Page 48 of Bratva Bride
“Maybe it should,” I say, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
The back room at Viktor’s club is quiet except for the muted rattle of chips and the shuffle of cards. Smoke curls fromsomeone’s cigar, blending with the soft lamplight and the faint thump of music from the floor below.
I sit across from Viktor at the green-felt table, cards fanned in my hand, face unreadable. Three other men play along with us—Viktor’s people, he says, the kind who know when to look away and when to pay attention.
He deals, eyes fixed on his own hand. For a few hands, we talk about nothing—a shipment in Odessa, a crooked customs agent. I fold, toss a few chips in, and watch him.
After Viktor wins a small pot, he leans back in his chair, his voice dropping lower. “You can trust everyone at this table,” he says, glancing at the others. “No one leaks from here.”
I nod.
He pushes the deck across the felt. “You ever play for blood, Konstantin?”
I raise a brow, not bothering with a smile. “I’ve played for worse.”
He grins, flashing gold. The others keep their faces blank, chips clicking quietly as bets are placed. Viktor lets the silence stretch as he looks at his cards, then at me.
“I have news,” he says, voice pitched low enough for the table alone. “Verified. Grigori’s in town.”
I don’t react, not outwardly. Inside, my pulse snaps to attention.
“And?” I ask, eyes on my own hand.
He leans in, lowering his voice another notch. “That’s not all. Alexei is here as well.”
That pulls me up straighter. I set my cards down, ignoring the small pile of chips I’ve been building. “You’re sure?”
Viktor’s mouth hardens. “I am. I’ve got men at the airport, at the hotels, at every gate worth watching. Alexei’s using a new name, but it’s him. No doubt.”
The other men keep playing as if nothing matters beyond the next hand. But Viktor’s eyes are on me, watching for my reaction.
“Why?” I say quietly. “Why the fuck would he risk coming back here?”
Viktor’s lips press together, a rare sign of unease. “Because someone took his mother.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the smoke. I can see the calculations behind Viktor’s eyes. He’s deciding if I was behind it.
“Just so you know, I had nothing to do with it.”
He shrugs. “I believe you.”
“Who knows?” I ask.
“Just the people in this room,” Viktor says. “And whoever took Ludmila. Alexei is tearing the city apart trying to find her.”
“I’ll find her before he does,” I say.
Viktor’s lip curls. “Have you considered the idea?—”
“Stop,” I roar. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Fine,” he says. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. That’s why I vowed I would never have kids of my own.”
I sit there frowning, thumb worrying the edge of a poker chip as Viktor collects the pot. I barely register the cards in my hand. Ludmila, vanished. Alexei back in town, storming through the city, leaving nothing but questions in his wake. The club’s easy noise fades behind the pounding in my head.
Who would take her, if not us? Who else in this world would risk provoking Alexei like that? The list isn’t long, but every name on it has blood in their ledger. Rivals from Moscow, old allies turned sour, the kind of men who would burn down half the city for a shot at leverage. But none of them are reckless enough to make it this personal. Not unless they’re desperate.
I play the next hand on autopilot, folding before Viktor can even glance at my face. My mind circles the same questions: Who else has reason to hate Alexei enough to target his mother? Who could get that close? Who would know exactly what she means to him, after everything?
