Page 5 of Dark Bratva Christmas
I bat the tears from my eyes, and try to steady myself. There hasn't been a moment since his death that I've felt at peace. Especially not here. Especially not since I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. I was dragged away tosafety.
But I’d have thrown away all my safety to just kiss his face once more.
Two knocks on the bedroom door pull me out of my own head momentarily, but I don't say anything. There’s no point. They choose who comes in and out, and more than likely, it’s just the terrorized maid coming back for the breakfast I’m not going to eat.
However, as the door swings in, I’m met with the devil himself.
Matysh Volkov.
“Catarina,” he grunts, filling the doorway in an impenetrably intimidating sort of way. He’s got at least three inches on his younger brother, and his eyes are at least three times more dead, too.
“I already made it clear that I would like to speak with my father,” I say, keeping my voice even and quickly swallowing the lump in my throat. If there’s one thing I’ve learned growing up in this world, it’s that showing weakness isneveran option.
“You haven’t made shit clear to me.” He steps further into the room, looming over me in a way that causes my heart to skip a beat. “If it weren’t for my brother’s dying wish, I’d have left you there to burn to the ashes with the rest.”
I scoff. “That might have been much kinder than playing prison warden.”
He meets my gaze, his jaw ticking twice—but that’s the only sense of emotion there. “Yourfatherwould beg to differ. He’d like his precious daughter to be safe.”
“He’d like to control me like the rest of his affairs,” I blurt out a truth that I probably shouldn’t. But it’s no secret. My father loves his family, but he loves his addiction to power more.
That’s the only reason he approved of my marriage to Mikhail.
He ignores my comment, and reallymefor that matter. He leans against the doorframe, and seems to glarethroughme, rather thanatme.
“Do you know of anyone who would object to your wedding?” Matysh asks, his voice clipped and brusque.
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time someone has asked me this question. I was given two days to mourn in silence, and then I was sporadically asked by his men over the course of the last ten or so days.
And my consistent answer is never enough, but I repeat it anyway.
I stare at my hands, fighting to hold back the weight of guilt. “I don’t know. Probably a lot of people would’ve objected to it.”
“Look at me when I'm speaking to you,” Matysh commands, moving closer and forcibly turning my face to stare up at him.His fingers are strong, harsh, and dig into the soft flesh of my face so much that it aches.
And yet, my thighs clench unwantedly.
Fucking disgusting, Cat. This man is a monster.
But I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been a princess locked in a tower your whole life. The moment a man touches you, you react.
“I need names,” he clamps down tighter, and a whimper slips from my lips, betraying me.
Something flickers in Matysh’s dark irises, and it only takes a moment to recognize the sadism there.
He hates me.He is everything Mikhail was not.
Both may have shared the same olive skin, tall build, and broad shoulders, but Matysh is undeniably harder than Mikhail had been, his face cold, as if he had never smiled in his entire life. Lines around his eyes and mouth, etched from frowning and concentrating, speak of a burden similar to my own father’s, hinting at the unforgiving weight of being a Pakhan.
And like the reputation that precedes him,he looks like the devil.
“Aside from you, I don't know anynamesof those who’d object,” I spit at him, challenging the monster in his eyes. He might be the devil, but I’m not scared of him.
If you have nothing to lose, there’s nothing to fear.
He releases my face, and then runs his fingers through his short black hair, tousling some slicked back strands. He has a few gray specks around the corners. Mikhail was nearly ten years younger, and it shows.
“You think I would kill my own brother?” Matysh asks, his voice low and gruff as he leans away from me, though his gaze is still trained on my face.
