Page 53 of Bratva Bride
“Thank you,” I whisper, relief loosening the tightness in my chest for just a moment.
I hit the freeway with the sun already sinking low over the desert. The city’s sharp lines fade in the rearview mirror, the landscape stretching out into endless gold and dusky purple. My phone is silent. I don’t tell anyone where I’m going.
The dress feels tight at my waist, my pulse even tighter. I keep my eyes on the road, but every few minutes I check the mirror. There it is—a dark sedan, far enough back not to seem suspicious, but never quite dropping away. At first I try to tell myself it’s just another car, another nervous driver. But as the miles tick by and the road empties, the sedan lingers.
It gets darker, the sky turning indigo, the casino’s neon glow barely visible on the horizon. I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. I consider turning around, calling Dima, even just pulling over, but I keep going, refusing to let fear win.
Just before I turn onto the winding drive that leads to Viktor’s casino, the sedan falls away. One blink, it’s in my mirror. The next, it’s gone. I slow, searching the shadows between sagebrush and moonlight, but the car has vanished.
A shiver crawls up my spine. Whoever they are, they’re not ready to follow me onto Viktor’s turf. They might be reckless, but they’re not stupid. Maybe even scared.
I park near the entrance, my heart pounding, the air thick with desert heat and adrenaline.The moment I step out of my car, the desert air feels electric, buzzing with anticipation and somethingdarker, older than luck. The casino rises out of the sand like some mirage, glass and gold and neon, sprawling wide beneath the stars. Towers gleam against the night, every window blazing with warm, expensive light. The front entrance is ringed by a half-circle of palm trees and luxury cars, valets in black and gold uniforms ushering guests forward like it’s nothing to be stepping into another world.
I square my shoulders, walk up the steps, and the doors swing open to swallow me whole. The air inside is cool, heavy with perfume and the faint scent of expensive cigars. It’s loud, a rich, pulsing noise, music and voices layered over the constant hum and chime of slot machines.
Every surface glitters—gold trim on the high ceilings, marble floors veined with something like copper, crystal chandeliers casting soft, amber halos over the card tables. There’s no obvious security, but I feel it, eyes on me from somewhere up high, hidden in the details.
I stand for a moment, letting it all wash over me. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is Viktor’s kingdom, and everyone here seems to know their place. Women in diamonds and tailored dresses glide past on the arms of men in silk suits. Dealers in tailored vests call out bets, raking chips across velvet with smooth, practiced hands. At the center, a vast bar curves beneath a mezzanine, bottles lined up like jewels.
My heart pounds as I move deeper inside, trying to look like I belong. I catch glimpses of private rooms, guarded doors, a back staircase that promises something less legal upstairs. I fix a faint smile on my lips and keep walking, heels tapping over marble, eyes scanning for Konstantin or anyone who might help—or hurt—me.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to just get lost here, to be someone who came for the thrill and not the answers.
But I’m not here for luck or for play. I’m here for my husband, and whatever truth this palace of gold and secrets is hiding tonight.
16
KONSTANTIN
We’redeep in the bowels of Viktor’s casino, behind two layers of locked doors and a velvet curtain that cuts out the music and laughter. The secret room is nothing like the floor above—no gold, no shine—just soundproofed walls, a battered wooden table, two chairs, and a half-empty decanter sweating on the glass.
There’s a map of Los Angeles spread across the table, dotted with colored pins, photos of Grigori clipped to one corner, phone records stacked beside a burner cell.
Viktor slides a fresh glass toward me and points to three intersections on the map. “We know Grigori’s last safe house was here, off Alameda,” he says, tapping the first pin. “His driver was seen at this gas station two nights ago. And the casino? He’s been sniffing around, looking for a way to get close to our side of the business.”
“You think he’s stupid enough to take the bait?”
“No, but he’s definitely curious about me,” Viktor says. “The fewer people who know about you and me, the better. It would allow Grigori to think that I’m a potential ally.”
I rub my chin thoughtfully. I tap one of the pictures—a grainy shot of Grigori’s car parked behind an abandoned warehouse two nights ago.
“What about Alexei’s mother? She’s another weak point.’
Viktor raps his knuckles on the table, frowning. “The streets have gone silent about Ludmila. No ransom notes, no threats. No one’s even bragging in the clubs.”
I lean forward, elbows on the wood. “That’s our advantage. If no one’s talking, we get to set the narrative.”
He studies me, swirling the ice in his glass. “How do you mean?”
“We make it look like we took her,” I say. “Not just rumors. I want eyes and ears in every club, every poker game, every message thread from here to Brighton Beach. We put it out that I grabbed her personally, that she’s under my protection. Let it spread the way things always do in this city.”
Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “You think Alexei will take the bait?”
I shake my head. “He’s not that stupid. But he’ll be curious. He’ll start sending people, sniffing around for confirmation. He’ll want to know if it’s true—if I really have her, and why I haven’t gone public.”
Viktor’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Curious is easier to predict than cautious.”
“Exactly,” I say. “We let the word get to Grigori too. He’ll think it’s leverage, maybe even an opportunity.”
