Page 41 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

Up until two minutes ago, I'd been drowning in that fear. But now, I had something else on my mind.

"Bratva or not, Pakhan or not, you're still you."

Yeah, the Matvey in front of me—sure, he could be a bastard sometimes, but he was no heartless killer. Well, not to regular people anyway.

"Your mother succeeded. You didn't become the man she feared you'd be."

"Maybe. I don't know." He turned away. "Once you walk this path, it's kill or be killed. I stopped knowing who I am a long time ago."

"Matvey, what are you so afraid of?" My palm found his face, traced his hard features. "You protected me just now, didn't you?"

I felt him freeze for a second. Then he looked up at me. I'd never seen that expression on his face before. Surprised. Stunned. Even a little lost. Nothing like his usual composure.

"So this scar on your forehead—was that from training too?" My fingers traced the mark.

It looked like a knife wound—thin and long. Even healed, I could imagine the flesh splitting open. That must have hurt like hell.

My heart felt like someone was sticking needles in it.

"Riley, aren't you scared of me?" He didn't answer my question. "Normal people don't want anything to do with bratva."

Bratva? I'd almost forgotten if he hadn't mentioned it.

"Why would I be scared? Should I be scared of you, or should I be scared of bratva?" I shot back, my hand leaving the scar.

Honestly, they seemed different from the bratva I'd imagined. Even Anton—he looked like a thug, but he seemed like a decent guy.

"Both. Every single one is something you should fear."

"I'm not as fragile as you think." I shook my head. "My father died when I was little. My mother followed him soon after."

"You know what? My mother died from a drug overdose." My throat tightened. "She just lay there on the couch, stopped breathing."

His hand found mine.

"But I never wallowed in self-pity. Never thought it was my fault she died because I didn't do enough." I kept going. "Because what you can do is limited. You're just a person. There's so much you can't choose. That's not yours to decide."

"So, Matvey, don't say things that make me sad." I hooked my finger around his. "Who you are doesn't matter. What matters is who you want to be."

"My sister and I came here with nothing. But now, I have a job I love, and... someone I love."

I stopped, met his eyes.

"Riley, I have to admit, you're special." He brought my hand to his temple. "This scar—I got it during training. My opponent slashed me with a knife. Everyone wanted to beat me because my father offered them money if they did."

"Matvey..." My voice broke.

Before I realized it, I'd sat up and pressed my lips to that scar. Matvey pulled me into his arms.

"Thank you, Riley." He buried his face in my neck, voice rough.

Clearly, he wasn't good at handling moments like this.

We stayed like that. People passing by smiled knowingly at us.

We rarely had moments like this—pure embrace, pure emotional connection. We only pulled apart when the evening breeze made me sneeze.

The next morning, I went straight to the top floor like Matvey asked—to his office.