Page 3 of Bratva Bride
The meeting drags on a little longer—territories discussed, alliances whispered about, old feuds carefully set aside with the kind of restraint that never lasts. But nothing else is settled. There are no answers for the blood spilled or for Nikolai’s absence, just more uncertainty waiting to be unpacked behind closed doors.
When Konstantin stands, I follow him, ignoring the way the conversation dips as we pass. I keep my back straight, my expression unreadable, but every nerve is thrumming. I can feel the room watching us go, weighing what they saw, making plans.
At the door, the older man from the table intercepts us. Up close, he seems taller, his presence filling the entryway in a way that’s hard to ignore. His cologne is expensive, subtle, and he wears confidence like another layer of clothing.
He smiles, easy and practiced, extending his hand to Konstantin. “You must let me introduce myself properly. I’m Viktor Sokolov,” he says, rolling the name out like he expects it to mean something. “My apologies for the earlier…excitement. I’m sure you understand the importance of questions, even if the timing isn’t always ideal.”
Konstantin shakes his hand, guarded but civil, and I offer a polite nod, the kind that says I’m watching, not welcoming.Viktor’s eyes flick over me, assessing, not unkind but far from innocent.
“You should come see my place sometime,” Viktor continues, his tone smooth as velvet. “Not just a club—think of it as my grand casino. The best of Moscow, brought here. Cards, music, whatever you desire. A more…private setting for conversation, should you need it.”
There’s something in his voice that hints at more than cards or champagne. A promise or a challenge, I can’t tell which. He hands Konstantin a small, heavy business card, the kind you don’t throw away, embossed with nothing but a name and an address.
“Consider it a standing invitation,” Viktor says, voice low and pleasant, but I catch the edge underneath. “Anytime.”
Konstantin smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “We’ll keep it in mind.”
Viktor nods, holding my gaze just a second longer than necessary before slipping back toward the remaining guests, already blending in, already disappearing.
As we step into the cool night, I tuck the card into my clutch, the weight of it oddly reassuring and foreboding at once. Next to me, Konstantin’s jaw is tight, his expression unreadable, but I know he feels the same chill creeping down his spine.
The Bratva is never just business. And tonight, I know we’ve just been invited into a different kind of game—one that’s only beginning.
2
KONSTANTIN
The study is too quiet.
We left the old house behind days after the massacre. Now we live in an apartment high above the city, nothing like the place we called home. The rooms are wide and bare, the walls painted the same lifeless white as every rental in this part of town, and the only view is a grid of distant lights beyond the windows. There’s no clutter, nothing personal—a handful of clothes in the closet, a pair of Mila’s shoes near the door, the faint trace of Nadya’s perfume on the air after her showers.
We’ve kept it empty by choice, as if having less to lose might protect us from another kind of loss.
I spend my nights in what passes for a study, though it could just as easily be mistaken for a storeroom—a battered old desk, a mismatched chair, and a single photograph taped to the wall.
If I close my eyes, I can almost see Lev sitting opposite to me. His wry smile as he quietly observed me, his dry commentary on everyone’s stupidity, the relentless scrape of his chair—gone,leaving nothing but silence pressed up against the bookshelves and the dust that settles too fast in this half-lit room.
I stare at the photograph on my desk. Mila’s cheeks are smeared with cake, her grin wide and wild, arms around Nikolai, who’s only just stopped squirming long enough to look at the camera. The picture is slightly bent, the glass smudged with fingerprints I never bothered to clean. I pick it up, run my thumb along the edge, as if I can reach through it and pull him back.
We’ve checked everywhere. Every safe house, every trusted contact. Every warehouse, every car on every camera in a fifty-mile radius. We’ve shaken down informants and bribed men who owe me more than their lives. Still nothing. It’s like Nikolai slipped through a crack in the world and took the air with him. Every minute I spend looking feels like another admission of failure, and every minute I don’t feels worse.
I sit back, close my eyes, and let my head drop into my hands for a moment longer than I want. There’s a tightness in my chest that never goes away—not grief, not quite, just an ache that keeps mutating, growing heavier the more I ignore it.
The door creaks softly. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Nadya. Her footsteps are quiet, cautious, but she never hesitates. She stands on the threshold for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind her with a click that sounds much too final.
She moves to stand beside me, not saying anything right away. For a while, there’s only the sound of her breathing, slow and even, a counterpoint to the storm inside my own chest.
“Any news?” she asks, her voice gentle but edged with the same exhaustion I feel. The hope in her words is paper-thin, nearly gone.
I shake my head, setting the photo down carefully. “Nothing. No ransom. No sightings. It’s like he vanished.” I can hear the strain in my own voice, the guilt that makes everything else taste bitter.
She sinks into the chair across from me, arms wrapped around her torso like she’s holding herself together by sheer will. For a second, I want to reach for her, to find something to say that isn’t empty, but I can’t find anything that won’t make it worse.
“We’ll keep looking,” she says quietly, almost a whisper. “We don’t stop. That’s all we can do.”
I nod, forcing myself to meet her eyes. She looks older than she did weeks ago—lines I don’t remember, a tiredness I put there. I don’t know if she blames me, or if she’s just trying to survive.
“Lev would’ve known what to do,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “He would’ve found some clue I missed.”
