Page 46 of The Bratva King's Pregnant Bride

My hands clenched into fists, but I didn’t move. Fuck. I should have been more careful. Should have given orders not to let her near the study, or at least kept it locked securely.

“Dominik!”

I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on her. “I wasn’t planning to tell you until after you gave birth. I didn’t want to endanger your life and those of the twins with needless worry. You know how such news can affect one’s health.”

“I don’t care,” she spat. “What happened? How are you involved in this, because, so help me God—”

“Maya. Relax.”

Her mouth snapped shut, though the anger—and hurt, I realized—never left those beautiful green eyes.

“Whatever I told you would be merely speculation, but… I suppose I can show you.” I reached for a drawer, pulling it open, and found a disk labeled Stone.

It wasn’t just any recording. It was the CCTV recording of the moment Maya’s brother died.

I pushed a button on the side of my laptop, and the CD-ROM tray slid out. Setting the disk onto the tray, I pushed the same button, and the tray slid back into its slot.

I brought the video up, one I had watched multiple times, then turned the laptop to face Maya. Eying me curiously, she moved her focus to the screen.

Her finger was hovering over the touchpad, about to push play, when I stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her eyes searching my face.

“I have to warn you,” I began. “Forget how strong you think you are. This is your brother. As such, this won’t be easy to watch. I’m sure that, if he had a choice, he wouldn’t want you seeing this. This is footage of your brother’s murder.”

“I need to know what happened,” Maya said in a cold tone, laced with worry. “People have given so many different versions of the story… It’s hard to know what the truth is when it’s generalized or obscured with lies.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I need to know—you owe me that much, at least.”

I didn’t think I owed her anything… Well, perhaps I did. In any case, if I didn’t let her see the video, she’d be worried. If I let her see it, she’d be worried. There was no way to get around it, and right now, her face was lined with anxiety.

Not wanting her to see this alone, I moved to her side and hit play.

On the screen, Artem and two other Bratva men engaged with another group.

I glanced at Maya to see her peering the screen, focused intently, like she didn’t want to miss a thing.

As my eyes returned to the video, someone from the opposing group fired at Artem, who ducked behind a low wall. Dust and chips of cement sprayed out, putting a stop to the bullets.

I saw Maya’s eyes narrow as she recognized her kidnapper at his worst. He aimed at a few of my men and fired off a round of shots, his intent to kill.

Some Bratva men opened fire, and Mike, too, scurried behind a wall to hide.

Mike screamed something, his lips moving silently, but I knew what he’d said: “You’re a dead man!”

Artem’s mouth opened in a retort.

More bullets were exchanged, lodging in walls and breezing past men, but they all knew that death was hanging in the air, impartial, waiting for the unfortunate.

After several minutes, someone stepped out between Artem and Mike; Artem lowered his gun, but didn’t leave the barrier—the only guard between him and death.

Maya’s eyes widened when she recognized her twin: Michael Stone.

Maya’s brother raised both hands up in the air as Mike stepped out from behind cover. He pointed the gun at Michael, who spoke.

Mike replied, then frowned as Michael spoke again.

Michael lowered his hands and opened his mouth again, but Mike raised his gun and shot him in the head.

Maya whimpered.

Artem and his men resumed fire, and Mike ducked, darting back behind the wall.

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