Page 66 of Bratva Bride
You married a monster, Nadya. And monsters make enemies.Konstantin’s voice echoes in my skull, his warnings, his certainty that this world will eat the weak alive. I told myself I could protect Mila, told myself I could do this alone. It was stupid for me to come here.
Now, as I run for the emergency exit, my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway, all I can hear is my own ragged breathing and the desperate hope that I’m not too late.
I burst through the emergency exit, the heavy door slamming behind me, the alarm never sounding—no one notices, no one comes. The daylight outside is too bright, slicing through my vision as I stumble onto the cracked concrete behind the school. My breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts. I can barely feel my own legs as I sprint across the small patch of grass, eyes wild, searching for any sign of Mila.
“Mila!” I shout, my voice cracking, raw with terror. “Mila, where are you?”
The yard is empty, the back gate swinging open, the parking lot beyond just a scatter of distant cars.
I keep running, heart in my throat, desperate. I check behind the trash bins, around the narrow walkways, beneath the low concrete steps. Every second she’s gone feels like an entire lifetime wasted, every terrible possibility snapping through my mind. What if she was taken? What if someone was waiting?
“Mila!” I scream again, tears hot and blinding now, panic pressing so hard I can barely breathe. I race toward the gate, scanning the street, cars blurring past, a world that refuses to stop for one terrified mother and her missing child.
She was just here. Just here. I promised her she’d be safe. I promised her nothing would ever take her from me.
My hands shake as I fumble for my phone, calling Rifat, my words tumbling over themselves, desperate. “She’s gone! I can’t find her, Rifat, she’s gone—someone took her—she’s not here?—”
The words shatter in my mouth as a hand like iron clamps down on my shoulder, spinning me around. The phone slips from my grip, clattering to the concrete. I gasp, instinct fighting with terror, but the man behind me is enormous, his grip bruising, his presence swallowing up all hope of escape.
“Come with me,” he says. His voice is deep, final, with no room for argument or plea. My mind scrambles for Mila—where, how, who took her?
“Where’s Mila?” I manage, struggling against his hold, but he only tightens his grip and shoves me forward, not caring about the bite of his fingers or the wild twist of my fear. My feet stumble over the curb, gravel scraping my palms as he marches me toward a waiting car, its engine purring, windows tinted black.
He wrenches the door open and pushes me inside. I collapse onto the seat, blinking through the adrenaline and tears—and see Mila, her face pale and scared, sitting frozen beside Viktor.
Viktor’s eyes meet mine, cool and unreadable. “I’m sorry we had to meet this way, Nadya,” he says quietly.
I pull Mila into my arms, scanning her quickly for injury, my heart lurching when I see the fresh bruises blossoming on her arm—small, finger-shaped marks that mirror my own.
“Where are you taking us?” My voice is hoarse, stripped of anything but defiance.
Viktor sighs, looking tired, older than I’ve ever seen him. “Back home,” he says, as if it’s nothing at all. “To your husband.”
I hold Mila close, feeling the tremor in her body echo through mine. The car pulls away from the curb, the city receding behind darkened glass, and all I can do is hold on, already bracing for the storm that waits for us on the other side.
It was so stupid of me to come here, I think, the words circling in my mind like a punishment I deserve. I should have known better. Every instinct told me to stay away, to disappear for good, but I convinced myself it was safe, that I could control the danger if I just stayed alert.
Now, pressed against Mila in the back seat, I can’t even bring myself to look at Viktor. I watch the city slide past the window instead, its familiar corners twisting into something unrecognizable, every turn taking me further from any hope of escape.
The car slows in front of a building I don’t know—a nondescript apartment, all anonymous brick and shuttered windows,nothing to anchor it in memory or meaning. The man who grabbed me opens the door and hauls me out with another rough grip on my arm. I almost stagger, catching myself as Mila clings to my side.
Inside, the hallway is dim, walls closing in. Maksim stands just inside the entrance, arms folded. He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, jaw clenched, the air between us thick with old disappointment and unspoken warnings.
And then Konstantin appears, blocking the light from a side doorway. My heart flips painfully at the sight of him—tall, familiar, his presence overwhelming the room in an instant. For one suspended moment, all the longing and history between us rise up, choking me, but then it sours when I see her.
Anya.
Of course she’s here. She’s not touching him, but she doesn’t have to. The way she’s woven herself into Konstantin’s life, it’s impossible to get rid of her.
The last time I saw her, she was in Konstantin’s arms at the club, a picture I’ve replayed too many times in my head, wondering what it meant, what kind of history threaded between them.
She stands beside him now, her presence as casual as it is unsettling, perfectly at ease in his orbit in a way I never was. She doesn’t look at me directly, just folds her arms, observing, her attention drifting between Konstantin, Viktor, and the rest of the room. She doesn’t have to say a word for me to feel the threat.
I clench my jaw and remind myself I have no reason to trust anyone here. Not even him. Not anymore.
But Mila pulls away, her fear dissolving into joy as she runs to Konstantin. “Papa!” she shouts, flinging herself into his arms. His face breaks open with relief and something almost gentle, something I wish I didn’t still recognize.
I stand there, forcing myself to stay calm, to watch everything, even Anya, especially Anya. I don’t know her personally, but I know enough. Her closeness to my husband burns more than it should.
