Page 90 of Bratva Bride
Viktor’s lips pull into a hollow smile. “You underestimate what an outsider can do when the insiders look away. They dismissed me. Same as they dismissed you when you were limping through these halls with that cane. I learned from their mistakes.”
I catch the lapel of his shirt. He gives me a bloody smile and spits on my face.
I keep my foot on Viktor’s chest, his breath ragged beneath my heel. Blood streaks his lip where my last punch landed. One question still burns in my mind.
“There is one thing I don’t understand,” I say, breathing hard. “Why kill Alexei? He was your lever against me.”
Viktor’s smile twitches, a crack in his mask. “You know about that.”
I nod once, letting the truth settle. “You underestimated me at every turn. Did you really take me for a fool?”
Before he can answer, I drive my boot into his ribs. He grunts, twists, and in one quick motion yanks a knife from his belt. The blade flashes. Pain splits my leg as he jams it into the damaged thigh I spent months rebuilding. White heat floods my vision. I howl and drop to one knee, the world tilting.
Viktor pushes to his feet, knife slick with my blood. He raises it, eyes blazing with triumph, ready to finish me.
A gunshot cracks like thunder. Viktor’s body jerks. The knife slips from his hand. He collapses onto the shattered glass, eyes wide in shock.
Arman steps into the light behind him, pistol leveled, smoke curling from the barrel. “I see you boys started without me,” he says, voice calm as if he has walked into a card game, not a battlefield. “I never did play fair.”
27
NADYA
I kneelbeside the narrow bunk, my knees pressed into rust-flaked metal. Nikolai’s head rests in my lap, his skin hot and dry. I stroke the tangled hair from his forehead.
“You’re okay, baby,” I whisper, keeping my voice steady for him even though my hands shake. “Mama’s here now. You’re okay.”
His eyes flutter, unfocused. Each breath is shallow, but it’s there.
I run my palm down his arm, searching for track marks or bruises. Nothing fresh. Whoever dosed him wanted him quiet, not broken. I reach for the canteen in my pack, trickle a few drops onto his lips. He swallows, a weak reflex, but it gives me hope.
“It’s just us for a minute,” I murmur, brushing grime from his cheek. “I’m going to get you out. Just hold on.”
He shifts, a small sound escaping his throat. My heart cracks, but I force calm into every movement. I slide my coat under his head like a pillow, then rise and test the iron door.
I rest my head against the door and memories of the last few months flood my mind.
I’m back at Viktor’s club. The bass rattles the floor. Strobing lights catch Konstantin just ahead. His arm is around Anya, her hand curved against his chest, both of them framed in crimson and gold. The sight punches the air from my lungs. My pulse races; jealousy and doubt flood my thoughts. I turn sharply, pushing through the crowd, desperate for the door and some breath that is not thick with perfume and music.
I press my palms to the brick, fighting tears. Footsteps follow. Konstantin’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.
“Nadya, wait.”
I keep my back to him, shoulders rigid. He catches my arm, turning me gently but firmly. His eyes search mine, earnest and intense.
“You have to trust me,” he says, voice low. “It’s not what it looked like.”
I shake my head, words stuck behind a surge of hurt. He steps closer, palms open in a gesture of surrender.
“She slipped. I caught her. That’s all.”
The anger drains, leaving only exhaustion. I swallow hard. “I trust you,” I whisper, the confession soft but certain.
“But we can’t talk here,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder toward the club. “There are eyes everywhere. Ears too.”
He’s right. I see Anya waiting for him already.
I do trust him. And if Konstantin wants to pretend to trust her, I’ll need to play a part.
