Page 98 of Bratva Bride
She sighs, sharp and tired. “If they see you, or any of your men, they’ll know we’re onto them. The whole thing falls apart.”
I press my palm to my forehead. “You’re not going without backup. At least take Maksim. If you don’t, I swear to God, I won’t go to the council meeting tonight. I’ll follow you onto that ship and tear it apart myself.”
A long pause. I can almost see her weighing the risk, stubbornness warring with logic.
“Fine,” she finally says, reluctant. “Maksim can follow at a distance. But no one else. No heroics, Kon.”
Up ahead, the deck yawns open under the harsh spill of moonlight, all rusted steel and sharp shadows. I scan the space, searching, and then I see her. Nadya. Limping, clutching Nikolai tight, blood streaming down her leg, her jaw set with that stubborn will I know too well.
Relief crashes into me, so sharp it hurts. I open my mouth to call her name?—
Another gunshot cracks the air. I freeze. For a single, endless heartbeat, I’m sure she’s been hit. She staggers, almost goes down, but keeps moving. A dark figure charges from the shadows behind her, reaching out.
Nadya spins, teeth bared, and kicks hard with her good leg, catching the figure in the knee. The attacker grunts, stumbling back, arms flailing.
Out of the gloom, a large man barrels at her. I see his arm outstretched, fingers grabbing for Nikolai. Nadya twists, her movement all desperation and muscle memory. She knees the man with her good leg, driving him back, but he’s too strong. He drags her toward the railing, forcing Nikolai from her grasp.
“Leave him!” I roar, but my shout is buried in the metallic clang of boots behind me.
I fire, the shot taking the attacker in the thigh. He drops Nikolai, who scrambles for Nadya. Another shot sings by, and this time, it’s dangerously close—I spin to see another figure stepping out.
Her gun is leveled straight at my son.
“Everyone stop,” Anya commands. Her voice echoes over the wind and chaos. Even the wounded man goes still, blood slicking his hand as he stares at her in disbelief.
She’s focused, breathing hard, her pistol unwavering. “Step away from the boy, Nadya,” Anya snaps. “Or I shoot him and then you.”
Nadya gathers Nikolai behind her, holding her knife at her side, never taking her eyes off Anya. My pulse pounds in my throat. I edge left, lining up a shot, but Anya notices and points the gun at Nadya’s head.
“Don’t test me, Konstantin. I only need one of you alive to get what I want.”
Footsteps thunder above us—Rifat and Arman, finally, appearing on the upper deck. Rifat fires a warning shot that forces one of Anya’s backup to duck. Arman shouts, “Cover!” and I use the split second to surge forward.
Anya fires. The bullet grazes my side, white-hot pain flaring, but I reach her and knock her arm wide. Nadya lunges with her knife, slashing Anya’s gun hand. Anya screams, the weapon spinning across the deck.
The wounded man tries to drag Nadya back, but Nikolai, surprisingly brave, bites his wrist. Nadya elbows the man hard, sending him reeling into the railing.
Anya’s pistol hovers between Nadya and Nikolai, her gaze icy and bright in the stuttering ship lights. Every muscle in my body tenses, my own weapon steady but useless while my son is in her line of fire. I aim my gun at Anya, gritting my teeth, forcing my breathing to slow. “Why are you doing this, Anya? For Viktor?” My voice cracks over Nikolai’s small sobs.
Nadya coughs, blood staining her lips, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Anya. “Konstantin,” she wheezes, voice barely a whisper,“it’s not Viktor. He was never the mastermind. She is. She’s a Veles.”
My heart stutters. I glance at Nadya, see the raw certainty in her gaze. My thoughts race as I shift my stance, every muscle coiled.
Anya’s lips curl into a smile, cruel and oddly triumphant. She lowers the gun just a fraction, her eyes burning with something like pride.
“My name isn’t Anya,” she says, voice ringing out over the battered deck. “It never was. I am Yelena Veles. My family wore the serpent long before Viktor crawled into our ranks.”
My blood chills. Nadya meets my eyes—pain, fury, and a grim sense of vindication written across her face.
Anya—Yelena—turns her gaze on me again, a mocking edge to her smile. “I fought for you. I wanted you to win, Konstantin. Don’t you get it? Alexei was a thorn in your side, and I took him out for you. I gave you every chance to take this city. But you clung to your weakness. To your family. To her.” She spits the last word like a curse.
I keep my gun trained, barely breathing. “You killed Alexei?”
She shrugs, a strange sorrow flickering in her eyes. “I did what had to be done. The future of this city was never meant for old men and ghosts. I needed someone with vision, someone strong enough to rule. But you—” She shakes her head. “You disappointed me, Konstantin. You let your heart get in the way.”
Beside me, Nadya holds Nikolai tighter. I see the fight still burning in her, defiant and unbroken.
“We’re not your pawns,” I say. “Not now, not ever.”
