Page 34 of Bratva Bride

I follow her gaze. The water outside is bright, flecked with white boats and slow-moving gulls. “I never trust a place that looks peaceful from the outside,” I say. “There’s always something moving beneath the surface.”

She smiles faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not wrong. But sometimes it’s worth pretending, even for an hour.”

Viktor returns, slipping his phone into the pocket of his blazer. His face gives nothing away, but his tone is brisk. “I have to leave,” he says, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Something’s come up that needs my attention.”

I nod once, not asking questions I know he won’t answer.

“But don’t let that stop you,” he adds, looking between me and Anya. “Enjoy the lunch. The bill’s taken care of.” With a faint smile, he nods and walks off without another word.

I glance at Anya. She doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, she looks more relaxed now that her brother’s gone. She tips back the last of her wine, then signals to the waiter for another bottle.

“Looks like it’s just us,” she says.

“I’ve had worse company,” I admit.

She laughs, but doesn’t push the compliment. The next few minutes pass more easily than I expect. We talk about everything and nothing. She mentions a trip to Spain, I comment on the local contractors dragging their feet on a warehouse renovation. It’s casual, low stakes. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

Anya doesn’t talk to fill the silence. She doesn’t pretend to understand the weight I carry. And that, more than anything, makes it easier to speak.

She tears off a piece of bread. “You look less tense now that Viktor is gone.”

“Viktor keeps everyone tense,” I say. “Including himself.”

She smiles, eyes soft. “So do you.”

I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

She studies me, not pushing. The silence is comfortable, which surprises me. She’s the first person outside my own family who seems to read the space around my words instead of the words alone. It feels easy to speak.

“It was Nikolai’s birthday last week.”

A pause, but not a heavy one. “That’s your son. The one who was taken.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she says simply, and somehow it doesn’t feel empty.

“Mila and Nikolai are twins, you see. I brought her out to the park the other day,” I say, “thinking it might do her good. She smiled for the first time in weeks.” I set my glass down, turning it slightly. “Nadya said we should let her have something normal. A party. For the sake of it.”

“And did it help?”

“A little.” I pause. “But the thing is…it doesn’t matter what we do. There’s always this…wall between us now. Me and Nadya.”

Anya tilts her head. “You don’t strike me as the type to let people get close in the first place.”

“I let her in,” I say. “And I still feel like I’m losing her.”

She doesn’t speak right away, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t want comfort. I want someone who sees it clearly.

I lean back. “She never says it, but I know she blames me.”

“For your son?”

“For everything,” I admit, eyes still fixed on the wine in my glass. “For not stopping it. For not seeing it coming. For being the one who made enemies in the first place.”

“Does she say that out loud?”

“No.” I breathe out. “But it’s in the silences. In the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”