Page 25 of Bratva Bride

Kira huffs a laugh. “That’s the polite way of putting it.” She glances sideways. “She wasn’t always like that, you know. But she’s been queen bee for a long time, and women like that…they don’t welcome change.”

“Is that what I am? Change?”

She shrugs. “Something like that.”

We stop at the table, where Konstantin has already handed Mila the plastic knife, placing his larger hand over hers to guide the first slice. I watch him for a moment—the way he lowers his head so she hears him clearly, the way she tilts into him without hesitation—and something tightens in my chest.

“Just thought you should know,” Kira says, quieter now. “Not everyone’s against you.”

I glance at her.

There’s no sarcasm in her tone. Just a hint of sincerity.

And I realize this is what I should’ve done earlier—kept my mouth shut, read the room, waited.

“Thanks,” I say. “That means more than you think.”

She nods once and steps forward, already calling someone’s name and waving for a picture.

I stay back for a second longer, watching Mila as the candles are lit, her little face glowing with excitement.

Then I feel it again—Konstantin’s eyes on me. I meet his gaze as he straightens, and for a breath, neither of us looks away.

Maybe he did call for the cake to save me.

Maybe he’s still saving me, in his own way.

10

KONSTANTIN

The call comes justafter midnight.

By the time I get down to the warehouse, the scent of smoke still clings to the air, clashing with salt and diesel from the docks. Floodlights cast harsh white over the broken security gate and the half-collapsed loading bay. The air is still, like the place is holding its breath.

Maksim meets me at the entrance, his shirt damp with sweat, blood crusted along his knuckles.

“Two guards down,” he says, jaw tight. “They used bolt cutters on the side fence, came in fast, precise. Knew where to hit.”

I step around the wreckage, past one of the damaged trucks still idling with its front tires blown. A crate lies splintered near the entrance, its contents stripped clean.

“Anything taken?” I ask.

“Not much. A few decoy cases. They didn’t go for the vault. Either they didn’t have time, or that wasn’t the point.”

I look at him. “Then what was?”

He shrugs once. “Message, maybe. Whoever it was, they weren’t looking to make money.”

I exhale slowly and walk deeper inside. The main floor is scattered with debris, but the real damage is at the back where the control room used to be. The wiring’s fried. Some of the monitors still flicker uselessly.

Maksim follows behind me, quieter now. “We’ve got a shipment coming in at the end of the week,” he says. “Important. And I don’t know if we can secure it here.”

He doesn’t need to spell it out. If this place is being watched, if someone’s testing our defenses, they’ll be waiting to hit us again.

I lean against the edge of the destroyed console and stare at the dark space, piecing together the pattern. One warehouse hit. Carefully. Just enough force to rattle us. Not enough to trigger a war.

Someone’s measuring us. Watching how I respond.