Page 62 of Dark Bratva Christmas
I pull her into my arms. I hold her close, more thankful than I've ever been to be beside her.
She looks up at me with tear-filled eyes while I untie the ropes around her hands, telling me everything her father said.
“I had no idea he was doing this, I swear to you,” Catarina says, crying as she shakes her head. I see the guilt in her eyes, and I immediately grab her face, leaning in and kissing her.
Any anger I feel seems to vanish seeing her like this. She’s destroyed, heartbroken at the entire situation. I am, too. But right now, with Boris dead and no longer a problem, all I want is to comfort her.
And that’snotlike me. But there’s no one else like Catarina.
I press my forehead against hers. “I know you didn't.”
“I was so scared something happened to you,” Catarina cries again. I pull her closer and hug her, brushing her disheveled hair out of her face. “I felt so helpless. I didn’t know what was happening, or if you were okay. I’m so sorry.”
Catarina chokes out a sob, tears staining her face.
“Sorry for what?”
“For what he did to you... For what my ownfatherdid to Mikhail. I should’ve known it was him all along,” she says, her voice raw and hoarse.
“I don’t blame you for anything,” I whisper in her ear, finally pulling away so I can dry the tears from her eyes. “All that matters now is that you’re safe. Thatourbaby is safe.”
Catarina stares up at me, her eyes still watery, giving me a weary smile that seems to lighten the weight of everything in my chest. “I love you, Matysh,” she whispers, her eyes scanning my face.
I pause, the moment wrecking my chest. And finally, I can’t fucking deny it any longer.
“I love you, Catarina.” I bend down and kiss her again, feeling the full weight of the words in every movement.
I can’t fucking live without her.
Chapter nineteen
Catarina
I killed my father.
And I feel nothing about it.
There's a dull ache in my chest, and that's all I feel—but that’s from knowing thatmyblood is responsible for the death of Mikhail, most of Matysh’s men,andthe attempted murder of Matysh.
Matysh lets his friend, Nikolai, drive us home, and he sits by me, not letting go of my hand the entire time. There’s an air of silence around everyone as we make it back to the estate, and as the car pulls into the driveway, my stomach lurches.
People died here because of me.
“The house staff was untouched,” Matysh says, and I take a deep breath, turning to look at him.
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.” My voice is quiet as Nikolai, the arms dealer and his friend—and potentially a new member of his crew—opens the door for us.
“Merry Christmas,” Nikolai chuckles as the two of us climb out. “The estate is cleaned up, and we’ll take care of everything else.”
Matysh and he exchange some sort of look I don’t understand. “Remind Mauricio of my thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” They shake hands, and then Matysh turns back to me, catching my arm as I slide out.
“I’m fine.” I try to wave him off.
“You are the furthest thing from it,” his deep voice strains. “We need to get you inside.”
I don’t argue with him, and honestly, maybe he’s right. Though, as the adrenaline starts to wane and we step back into the house, I see my husband under better lighting.
And he doesn’t look so fine either.
