Page 96 of Bratva Bride
Arman goes up first, scanning the shadows with a practiced eye. Rifat is right behind him, one hand resting lightly on his concealed weapon. I follow, every step sending a fresh spear of pain up my injured leg. But I force myself to keep up.
Halfway up the gangway, a gunshot splits the night.
My heart skips, cold fear slamming into my chest. For a split second, the world stops. Then I shove past the others, heedless of the pain, teeth bared. “Move!”
We sprint up the last stretch, the metallic clang of our steps swallowed by another burst of gunfire echoing from somewhere deep inside the ship. My mind flashes back to few nights ago when I last met Arman in his car, when he had just saved us from what I now know were Viktor’s men.
Arman’s car rattles to a stop on an empty street lit only by a flickering lamp. Nadya’s jaw is set, her eyes hard with betrayal. The door slams behind her before Arman has even finished braking. I get out too, ignoring the jolt of pain in my leg.
She doesn’t look at me as we stand on the curb, city noise hushed at this hour. “I’ll find my own way from here,” she says coldly, her breath steaming in the dark. “You should do the same.”
I play my part—shoulders tense, voice quiet. “You’re not safe on your own.”
Nadya doesn’t flinch. “Better than being lied to by my own family.”
We hold the silence for a few more seconds, then I turn and walk in the opposite direction, not daring to look back.
I duck into a side alley and wait until Arman’s taillights vanish, then loop back through the maze of backstreets.
I find her waiting in my apartment, hair damp from the mist. She closes the curtains and peels off her jacket.
“You think they bought it?” she asks, arms crossed.
I manage a smirk. “You’re a very compelling actress.”
She cracks a smile. “So are you—though I’d say you’re a bit more dramatic, since you threw Ivana off the bridge.”
I shrug. “Necessary evil. I couldn’t let Viktor suspect that Ivana was working with us.”
Maksim had beenthe one to find Ivana. He’d tracked her movements across half the city, tailing her from market stalls to a crumbling walk-up and finally into a narrow alley behind a shuttered bar. Nadya and I followed close behind, blending into the shadows.
We caught up to her just as she tried to slip through a rusted side door. Nadya was on her in a second, fast and cold, one hand closing around Ivana’s arm, pinning her against the alley wall. Her breathing was sharp, her eyes wild, but she didn’t try to run.
Nadya pressed in, her face inches from Ivana’s. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”
Ivana’s eyes darted, then dropped. She wrapped both arms around her middle, voice trembling. “I have a child.”
Nadya’s jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” Ivana whispered, tears brimming. “A baby boy. Alexei’s. But he’s left me—abandoned us to the wolves. Please. I have no one left. I can help you, but you have to protect me.”
For a long moment, none of us spoke. The night pressed in, full of rot and garbage and fear. Nadya’s hand dropped from Ivana’s shoulder, but her eyes never left her face. I had simply watched them both, the old city humming in my chest, already knowing what choice we would make.
Now, Arman lifts a hand, halting us beneath a collapsed section of rail. I press my back against the cold steel, my breath clouding in the damp night air. Up ahead, two men stalk the walkway, flashlights sweeping lazy arcs over the rust and shadows.
“We have to be very careful,” Arman says. “One wrong move and this whole place will come down on us.” He takes the safety off his gun with a quiet click, checking the chamber one last time.
I glance ahead, measuring distance, mapping every escape route in my head. My leg aches, the wound pulsing, but I force myself to focus.
From behind me, Rifat leans close, voice dry. “I imagine she won’t be too pleased to see us here.”
I can’t help a small, grim smile. “She’ll come around,” I say, eyes never leaving the path ahead. “She always does.”
Arman nods, catching my eye. “Let’s move. Stay close, and no noise unless we’re caught.”
We find Arman’s safe house tucked behind a laundry with faded blue awnings, the kind of place nobody notices unless they have a reason. Maksim picks the lock in under ten seconds, and I push the door open, gun already drawn.
Inside, Rifat stands by the window, startled, hand dropping instinctively toward his waistband until he sees the weapon aimed square at his chest.
