Page 58 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
“You’re tired,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been through too much today. We can talk more in the morning.”
She nodded, her eyes heavy-lidded. She leaned her head against my shoulder, and a soft sigh of pure exhaustion escaped her lips. I wrapped my free hand around her, pulling her into my embrace. She didn’t protest. She didn’t fight. She just gave in. And within moments, her breathing evened out, her body went slack in my arms, and she was asleep.
I held her, the quiet of the room a stark contrast to the chaos of my mind. She trusted me. She had chosen me. And in that simple, terrifying truth, a new purpose was born. This wasn’t just about betrayal anymore. It wasn’t just about the Bratva. It was about her. Feliks had betrayed her, used her, tormented her. He has hurt someone I had claimed as mine.
He thought he had won, that he was one step ahead. He had no idea what was coming. I wouldn’t just expose him. I wouldn’t just punish him. I would destroy him. For what he did to my family. And now, for what he did to her.
Chapter 19 – Kat
I woke up to the soft weight of a blanket and the smell of old paper and leather. It took a moment for my mind to catch up, to remember the emotional whirlwind that had been the night before. I was on the library sofa, exactly where I had fallen asleep in Danil’s arms. He was gone.
A pang of disappointment, sharp and unexpected, twisted in my gut. I sat up, pushing the blanket aside, and the coolness of the morning air hit my skin. My body ached, but it wasn’t the same angry soreness from yesterday. It was a pleasant, satisfied ache, a quiet reminder of the truce we had found.
I stood and walked to the study, hoping to find him. I felt a new need to see him, to hear his voice, to confirm that last night wasn’t just a fever dream. The study was empty. The morning light streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust mites dancing in the air, but there was no sign of him.
My eyes fell on his desk. It was neat and tidy, just as he had left it. My mind, trained by years of suspicion and mistrust, immediately went to the thumb drive. I had given it to him last night. But, just as my mind began to spin, I reminded myself that I wasn’t just a captive anymore; I was a partner, a part of this now. I was done suspecting him..
Sure he must have stepped out, I went back to the bedroom with a decision to freshen up and just have a pause. I instinctively stopped by the dresser as I entered the room, giving my reflection in the mirror a close-up look. I looked just like I felt—refreshed and relieved yet tired and apprehensive.
I turned to leave, but my eyes caught on something on the corner of the broad dresser table. A small, folded handkerchief with a distinct crest—the Voryv crest, the symbol of Danil’s family. It was a strange place to leave it, not his pocket or a drawer. It felt deliberate.
I picked it up, my brow furrowed in confusion. I had no idea why he would leave this here. A message? A sign? Or was it just a random handkerchief he had forgotten?
“What is this?” I muttered to myself, turning the square of cloth over in my hand. It was full, and something fluttered to the floor.
It was a small, plain white envelope. My heart pounded. It had no name, no address. Just a small, neatly writtenS-Hon the front. I was so used to my life being a series of threats and cruelties that I could only think of this as another one. But something felt different. This felt like a clue.
I stared at the small, plain envelope in my palm, its weight strangely heavy. No name, no address, just the two letters:S-H. My mind, still fuzzy from sleep, struggled to make sense of it. What did “S-H” mean? My eyes darted to the empty desk drawers, to the missing thumb drive. A cold note of suspicion tightened in my gut. He was gone. The thumb drive was gone. And this was all he had left for me.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope. Inside, a small slip of paper held a single address: a storage unit. Tucked behind it was a small flash drive, like the one I had found before, with the letters “S-H” written on it in black marker.
My breath hitched. “S-H” Sivella Holdings. The company my father had accused Feliks of using to launder money. The company that had been at the heart of this entire mess.
“What is this?” I whispered to the empty room, my voice a shaky echo. Was this a test? A trap?
My mind raced as I ran through a dozen terrifying scenarios. Had he set me up? Was he intentionally letting me find this, knowing I would be desperate enough to follow the lead, only to have me caught? The white mark on my neck still felt like a brand of ownership, a warning. Maybe this was a warning, too.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, my voice more firm this time. “He wouldn’t. He gave me a confession. This has to be a clue.”
But a small, cynical voice in the black of my head argued otherwise:He’s a Mafia boss. They don’t give clues. They don’t trust anyone. Maybe he’s watching you right now. Maybe this is a way to see if you’ll betray him. To see if you’ll run with this information.
I clenched my hand around the envelope, my knuckles turning white.
The memory of his eyes last night and the quiet honesty in his voice when he confessed flooded my mind. He had been vulnerable. He had told me his truth. And he had taken the thumb drive, the one piece of evidence that could have destroyed him, and put it somewhere safe. He has trusted me with the truth. Was this his way of trusting me with the next step?
“Okay,” I said, a new resolve hardening my voice. I was no longer a victim. I was no longer a pawn. I was a player. He had handed me the next move. And I would take it.
I slid the envelope into my pocket, the crinkle of the paper a soft confirmation of my decision. The storage unit. The “SH” folder. I had to know what was in there.
My mind was buzzing, a whirlwind of questions and new purpose. I had to investigate. But first, I had to play the part. The dutiful wife, the confused but compliant prisoner.
I made my way to the main living area, where I could hear the murmur of voices. It sounded like a typical midday gathering, likely remnants of brunch, filled with polite chatter and veiled appraisals. I composed my face, plastered on a neutral expression, and stepped into the room.
The first faces I saw were Irene and Sava. They were standing near a large window overlooking the gardens, laughing together. Irene was leaning in, her hand on Sava’s arm, her headtilted back, her laughter bright and theatrical. Sava, for his part, looked uncomfortable, his usual stoic expression replaced by a tense smile.
A knot formed in my stomach.
“Something’s off,” I murmured to myself, watching them. Irene was flirting. Openly. With Sava. And he seemed resistant. Not entirely, but enough for it to be noticeable. Was this part of her game? Another manipulation?
