For a moment, I half expected her to brush me off or snap something back at me. Instead, she takes a breath and follows along beside me.
“My father had me trained,” she murmurs, sliding her hands into her back pockets while she takes measured steps. “Not because I wanted to be, but because he believes anyonewith our name should be able to defend themselves. Especially me.”
It makes sense, given her place in the family.
“Because of who you are.”
“Because of who he was,” she corrects lightly, getting lost in thought for a moment. “He wanted a daughter for all the reasons a pakhan does…but he didn’t want me to be soft like one. He wanted me to be more like Yuri, even if he never said it outright. So I learned how to shoot, how to fight, and how to fall in line when I needed to. I hated it, but I became good at it.”
Nodding slowly, I process her every word.
Regardless of her family name, Kat doesn’t bring up her father often. She has never really spoken about him with affection or disdain, but now, there’s something else in her voice. Certainly resentment, but also something more complicated, like it shaped her in ways she doesn’t even want to acknowledge.
“I get it,” I say, offering her something in return.
Kat tilts her head to look up at me. “Do you?”
I nod. “My father didn’t become a pakhan until later in life, but he always had that strong personality and drive since before I could remember. As hard as Roman tried to keep the rest of us out of it as kids, we still saw bits and pieces before we knew what it all meant. Moving to America after Mom died, seeing all kinds of men coming and going from the house late at night, and suddenly leaving poverty behind…it was a big shift, but we all got used to it, and these things became our normal.”
“Did your dad train you?” She asks, sounding genuinely curious to learn more about me.
I shake my head. “No, that was all Roman. He was young when he took the reins, and he wants something similar for us.He said that if we were to join him in the family business, then we needed to become soldiers and to understand how to switch between being siblings and being associates. When I was just a teenager, Roman broke my arm in a sparring match and told me I had to know pain and learn how to overcome it. Mikhail taught me how to shoot before I could drive.”
“Jesus,” Kat murmurs, sounding vaguely surprised yet not entirely disconnected from that way of living.
Letting go of a breath, I lead us back towards the main door, seeing how dark the city is around us now. “We didn’t grow up normally, but in a way, it had to happen. If not, we wouldn’t be where we are now, and we likely wouldn’t even still be alive at this point.”
She looks at me with something quiet and contemplative in her gaze. For the first time, I think she sees me. Not just as the man who took her and coerced her into marriage, and not the man with impulse issues, but someone who grew up not so differently from her. Someone who intimately knows what it’s like to bear the weight of those expectations.
“You’re not the only one who didn’t ask for this life,” I add, feeling that familiar flicker of frustration in my chest at the thought. “Regardless of the benefits.”
Even if she can’t deny the fact, she doesn’t seem entirely convinced either. “It doesn’t make it easier.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it helps to know someone else gets it.”
Kat allows that silence to hang on for a few beats while she silently thinks it over, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
Instead, we stand in the open doorway, feeling as a light breeze drifts in around us. Then, she meets my gaze and looksa little more centered than she had previously. If anything, she seems more receptive than she had been.
“Thanks for taking me out,” she says, almost like it takes some effort to get the words out.
I smile slightly at that and nod. “I figured you were going stir-crazy in the house. Besides, we both needed it.”
“I was. I still am,” she admits. “In fact, I was going to tear into you when you got home, but this has been a better outcome.”
A small chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. “Then on that note, let’s keep going.”
She seems vaguely surprised by the suggestion, then she gives me a pointed look. “Is this your attempt at date night?”
“Date night, bonding, blowing off steam…whatever you want to call it,” I return with a grin while I close up the warehouse behind us and head over to the Panigale, handing her the spare helmet. “Just as long as you get back on the bike.”
A flicker of amusement crosses her features, and Kat doesn’t argue. Instead, she manages a small smile of her own while she accepts the helmet and puts it back on.
Before long, she’s sitting behind me while darkness has fully cloaked Vegas, allowing for the bright lights and signs to light the way. The evening air is warm, but Kat’s arms around my waist are warmer.
Her grip isn’t hesitant anymore. Instead, it’s firm, secure, and it has me feeling better despite everything else going to shit.
The city blurs by us while the neon flashes and the streets hum with constant energy from tourists and locals alike. While I weave in and out of traffic, Kat presses closer, and I’m keenly aware of every point of contact between us. Her fingers lightlycurl into the shirt beneath my jacket, and it’s maddening in the best way.
