Page 47 of Bratva Bidder

I need to know exactly where hers are hidden.

11

NADYA

I don’t wantto be here.

Not in this dress, not in these heels, and definitely not at this party—where every room smells like money, expensive sin, and sweat hidden behind designer suits.

I walk beside Konstantin through the private lounge of the Echelon Club, tucked high above the city like Olympus for criminals. Every inch of the room glitters—gold-edged velvet, crystal glasses clinking, diamonds flashing on fingers that could snap lives in half. Beautiful people, dangerous people. Mostly men. All of them watching.

Konstantin didn’t give me a choice.

“It’s important,” he said.

What he meant was: It’s a performance.

So I’m performing.

I keep my steps even, my chin high, my eyes anywhere but on the hungry gazes sweeping over me. I smile just enough to look tame, just enough to pass as content, as quiet, as his.

I hate the way they look at me.

Like a pretty piece someone managed to steal from another man’s vault.

Like I’m here to be judged, compared, admired, possessed.

The music pulses low and sleek from a grand piano tucked into the far corner. Crystal chandeliers drip light onto the bar. Waiters float by with champagne flutes. Women with dead eyes and rich diamonds laugh like they’ve forgotten the taste of freedom.

I move through the crowd like smoke, trying not to touch anyone, trying to stay small.

I don’t want attention. I want to disappear.

And for a while, I manage to.

Until I turn toward the marble bar, needing something—anything—to cool the panic tightening in my chest.

That’s when I see him. Vladimir Kirov.

The man from the auction. The one who nearly bought me.

He’s thicker now, fuller around the middle, but his face is exactly the same—sweaty, smug, a scar slicing across the bridge of his nose like a knife mark the universe forgot to finish. He’s leaning back against the bar like he owns it, swirling a drink in his hand and laughing with some older Bratva relic.

And then he sees me, and smiles. Like he’s still imagining what it would’ve been like to unwrap me.

His smile widens when he realizes I’ve seen him. He lifts his glass slightly in mock greeting, eyes dragging slowly down mybody like he’s peeling the dress off with his gaze. I stiffen instinctively, shifting half a step closer to the bar, heart thudding like a drum in my ears.

My skin prickles under the weight of his stare. Like I’m on display again. Like I’m back under that spotlight, surrounded by predators, being sold to the highest bidder.

I look away.

Don’t engage. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

I focus on the glass in my hand, not remembering when I picked it up, not tasting the drink. I just need to blend into the background. Disappear. Keep breathing.

“Nadya.”

The voice is deep. Familiar. Close.