Page 66 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
She didn’t hesitate. She turned and strode toward the bedroom, her shoulders squared, her steps no longer the weary pace of a prisoner but the confident stride of a woman ona mission. A mission of her own. With a revenge she had a personal right to claim.
Chapter 23 – Kat
The drive to the safe house was a blur, swallowed in silence and shadows. The armored car hummed steadily beneath us, its reinforced frame a cage that was both protected and confined. I sat in the backseat, my head learning against the cool glass, watching as the city lights flickered past like dying stars. Each passing street faded into obscurity, swallowed by the thickening darkness of the forest roads.
Beside me, silence weighed heavier than the bulletproof walls. Luka drove silently, his face like stone, his hands steady on the wheel. He looked like stainless steel forged for this very purpose—unyielding, grim, loyal only to his mission. He didn’t glance back once, but I could feel the weight of his presence. He was the last tie to what we had escaped, and the first reminder of the danger still hunting us.
Danil sat opposite me, his broad frame leaning slightly forward, his eyes unreadable as he stared through the tinted window. He looked like a statue carved from ice and fire—still, but radiating an intensity that burned through the silence.
But the time Luka slowed the car, my nerves were stretched taut. The safe house loomed ahead: a low, modern structure buried deep within the forest. No grand marble staircase, no crystal chandeliers, no gilded halls like the Yezhov estate. Just clean, sharp lines and an exterior that whispered anonymity. It wasn’t a home. It was a bunker. A place meant for survival, not living.
The heavy steel door groaned open, swallowing us inside. Luka lingered just long enough to check the locks, to ensure the perimeter was secure. Then, with a nod to Danil, he was gone. The door shut behind him with athumpthat echoed like finality.
And then it was just us. Danil by the window, Shadows carving his face into hard edges. Me by the bed, unpacking thesmall bag I had thrown together in panic. This was our first moment of true solitude since everything had shifted. Since last night’s confession, since blood and bullets had rewritten the course of my life.
I pulled out the folded clothes, stacking them neatly, though my hands trembled. My phone. A sweater. And then—something slipped. A small, gilded piece of paper, light as a feather yet heavy as a stone, fluttered on the floor.
I froze. I knew the handwriting before I even opened it. Irene’s neat, elegant scrawl. My chest tightened as I unfolded the paper, each word striking like a knife.
Don’t eat or drink anything here. Don’t trust him. He wants control, not safety. He is just a man. And a dangerous one at that. Don’t let him win.
The air in my lungs turned sharp, slicing on the way in. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the safe house. A thousand thoughts tangled in my head. Irene—who had whispered secrets into my ear like a lifeline in the dark. Danil—who had bared his wounds to me, who had taken a bullet for me, who had kissed me like he was carving my name into his soul.
What was I supposed to believe? The note shook in my hand. I looked up. Danil stood by the window, framed by pale moonlight, unaware of the storm that now raged inside me. He hadn’t seen the note. He didn’t know my faith was crumbling.
But I needed to know.
“Danil,” I said, my voice uneven, betraying me.
He turned, and at once, the ice in his softened. “What is it, Katria?”
I lifted the note. The paper felt like a lit match in my hand, dangerous, ready to ignite everything. “What does this mean?”
His brow furrowed as he crossed the room. He plucked the note from my trembling fingers, unfolded it, and read. Thewarmth drained from his face. His jaw clamped down, and his shoulders tensed. A harsh, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
“This is Irene’s handwriting,” he said flatly. His eyes met mine, burning with frustration. “Where did you get this?”
“It was hidden in my clothes,” I said. My voice cracked, but I didn’t soften. “Before we left. She wrote this for me. She said not to trust you. She said you want control, not safety. What does it mean, Danil? Was she right?”
His hand tightened, crumpling the paper into a ball. He dropped it carelessly to the floor, his eyes hard as steel.
“It means Irene has lost her mind,” he said coldly. “She sees ghosts where there are none. She doesn’t understand what she’s talking about.”
“She doesn’t understand?” My voice rose, anger spilling where fear had lived. “She said you were dangerous. That I shouldn’t eat or drink anything from you. She wanted me to be cautious. To protect myself from you.”
He snapped closer, his eyes locking mine, intensity pinning me in place. “Protect yourself? Fromme?” His voice cut like a blade. “Did she tell you how I bled for you? Did she tell you I stood between you and death? She knows nothing of our world, Katrina. She doesn’t see the truth—that I would burn this entire world to the ground before I let anyone harm you.”
His words shook me more than the note had. Not because they were gentle—they weren’t. They were raw, brutal, unfiltered. And real. Irene’s words were shadows on paper. Danil’s words were fire, searing, undeniable.
My voice came small, trembling. “So she’s lying?”
His gaze softened, though the edge of danger never left it. He lifted a hand, cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness. “She doesn’t know how to tell the truth. Not about me. About what I’ve done, or what I will do. Katria….” His thumb brushedmy skin, anchoring me. “Do you believe her? Or do you believe me?”
I looked down at the crumpled paper on the floor. Then up at the man who had laid himself bare, who had been both my fear and my salvation. Words could be forged, twisted, and poisoned. But action—hisactions—had already saved me.
“I believe you,” I whispered, the words pulled from the very core of me.
And with that, every wall I had left shattered.
