, a new spark of rage.
I wanted to say something, anything, to break the long silence, but I couldn’t trust myself or what I was about to say. All I could think of was her laugh—a genuine, unburdened sound she gave to others but never to me. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut, a bitter taste of jealousy so strong I had to physically hold back from reaching for her because she was a fire, and she was going to burn us all.
We got out of the car, and the valet’s eyes were glued to Katria. The sight of her in that dress was like a shockwave. We walked into the grand ballroom of the five-star hotel, and the low hum of conversation stopped for a second as every head turned. They weren’t looking at me, a boss of the Yezhov Bratva. They were looking at her, the woman in the pink dress with fire in her eyes. I felt a cold knot of possessiveness tighten in my gut. This was her chessboard.
I put my hand on the small of her back, a public sign of ownership. She tensed under my touch but didn’t pull away. We had a performance, and tonight, she was the star.
“Danil!” a voice called out.
I turned to seeIrene Durov, her long dark hair falling over a simple black dress. She came toward me with a genuine, warm smile. We’d known each other for years. She was Feliks’s daughter.She hugged me and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, her smile not reaching her eyes as she glanced at Katria. “My father’s been so excited to finally introduce you properly.”
I made the introductions.
“Irene, this is my wife, Katria. Katria, this is Irene Durov.”
Irene’s smile became a polite, forced expression.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice stiff.
It was so unlike her. She was always so easy, so warm.
Katria didn’t smile. She just gave a sharp, curt nod. “Irene.”
The air between them felt cold, like a draft. I saw no reason for it. Irene was a friend. Katria was just…being Katria. This was what she did. She made everyone uncomfortable. I dismissed it as a woman’s silly rivalry. It had no place in the serious business of the night.
“The room is beautiful,” Katria said, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I should go say hello to Marielle. She’s by the bar.” She didn’t ask for permission. She just stated her intention.
I let her go. My jaw was tight, but I held my tongue. A public argument would serve no one. She walked away from me, her pink dress a bright splash of defiance in the sea of back suits.
I tried to focus. This room was a battlefield of power and alliances, a place where fortunes were made and lives were decided with a handshake. But I was losing the battle withmyself. My gaze kept sliding away from the faces of men I was talking to, searching for her, my wife.
She was a ghost in my vision, a pink flame in a room full of shadows. She wasn’t just standing there. She was a different person. I watched her, and the sight was a shock to my system. She was smiling. Not the sarcastic, bitter smile she gave me. This was a real, easy smile. She was talking, animated, her hands moving as she spoke. She was friendly.
It pissed me off. I felt a cold rage build in my guy. I saw the way every man in the room looked at her. Their eyes weren’t on me, not me, the man they feared. They were on her, the beautiful woman in the backless dress. They were on my wife,myproperty. Every glance was an insult, a direct challenge to my control.
I turned away, trying to force my mind back to business. A man was talking to me about an upcoming shipment, but I couldn’t hear him. The only sound I could hear was her voice. And then, she laughed, and it was starting to get on my nerves.
Her smile, easy and pure, was a sound I had never heard directed at me. It was open and free, a genuine, joyful sound that cut through the room. My head snapped up, my gaze locking on her like a blade. A rush of insane jealousy, so sharp it felt like physical pain, surged through me. All she did with me was fight, and that was what she was only good at. All we did was shout at each other. But here, with them, with other men, she was happy, and this pissed me off more than any other thing, but there was nothing I could do.
I saw her again, talking to Sava, her head tilted back, her laughter ringing out. He said something that made her laugh again. The sight of it—their easy friendship, their playful banter—sent a jolt of pure fury through my body.
Sava, my own soldier. The man I trusted. And Katria, my wife, laughing with him in a way she had never laughed withme. It was a betrayal. It was a violation of a trust I hadn’t even realized I had placed.
My fists were clenched so tightly that my hands hurt. The room felt like it was closing in on me. I wanted to get her out there. I wanted to drag her out and lock her away from everyone—every look, every smile, every laugh. Because she belonged to me, not to them. And she was going to learn that tonight.
The car was a silent tomb, but the air inside was thick with things left unsaid. The rage, a cold, dark thing, was low-burning in my gut. I kept my gaze fixed on the road. My hands tight on the steering wheel, my mind a storm of images. Katria’s laugh. The way other men looked at her. Her damn dress. The words I wanted to say—the things I wanted to do—were a poison on my tongue. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a fight. I wouldn’t.
She broke the silence first, her voice a low, taunting whisper. “That was a fun party.”
I didn’t answer. Not yet, not when I was still furious, but she had no idea. I just kept driving, my jaw locked so tight it ached.
“Oh, come on, Danil,” she pushed, leaning forward slightly. “Don’t act like it wasn’t. You got to show off your new prize. You got to stand there and pretend to be the perfect husband. It was a beautiful performance.”
“Shut up, Katria,” I finally said, my voice low and flat.
