Page 4 of Dark Bratva Christmas
Catarina
Two Weeks Later
“I need to speak with my father,” I demand for the hundredth time, spinning around to face the maid, who stands in the threshold of my fucking prison cell of a bedroom.
In afreakingSanta hat.
Her dark eyes widen. “Miss Petrov,” she begins, her breakfast tray trembling in her hands. “I told you, your father wants you to remain in the protection of the Volkov—”
“Why?!”My voice grows shrill as I throw a hand into the air, my black satin robe slipping down around my elbow. “I believe my father’s enforcers aremorethan capable of keeping me safe. My husbanddied,and instead of getting to grieve like a widowshould, I was shoved into a fucking SUV and brought here. You might as well have killed me, too!”
The maid winces with every crack in my voice. “Again… I don’t have the answers… I’m sure they will meet with you when there’s a breakthrough…”
I shake my head, knowing that I’m scaring the poor innocent woman—especially as I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror. I look like a ghost, with pale skin, racoon eyes from smeared mascara, and messy hair that I haven’t brushed in days.
Papa would be ashamed of me.
And probably commit me to an insane asylum.
My eyes drift to the window as the maid sets down my breakfast on the small end table, and I gaze over the backyard of the estate as she mutters in Italian—a language I’m not well-versed in. This place is beautiful, with perfectly trimmed hedges and a fountain in which the water is frozen in the winter cold.
In the distance, I see an adjacent estate decorated for Christmas. Bright white and rainbow lights reflect on the surface of the water, and if I close my eyes and listen, I swear I can hear “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” playing somewhere.
I should be celebrating my first Christmas with Mikhail.
I rip my attention from the window and shiver against the cold, hating the way I feel like I’m drowning in never-ending grief. Myfuture was taken from me in a matter of seconds, the love of my life was killed—and for what reason?
I guess thatisthe question. And more than likely, the reason I’m stuck here. I’m no stranger to this world. I was raised in it.
The bedroom door clicks closed, and I breathe out a heavy sigh, already knowing it’s locked. And as angry as I am…
There’s nothing I can do.
“Because jumping from a third story window is a death wish,” I mutter under my breath as I pick up a grape from the fruit tray and pop it into my mouth. I plop down onto the bed and force myself to swallow.
I haven’t eaten much in the last fourteen days.
I should be coming back from my honeymoon. I should be wearing the sexy red Christmas lingerie. I should’ve finally lost my virginity.
But nope. Instead, I lost the one man who was going to get me out from under my father’s thumb. And it wasn’tjustbusiness like some. It was real.
I loved him.
“Loved,” I whisper, feeling the tears well up in my eyes.Loved.Past tense.
Mikhail and I meeting and falling in love was too good to be true—and I can’t stop spinning that fact in my head. He’s a Volkov, a sworn enemy, someone I’ve been told to watch out for all my life. Even thinking about how we met now seems as impossible as us making it out unscathed.
He was following me for surveillance, and I caught on pretty quickly as Mikhail wasn’t subtle about it. I led him to a diner, and when he was waiting in his car, I knocked on the window and asked him to have coffee with me.
To this day, I can’t explain why I did it. Maybe I thought it would be funny, rebellious even. But when he sat down across from me and we had our first real conversation, I just knew he was different.
And, indeed, he was. So much so, he’s fucking dead now.
That’s what happens to weak men.I hear my late grandfather’s voice in my head.
“Fuck,” I murmur, glancing down at my now-chipped nails. Guilt squeezes my chest in a way that almost leaves me breathless.
Maybe it’s all my fault.
