Page 65 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
“Katria,” I said, my voice low.
He looked up, her expression immediately becoming guarded. She put the book down, her movement slow and deliberate. “Danil. Is everything alright?” Her eyes, though, were sharp, searching, betraying a suspicion she had no doubt harbored since my return yesterday.
“No,” I admitted, my voice blunt. “Everything is not alright. I need you to pack a bag. Just the essentials. We’re leaving.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in defiance. “Leaving? Where are we going? Why?”
“To one of the other estates,” I said, my words clipped and precise. “It’s a security precaution. It’s not safe here.”
She stood, a fresh wave of suspicion crossing her features. “Not safe? What does that mean? Are you in danger? I’m I?” She took a step toward me, her arms crossed over her chest. “Is this because of what happened yesterday? The…the ambush?”
“That’s part of it,” I said, my patience wearing thin. I didn’t want to get into a long, drawn-out explanation. I just wanted her to trust me. To come with me. “I can’t discuss the details. Just pack your bag. We leave in ten minutes.”
Her chin lifted, a look of pure rebellion on her face. “No,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why. What kind of danger are we in? You can’t just tell me we’re leaving and expect me to follow without a single question. I’m not a soldier, Danil. I’m your wife.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, the frustrating burning in my chest. She was right. She wasn’t a soldier. She was a woman who had just confessed her trust in me, her fear of losing me. She had to understand the stakes. I couldn’t just order her. I had to show her.
I walked out of the library, leaving her standing there in stubborn defiance. I returned to my study, my hands finding the cool, glass bottle. I didn’t even wrap it. I just held it, the dark liquid a sinister promise, a symbol of danger that was now a part of her life. I walked back to the library, the wine bottle a weapon in my hands.
“You want to know why?” I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl. I walked toward her and placed the bottle on the table between us. “Thisis why.”
Her gaze dropped from my face to the bottle. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but then something else took over. Not fear. Don’t panic. Just a deep simmering rage. Her brow furrowed into a tight, angry line. It was the same look she had when she was arguing with me, when she was fighting back. But this was different. This was personal. This was a silent, venomous accusation.
“It was a gift,” she said, her voice low and dangerously calm. “A wedding gift, wasn’t it?”
My chest tightened. She hadn’t even had to ask. She had just known. I was shocked. I had expected so many things from her: tears, anger, a broken silence. I had expected her to fall apart. But she didn’t. She just…frowned. A quiet, terrifyinganger that felt a thousand times more dangerous than any scream.
“How did you know?” I asked, my voice a rough whisper.
“It’s just the way they operate,” she said, not as a question, but as a chilling, bitter statement of fact. “My father…he told me about all their little games. The little deceptions they use to get to you. The little gifts they give you that are designed to hurt you later. Only this one…this one was designed to hurt me now.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with a venomous fury. “It was him, wasn’t it? It was Feliks.”
Her words were an accusation, but they were also a question, a plea for confrontation. Her father had been right. Feliks was a traitor. And now, he had tried to kill her. My rage, which I had kept so carefully contained, flared. This wasn’t just a strategic chess game anymore. This was personal. This was for her.
“Yes,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “It was him. He tried to poison us. He tried to kill you.”
She took a step toward the table, her hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the wine bottle, the symbol of his betrayal. “He tried to poison us,” she said, her voice filled with a chilling wonder. “He tried to kill me.”
“He did,” I said. “And because he failed, he’s going to try again.”
She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were fixed on the wine, a deep, silent rage building within her. “He’s a coward,” she said, the words a hiss. “He didn’t have the courage to face my father. He didn’t have the courage to face you. He just hides in the shadows, sending poisoned gifts.” She finally looked up, her eyes blazing with a fierce, unwavering light. “He’s the reason my father is dead—the reason I almost died. I want to kill the man myself.”
The words, so raw and honest, were a direct challenge. She wasn’t asking for my permission. She was telling me her intentions. I had expected so many things from her. A need for revenge. A plea for me to protect her. But this…this was a vow. A shared purpose.
“Katria,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” she demanded, her voice rising with furious indignation. “He killed my father! He tried to kill me! Why can’t I?”
I walked to her, my hand rising to cup her face, my thumbs stroking her cold cheeks. “Because you’re not a killer,” I said, my voice a low, rough murmur.
“I’m his daughter!” she countered, her voice now desperate pleading. “I’m his revenge. You want him to pay, don’t you? You want him to suffer. Letmebe the one who does it. Don’t you dare take this from me.”
I held her gaze, my eyes searching hers. And in her burning eyes, I saw not just hatred, but a fierce, unyielding sense of justice. She wasn’t just my captive anymore. She was my partner. My equal. My wife.
“If it comes to that,” I said, the words a solemn vow, “if we confirm that he is indeed the one who killed your father, I will give you your revenge. I will not take this from you. He will answer for his crimes. He will answer to you.”
Her eyes filled with a raw, fierce gratitude, a silent understanding passing between us. The war was no longer just mine. It was ours.
“Now,” I said, my voice firm, releasing her face and taking a step back. “Go pack. We leave now. We have a traitor to hunt.”
