Page 72 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
I didn’t even remember exactly what started it. Something stupid. Something about a boy, or maybe a comment in passing that landed wrong.
I just remembered the way Katya’s face twisted with disbelief in the middle of third-period math, and how she muttered under her breath as she slammed her notebook shut.
By lunchtime, we weren’t talking. Which, for us, was unheard of. We were never not talking. Even when our mouths weren’t moving, we had whole conversations through a glance or an eye roll. But that day? Silence. Awkward, fidgety silence that annoyed me.
I spent the rest of the day feeling like I had a sock on inside out.
It was just…wrong. Off. I missed her. It was the kind of ache that curled up under my ribs and sulked there.
When the final bell rang, I shuffled to my locker, my heart low in my shoes.
The hallway buzzed with the usual post-school chaos: zippers, squeaking sneakers, and people shouting across the lockers. And then, like a miracle dressed in messy buns and hoodie strings, she was there, leaning against my locker, arms folded, biting her lip to keep from smiling.
Her eyes caught mine, and for a second, we just stood there.
“I’m still mad,” I said, voice small but trying to sound tough. Spoiler: I didn’t.
She huffed. “Yeah, well…I’m still right.”
I tried not to smile. Tried so hard. But then she stepped forward and opened her arms, wide and exaggerated like some cheesy cartoon character.
“Come on, Lena. Don’t make me beg in front of the band kids.”
I rolled my eyes, but my feet were already moving. “You’re so dramatic.”
She grinned. “You love it.”
And I did. Because Katya wasn’t just my best friend; she was the one who knew when I needed candy in my locker or when to pull me into dance breaks in the middle of bad days. We’d had our share of blowups—messy, fiery, teenage heart stuff—but this? This was nothing we couldn’t shake off.
“You know why I love us, Lena? It’s because our friendship is strong enough to survive anything.”
“Ditto.”
She pulled me into a tight hug, the kind that felt like coming home.
“Friends?” she whispered into my hair.
I whispered back, smiling into her shoulder. “Friends.”
Chapter 23 – Damien
The night before I left L.A., the sky bled into the city like an open wound—red, angry streaks across the horizon, like it knew what I was about to do.
I stood alone on the balcony, staring out at the estate, a half-glass of bourbon in my hand and a full war brewing in my chest.
ThePahkan’svoice still echoed in my ears. “You’re needed in Moscow. Factions are splintering. I want you there in Russia to head it all.”
I said nothing at first. Just listened to the burn of my cigar and the silence that followed.
“We’ve made arrangements for Katya,” he added after a pause. “She will join you when things are much calmer.”
That’s when I spoke.
“Nyet,Pahkan.”
“No?”
“It’s a tough decision, but no. I want her to live a normal life, away from…this person that I am and the life I lead. I want her to be happy.”
