Chapter 7
seven
DIMITRI
For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, neither of us moving. Then Beretta’s head lifted, his ears perking up as he registered my presence too, breaking the spell.
“Dimitri?” she called softly, questioningly.
“Guilty. I woke up, and you weren’t in bed. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I stepped fully into the room. “Mind if I join you?”
Without waiting for an answer, I moved across the plush cushions and lowered myself into the nest beside her. Beretta huffed a greeting, his docked tail wagging to the best of its ability before he settled back down, unwilling to relinquish his position in Kit’s lap.
Up close, the shadows beneath her eyes were more pronounced, broadcasting how tired she was. She quickly brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her free hand tugging the blanket around her shoulders tighter—little gestures of armor going back up.
She winced. “How long were you standing there?”
I reached out, letting my fingers trace the curve of her jaw. “Long enough.”
A flush of pink crept across her cheeks. She ducked her head, focusing on Beretta’s ears. “How much did you hear?”
I quirked a smile; deciding honesty was the only path forward. “Pretty much all of it.”
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping a fraction. “Great.”
“It is great, actually,” I challenged, shifting closer until our knees touched through the layers of blankets. “Because it means I don’t have to guess what’s going on in that head of yours anymore.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Nothing’s going on. I was just talking to Beretta.”
I studied her face in profile—the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she was deliberately avoiding my eyes. My Omega was a fighter, there was no question about that. But some battles weren’t meant to be fought alone.
“You’ve been taking care of everyone,” I dove in carefully. “Making sure Tommy takes his meds, changing Gio’s bandages, keeping track of Marco’s recovery. Handling all the cooking, the cleaning, tending to Beretta with his injury.”
She shrugged, the movement small. “Someone has to do it.”
“Yes, but not just you.” I placed my hand over hers where it rested on Beretta’s back. “Not always you, Kitten.”
Something flickered across her face—a hairline crack in the facade. “I don’t mind. Really, I—”
“I know you don’t mind,” I interrupted gently. “That’s the problem. You’d run yourself into the ground before admitting you need help.”
Her fingers twitched beneath mine. “You’re my pack. My family. I need to—”
“To be strong for them,” I finished. “I get it. Believe me. Better than you might think.”
She finally looked at me fully, those pretty ice-blue eyes searching my face. I let her look, let her see beneath my usual composed expression to the understanding I knew she’d find beneath it all.
“For years,” I continued, “I did the same thing. Carried everything on my shoulders because I thought that’s what it meant to be the head of this family. This pack. Every problem, every threat, every decision—mine to bear alone.”
Surprise played across her features as she listened.
“I didn’t want my brothers to worry. Didn’t want them to see how fucking terrified I was sometimes that I’d make the wrong call and lose everything.” I ran a hand through my hair, the admission still uncomfortable even now. “I thought being strong meant never showing weakness.”
“Isn’t it?” she whispered.
I shook my head, a sad smile touching my lips. “No. And do you know who taught me that?”
Her brow furrowed in question.
“You did,” I said simply. “From the first moment I saw you, refusing to break despite what happened to you. When you bravely accepted us as your pack and decided to stay. When you trusted us with your pain instead of hiding it. That wasn’t weakness, Kit. That was the bravest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away this time.
I leaned forward slightly, dropping my voice. “The thing is, I’ve learned there’s strength in being vulnerable. In letting others in. You taught me that, Kitten.”
Beretta shifted between us, sensing the intensity of the moment. Kit’s hand automatically resumed its gentle stroking of his fur, a self-soothing gesture as much as comfort for the dog.
“That’s what a pack is,” I continued. “It’s being there for each other, not just when things are good, but when things are falling apart. It’s okay to lean on us, to let us carry some of this weight. You’re our center. Our whole damn world. We’re here for you—desperate to take care of you, to be what you need, whenever you need it.”
Something changed in her expression then, a subtle softening around her mouth, that vulnerability I’d missed seeing in her eyes. Her shoulders dropped a fraction more, the rigid line of her spine easing just slightly.
“I...” she started, then stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. “I’m used to holding everything in when things get bad. I… I don’t want to add to your burden. Everyone has been hurt, and I almost lost you… all of you at once.” She sniffled.
I reached out, my hand finding her shoulder. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. You have us, Kit. And we’re not going anywhere.”
She looked away, staring absently out the window, doing everything in her power to blink back the tears she was trying not to shed. “I don’t know how to stop trying to hold it all together. I’m scared... of being weak. Of not being enough for you.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. How could she possibly think that? This woman who’d survived hell, who’d faced down her tormentors, who had more courage in her little finger than most of my guys—was afraid she wasn’t enough?
“Kitten…” I rasped out. “Look at me.”
Slowly, she turned my way.
“You could never be weak in my eyes. Never.” I cupped her face in my hands, making sure she couldn’t look away. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything we never dared hope for. Everything we never knew we needed until you entered our lives.”
A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb, wiping it away.
“But you don’t have to be perfect,” I continued. “You don’t have to be unbreakable. None of us are.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m just... I’m so tired, Dimitri.”
The admission seemed to cost her, but once the words were out, something released in her. Her body sagged, as if the wire holding her upright had finally snapped.
“I can’t sleep,” she confessed in a small voice. “Every time I close my eyes, I remember how scared I was while you were gone. I see Tommy covered in blood, or feel that gun in my hands. I hear the gunshots, smell the gunpowder. And I’m afraid if I fall asleep, when I wake up, one of you will be gone.”
I gathered her into my arms, careful not to disturb Beretta too much, and pulled her against my chest. She fit perfectly there, nestled against me, and I rested my chin on top of her head.
“I know,” I murmured into her hair. “I know exactly what that feels like, Kitten.”
She trembled, and I tightened my hold, one hand moving in slow circles on her back. I’d seen this before—the aftermath of violence, how it clung to a person like smoke, staining everything.
“The first time I took a life, I couldn’t sleep for months. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him lying there, lifeless.”
She turned her face into my chest, her fingers curling into my skin. “Does it ever go away?”
“Not entirely,” I admitted, knowing she deserved honesty rather than empty comfort. “But it gets easier to carry. Especially when you don’t carry it alone.”
For several heartbeats, we sat in silence while I traced patterns across her back. Then I felt it—the slight hitch in her breathing. Her shoulders began to shake, the first sob slipping out. Tears soaked into my shirt as she nestled closer, curling in on herself, letting me hold her through the wave of emotion she’d been holding back all this time.
“That’s it, Kitten. Let it out. I’ve got you,” I soothed, placing intermittent kisses into her hair as she cried.
My purr blazed to life, the gentle vibrations moving through us both. They helped calm her, and soon her sobs turned to sniffling hiccups.
“Good girl.”
The shudder that ran through her felt like a victory. Those two little words had always made her melt, and she relaxed into my body, emotionally spent.
Beretta whined softly, nudging Kit’s arm with his nose, trying to comfort her in his own way. His brown eyes looked up at me with what almost seemed like concern.
“See that?” I murmured against her hair. “Even Beretta’s worried about you.”
A small, watery laugh escaped her. “He’s just worried I’ll stop petting him.”
“Smart dog.” I scratched behind his ears.
Kit shifted on my lap, pulling back enough that she could meet my gaze. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Kitten. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re not alone. You’ve got me… My brothers. We’re right here. To stand guard when you need rest. To hold you when you need to cry. To watch over you the way you watch over us.”
She didn’t resist when I captured her chin, gently pulling her mouth to mine and sealing that promise with a kiss.
“It’s hard to let go,” she repeated, softer this time.
“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” I promised. “Just start small. Start now .”
Releasing a deep breath that seemed to take the rest of her tension with it, she nodded.
“Why don’t we start with going to bed again? Together this time?”
A genuine smile touched her lips—small and tentative, but real. And that vulnerability I’d asked for was back in her eyes, shining like stars in a sapphire sky.
“I’ll hold you all night,” I promised. “And I’ll chase away the bad dreams.”
“Okay,” she whispered, and in that single word, I heard more of those walls she’d built around herself crumble.
It wasn’t a complete surrender, not yet. But it was a new beginning, and for tonight, that was enough.