Page 64 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

I stand abruptly. My chair screeches backwards. All the secondary conversations around the table hush and every eye, gaze, and backward glance is aimed at me in confusion.

I’m disrespecting Leonid by interrupting him like this. But if he doesn’t like that, he’s going to be even more furious about what I say next.

“I can’t marry you,” I say to Katerina. I look up at her father, who’s glaring at me in confusion. “I can’t marry your daughter, Leonid.”

The silence erupts into a cacophony of shouting, finger pointing, and two women—neither of which are Katerina—burst into tears.

The thing is, I don’t give a fuck about any of it. I want to see Corrie. I have to make the wrongs right this time.

The curses from the assembled Bratva men are growing in intensity the way only Russians can convey.

“Slovach’!

“Mudak!”

“Schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad!”

Jerk. Shithead. I’m going to kill you, bitch, motherfucker!

I’ll explain later, take the heat for my decision, but right now, I need to get to Corrie. Leaving the table shouldn’t be an ordeal, but an old woman is blocking my path and to get past, I’m either going to have to physically move her or I’m going to have to figure out how to go through her. Because she isn’t moving.

I take her by the shoulders and nudge her to the side. Gently. Ashamed I’ve put my hands on her at all, but desperate enough to do it again if I need to.

Finally, I make it outside the building to the sidewalk, with my cell pressed against my ear. I want Corinne to answer, but it won’t matter if she doesn’t. I’m going to find her and since she doesn’t have anywhere to go but to her parents’, I’ll go there.

Leonid and about ten other Kuznetsov men storm out of the restaurant after me. I’m not dumb enough to think they’re out here for any other reason than to kill me for my disrespect of Katerina.

Fortunately, the valet has gone to fetch my ride so I’ll only have to put up with this shit until he gets here.

“How dare you?” Leonid is in my face, close enough I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “You disrespect my daughter, my family, my country, my Bratva!”

“I am doing what I have to do, Leonid,” I say levelly. Where the fuck is that valet? I need Corinne. I need her like I need air.

“What you need to do, eh?” He crosses his arms. One of his nephews, a beefy, muscle-bound thug, comes to stand at his side. “What youneedto do is go inside and apologize to my daughter. Honor your deal.”

Another nephew flanks the first. There are two others now behind me.

I don’t have a choice.

So I strike first and I strike hard. I can’t wait for them to gain footing, to get the upper hand. The first cousin goes down and I aim for the second as the third grabs my swinging arm and the fourth grabs the other.

Shit. I jerk free of the smaller cousin and use my momentum to swing the man still holding me away. That moves me out of the path of one of the others.

But the bastard holding onto my arm is strong and determined, hanging onto me like I’m a life raft and he’s a drowning man. So I pull him close and dive my forehead into his nose. He lets go as my car pulls up and I run around and climb in as the valet moves out. I hate running like this, but neither do I want to be forced into killing these men. Besides, Corinne is far more important. So I put the pedal to the floor and screech away.

As I drive, I look down at my injured hand in my lap. It is cracked open from that first swing and bleeding onto my pants. I ruin far too many suits this way. And I lost my phone in the melee, so I can’t call Corinne. That also means my father can’t call me, because undoubtedly, he’s already heard by now that I’ve thrown away the alliance, the marriage, and my future.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to kill me as badly as Leonid does.

* * *

I race to Corinne’s parents’ house. It’s a one-hour drive if I do the speed limit. I make it there in thirty-eight minutes.

I hustle up the sidewalk. To my credit, I don’t bust through the door and sweep her against me. Or maybe that’s stupidity. Maybe I shouldn’t have given her the choice.

No. She’d fucking hate that.

I knock twice and wait for her to answer. She will, because as much as I need to see her to explain, she’s going to need to hurt me for my combined list of past and present slights. And I’m going to take it because I deserve it.

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