Page 44 of Bratva Bride
But I don’t stay in the room. The moment I’m sure she’s out, I slip out, grab my phone from the study, and start calling.
I call Nadya again.
And again.
Nothing.
Just the hollow buzz of a line ringing into silence, followed by the mechanical voice telling me to try again later.
I check my messages. Nothing. Not even a breadcrumb trail. She didn’t say where she was going, didn’t say when she’d be back.
My grip tightens around the phone until I feel the edges dig into my palm.
“Goddammit, Nadya,” I mutter under my breath and dial Maksim.
He answers on the second ring. “Yeah, boss?”
“I need you here. Now.”
“You okay?”
“It’s Nadya. She’s missing.”
That’s all it takes.
Less than ten minutes later, he comes rushing into the apartment, still tucking a gun into the back of his waistband. “When did you last see her?”
“Earlier today. She never said anything about going out. Mila found me a little after midnight asking where her mother was.” My voice feels like gravel in my throat. “She’s not answering her phone.”
Maksim doesn’t waste time. “I’ll pull the car around. Let’s sweep the routes first?—”
We’re in the elevator within moments, descending in tense silence, my pulse thudding behind my eyes.
The doors slide open to the lobby.
And that’s when I see her.
Stumbling in through the glass doors, framed by the streetlight glow outside. She’s limping slightly, hair a little tangled, a faint trail of blood dried near her temple beneath a makeshift bandage. There’s a tear at the hem of her blouse, her jacket slung loosely over one shoulder.
My heart kicks in my chest. “Nadya?—”
And then I see who’s holding her arm.
Pyotr.
Her father.
My entire body stills.
She looks up just as I move toward her, blinking like the light hurts. Her eyes soften when she sees me, but they’re also clouded with something I can’t quite place—guilt? Fatigue? Pain?
“I’m fine,” she says before I can ask, her voice raspy. “It’s okay.”
“The hell it is,” I breathe, closing the distance. “Where the fuck have you been?”
She sags a little, and I catch her before she falls, my hands gripping her waist. She winces slightly, and I immediately ease off the pressure, pulling her closer as I scan the damage. Small bruises, scrapes, but the bandage at her temple tells me this was more than just a fall.
Pyotr steps forward. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
