"𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥"

XXXII/Shadows in the Heart

Kirill's point of view:

The night was quiet, dark, but inside my mind, memories were erupting like gunfire, one after another. I'd spent years controlling my thoughts, emotions locked down like a vault, and yet tonight—tonight, something was different. The moment I saw her, everything I'd buried started to claw its way back to the surface.

The memories brought me back to being a boy, to a cold night in Russia. I could still feel the weight of a gun in my small hands, my fingers trembling as I looked down at the body at my feet. The blood that spread across the ground was dark, soaking into the earth. I was only seven, a child thrown into a world of violence, dragged there by my father himself.

My father's voice echoed in my mind, harsh, unwavering, a memory branded in steel: "Сегодня тот день, когда ты станешь не просто лидером. Ты станешь величайшим лидером. Без милости, Кирилл. Без эмоций. Ты будешь вселять страх. Твое имя будет наводить ужас. Ты будешь брать то, что хочешь, и делать все, что нужно, чтобы это получить."

"Today marks the day you will rise to be more than a leader. You will be the greatest leader. No mercy, Kirill. No emotions. You will be feared. Your name will bring terror. You will take what you want and do what you need to get it."

Since that day, I had trained to feel nothing. Emotions were weakness, empathy was a distraction, and desire was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I became what my father wanted: the youngest Pakhan in Bratva history, my name spoken with dread and respect. I became exactly what he demanded of me, ruthless, cold, untouchable.

But tonight, in that dining room, all those rules broke when I saw her—my mysterious girl.

I didn't expect it. I hadn't let myself expect anything like it. She was supposed to be a memory, something from the past, something lost. And yet here she was, real, more beautiful than I could have imagined. She had a quiet power, an elegance, and a softness that drew me in even though I'd tried my entire life to forget her.

Since the first moment I saw her, when we were just kids, she had haunted me, living in my mind in a way I couldn't explain. I'd spent years trying to force her image away, trying to forget the dark night I first saw her, the way she'd appeared like some impossible dream.

I'd been thirteen, thrown into captivity, kidnapped by the organization, trapped in that fortress. I remember everything—the cold stone walls, the hours of silence that stretched on like a kind of torture, the fear and confusion that pulsed through me.

And then... I'd seen her.

She hadn't seen me, or at least I'd thought she hadn't. But somehow, even from a distance, her presence had pulled me from the darkness, from the hopelessness that gripped me. She was the only light in that place, my mysterious girl, and since then, she had stayed with me, even though I'd never said a word to her.

Every night, I fell asleep with her image in my mind, and every morning, I woke up with her face the first thing I remembered. I'd imagined her in a thousand ways, tried to shake her from my thoughts, but she was there, a constant presence in my heart, my mind, my life.

She was the only thing I hadn't been able to conquer, to control, and that haunted me. I was supposed to be able to take what I wanted and to erase what I didn't need—but her... I could never erase her.

And now, after years of memories, I found myself sitting across from her, the girl I had spent years wanting but could never have. She was there, but it was like a dream, and I had to fight every impulse I had not to go to her, not to take her away from this room, this night, this moment.

My heart pounded in my chest like a threat, each beat a reminder that she was there. She was there.

And God, she was beautiful.

She was breathtaking, even more beautiful than I remembered. Her thick, dark curls fell over her shoulders, her brown eyes bright but guarded, like she was seeing through everything around her.

And those moles—I'd remembered each one, like they'd been etched into my memory, two near her left eye and one just below her lip. She looked delicate yet powerful, her gaze intense, almost like she could see through me.

But she didn't recognize me. She glanced at me once, maybe twice, but there was no recognition in her eyes. I didn't expect her to remember, not after all these years, but the fact that she looked at me as a stranger tore at me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

She didn't know the way she'd stayed with me, how every part of her image had been with me, day and night, haunting me, reminding me that even though I was supposed to feel nothing, she was still there, the one person I couldn't forget. My mysterious girl.

I forced myself to stay still, to keep the calm exterior I was known for. I couldn't let her see how much she affected me, how every nerve in my body was screaming at me to go to her, to pull her close, to finally have what I'd dreamed of since that dark night I'd first seen her. But I couldn't. Not yet.

And then, there were her brothers.

They looked like her, their faces carrying the same intensity, the same power, but I hadn't known they existed until tonight. I had only known her. And now, seeing them together, I could feel a tension in the air, something powerful between them, like they'd been through their own kind of hell, and they weren't about to let anyone break their bond. I could tell that if I wanted her, I'd have to deal with them too.

Then there was him.

The tall blond, sitting by her side, his gaze sharp and almost possessive as he watched her. He hadn't left her alone once, as if he'd appointed himself her protector, and every time I glanced at her, I could feel his eyes on me. His expression was guarded, hard. It was clear he had his own hold on her, and he was prepared to keep it.

But that didn't matter to me. If I wanted her, I would take her.

I was supposed to be holding a conversation with someone who knew the game we played, but it was like my mind had fractured. Every word spoken around me felt distant, meaningless, because my thoughts were locked on her.

I had spent my life learning to be the one in control, the one who never wavered, and yet here I was, unable to focus, drawn to her in a way that made me feel something dangerously close to weakness.

Every few moments, I let myself look at her again, and each time I did, I felt that same ache, that pull that had haunted me for so long. Her beauty wasn't the only thing that drew me in—it was the mystery she carried, the memory she represented, the way she had once saved me when I hadn't known if I could save myself.

My mysterious girl.

She had been with me since that night, and I knew that I would never be able to let her go, not now. She didn't remember, didn't know the power she held over me. But it didn't matter. My father had taught me that the world was meant to be conquered, that we were meant to take what we wanted. And I wanted her.

I didn't care about the obstacles, didn't care about the brotherly protectiveness of the men beside her, or the tension radiating from her friend. She was mine. She always had been. And nothing, no one, would keep her from me now.

My mysterious girl. My only weakness, and my only need.

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-M