Chapter 51
Katerina
The entrance to the prison where I was tormented for most of my life stares back at me. Feelings of inferiority and weakness threaten to surface, but I push them down. This time when I step through the door, it’ll be with a strength I never possessed before.
This is where it all ends. It’s down to him and me. A fight to the death. Because despite what my husband and brother have planned, this doesn’t end until Viktor dies, or I go down trying.
Mustering a look of distraught, I gear up to play the part of heartbroken daughter. I’m back in one of those hideous dresses he always made me wear. It perfectly conceals my knife in its thigh holster.
Thoughts of never seeing Dominic again are enough to start the stream of tears. Mascara runs down my cheeks, the perfect addition to the look.
I take a deep breath, then knock on the door.
It swings open, and I’m standing face to face with Yelena. For a second, a look of concern crosses her features then she’s ushering me inside.
“Katya, get off the streets. Someone could see you in such a state, and then what would they think!” She pulls me through the threshold then slams the door behind me.
“I… I…” A sob bursts from me, followed by multiple hiccups. “Is… Отец… here? I… need… him!”
Doubt crosses Yelena’s features, so I ramp up my performance. I try to fall into her arms, and she pushes me away.
“Come, girl. Your father is in his office.” She steers me down the hallway as though I don’t know my way around the house I grew up in.
Instead of waiting for her to knock, I throw open the door and stumble inside.
“Yelena, you–” he pauses at the sight of me. “Katerina, what is wrong with you?” There’s no concern in his voice, only disgust. His Bratva Princess should never be seen in such a state of distress.
“I… He… Oh, Отец!” I throw myself into one of his chairs.
“Speak up, girl. What happened?” There’s a gleam in his eyes that reveals he knows exactly what happened. Of course he does. He orchestrated it.
“He accused me of disloyalty. He kicked me out. Onto the streets. I had nowhere to go.” I ramp up my tears, letting them fall freely.
“Katya, my daughter. Of course he threw you out. You were never anything to him. If only you listened to me.” He clicks his tongue, scolding me.
“Please, Отец. Please let me come home. I’ll do anything.
” Begging him feels like a betrayal to all the effort I’ve put into becoming the new, strong me.
The words feel like ash on my tongue, but I push them out anyway.
I remind myself this is all part of the plan to end him.
This is the only way. Playing into his pride.
But it kills me that some of my last words to him will be begging.
“Why should we welcome you with open arms? All you’ve done is betray your family.” He sneers at the reminder.
“I’ll tell you everything I know about the Syndicate. I’ll spill all their secrets.” I will do no such thing, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I doubt you know anything important.” His words say one thing, but the glint in his eyes say another. This is the best lead he has.
“But I do. He welcomed me into his office, into his Syndicate. I know a lot. And it’s all yours.” Words of a desperate girl fill the air.
His features are pensive, lost in thought. The wheels turn as he calculates what angle he can exploit this information.
“Very well. Clean yourself up, then come back here. We have work to do.”
“Thank you, Отец.” There’s fire in those words, and I hold my breath. Thankfully, he doesn’t catch it, already onto the next thing.
“Remember going forward who your family is.” It’s a threat wrapped in advice.
“I’m a Sokolov.” The words are acid in my throat. I’ll never be one of his again.
He hums in agreement, then averts his attention to his desk. He’s dismissing me, but I’m not done with this conversation.
“Can I have a hug?” He jerks his head up, a look of bewilderment across his features. We haven’t hugged since I was a child. “I could use some comforting.” Tears well in my eyes, and I let one slip.
“I suppose so. You’ve had a rough day.” He awkwardly pushes from his desk but remains seated.
Standing on wobbly legs, I make my way to him. Slowly, I wrap my arms around his neck. The smell of smoke wafting off him chokes me, but I hold it in.
He’s stiff but tentatively pats my back. After far too long, I pull back and look down at him. This is the moment. Nothing else matters now.
“Tell me something, do you ever think of Мама?” Hardness and hatred spill into my voice. I could never speak of Мама to him with saccharinity. It’d be a betrayal.
“What?” Caught off guard, his gaze jerks up at me.
“Do you ever think of her? After all these years, I’ve never seen you with another woman. Is it because you miss her?” His answer doesn’t matter. But for some reason, I need to know if he still loves her. If he regrets her. It won’t change his fate, but maybe it’ll answer some of my questions.
“Your mother taught me that all women are a waste. They take and take but never give. If I have needs to be met, I know where to go. You’re just a continuation of that useless woman.
The one thing you could do for us, you failed at.
And here you are, begging for more.” His words are vitriol, but little does he know, the poison will be his.
I nod slowly, as if I understand, but inside, I’m screaming. Rage consumes me. This fucker doesn’t even care that he drove his wife to her grave.
“I know her ending was brought by her own hand, but it was always you who controlled the knife.” I take a step behind his chair. “It was you who pushed her to that point.” I run my hands over his scalp. “I always blamed you.” I grab his hair and jerk his head back.
“Katerina, what–”
Moving quicker than ever before, I unsheathe my blade and hold it to the base of his neck. I push it in until blood beads for the contact.
“This is for Мама. I could handle all you did to me, but I swore to avenge her. This is me fulfilling that promise.” My voice is strong and confident.
“You don’t have it in you,” he says through a rough chuckle.
“You underestimate my hatred.”
“You’ll never make it out of here alive.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You foolish girl. You really think you can–”
His sentence is cut off by his gurgling. Blood dribbles from his mouth, dancing with the scarlet liquid pooling at the slit in his neck. The shock in his eyes gives way to the void.
The dripping blade falls from my fingers. The ting of it hitting the ground falls on deaf ears. All I can make out is the buzzing in my head.
Reaching out with shaky hands, I hesitantly run my fingers through the mess. Once I make contact with the sticky, warm liquid, reality comes crashing down.
I stagger back not stopping until I hit the wall. Slumping against it, I meet the floor. There’s only one thing echoing in my mind as I stare at my bloody digits.
It’s done. It’s over. After nearly two decades of battles, the war is over. We won. I’ve slain the devil, and now he’s home in hell.
Мама, I did it for you. You can rest in peace now.