Page 57 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
She looked at me for a long moment, then slowly and hesitantly, she nodded.
“That was Feliks,” I dropped, my voice steady.
Her eyes widened, a look of pure shock on her face. “Feliks? The video footage Feliks?!”
I nodded in affirmation.
“He’s been working against us for years,” I explained, the words foreign and heavy on my tongue. “He’s been laundering money. He’s been selling our assets. And he was planning to leak our sensitive information to our enemies.”
She stayed silent, and I took that as my cue to keep talking.
“He was a parasite,” I said, the bitter truth a taste in my mouth. “He played us all for fools. He used our trust against us. He used our loyalty as a shield.”
She stared at me, her eyes hard. “But…my father…hewas the one who was supposed to be the traitor. You said so. You were so convinced, weren’t you? Even after we watched the video!”
I closed my eyes, the memory of her father’s lifeless face a brutal punch to my gut. The weight of my mistake was a suffocating force.
“I was wrong, Katria,” I admitted, the words a raw confession. “I was so blinded by rage and grief, I didn’t see the truth. I was so convinced that your father had betrayed us that I didn’t look for the real culprit.” I looked at her, meeting her gaze head-on, my eyes a silent plea for her to understand. “It wasn’t him. It was Feliks,”
She didn’t speak. She just sat there, the weight of my words slowly, agonizingly, settling in. The truth, the horrible, undeniable truth, was finally out.
She just stared at me, her eyes wide, tears slowly beginning to trace a path down her cheeks. She was processing. Relaying everything. The accusation, my anger, the death of her father…it had all been a lie.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You have to be wrong. My father…he wouldn’t….”
“I’m not,” I said, my voice gentle. “I wish I were. But I’m not.”
She looked away, fixing her gaze on something on the wall. A new kind of emotion crossed her face. It was no longer anger or fear. It was a deep, heartbreaking guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice choking. “I’m so sorry, Danil.”
My brow furrowed. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.You’rethe victim here.”
“No,” she said, finally looking at me, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I am. I’m sorry for blaming you for my dad’s death. I’m sorry for everything I said. I mean, the footage was more than enough evidence of Feliks’s motive to kill him, but I still held on to the fact that you were the one at our house that night and not him. Afterward, my mom explained to me several times that you couldn’t have hurt my dad if there wasn’t something incriminating against him; she was so sure her husband wasn’t a traitor, but she still didn’t want me to blame you guys. I guess I just didn’t want my father’s name to be tainted with treason. I thought I was protecting his memory by believing you were the bad person.”
The words hit me. She hadn’t just been a victim;she had been a combatant, fighting for her own truth.Her actions, her rebellion, her defiance—it all made sense now.
She reached for the pillow beside her and slowly, with trembling hands, pulled something from beneath it. It was a small, black thumb drive, similar to the one I had shown Matvey and Luka—the one with her father’s accusation.
“And I’m sorry for this too,” she said, her voice filled with a painful confession. “I’m sorry I lied. I made a copy of the video. It felt like I needed to, at the time. To serve as a reminder of the fact that my dad lost his life to the Bratva, even though he was loyal. ” She held it out to me. “But I can’t. I don’t want to. I’m done painting you or the Bratva black because of one person’s betrayal. I’m done.”
I stared at the thumb drive, then at her. She wasn’t just giving me evidence. She was giving me her trust. She was putting her faith in me, in a way she had never done before.
I took it from her hand, my fingers brushing against hers. “You gave me a chance,” I said, the words a raw whisper. “You could have run. You could have decided to hold onto the memory of that night, to your pain, and just…leave me. But you didn’t.”
“I thought I was being selfish,” she admitted, a tear finally escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheek. “I thought I was just protecting myself. But…you helped me. You were there when I needed you the most. You were there when my world came crashing down. And I realized you’re the one person who has been honest with me. In your own way. Thank you, Danil.”
My heart, a muscle I thought was made of stone, clenched. I was stunned. Touched. She had chosen me. Over her father’s memory. Over her own convictions. Over her own escape.
I held the thumb drive in my hand, and its cold plastic was a sharp contrast to the warmth that had just flooded my chest. It wasn’t just evidence. It was a peace offering. A sign of trust. A choice.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Why did you choose me?”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a raw vulnerability I had never seen before. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “All I know is…when my father died, I felt so alone. So lost. I was angry at you for what I thought you had done. But even in all of that, you were the only constant. The only one who seemed to…care. In your own twisted way. You took me in. You protected me. You made me feel at home. You were the only one there.”
My throat tightened. I had spent my life building walls, cultivating an image of a cold, unfeeling ruler. And this onewoman had seen right through it, to the messy, complicated truth beneath. She had seen my humanity when I had been a monster.
She reached out, her hand resting on my arm, her touch soft and tentative. “I know you’ve done terrible things, Danil. But you’re my husband. You’re the one person in this world who knows what I’ve been through. Who knows what I’ve lost. I can’t explain it. But I just…trust you.”
Her confession was a stunning blow. It humbled me. It broke down the last of my defenses. I took her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together.
