Page 49 of Bratva Bride

Viktor studies me, his eyes giving nothing away. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, watching for any flicker of guilt or knowledge I might accidentally reveal. But I keep my face blank, jaw tight.

I can’t help it—my mind flicks, just for a second, to the fresh bruises I saw on Nadya last night, the tension in her shoulders, the bandage she wouldn’t let me touch.

No. It’s not possible. She’s tough, but she wouldn’t risk everything like that. Would she? I shove the thought away. If she was the one to take Ludmila, I’d know. I’d feel it.

Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.

I push my cards aside and look up at Viktor. “Do you have any idea who could’ve done it?”

He gives a little shrug, lips tight. “I’m hearing rumors, nothing exact. Word is, an ex-military guy was spotted near the scene. Someone not from the usual circles. The kind of man who disappears when he wants.”

“Ex-military?” That narrows the list, but it doesn’t give me a name.

Viktor sips his drink, studying me over the rim.

“How did you hear anything?” I press.

He sets his glass down. “She was stowed away at Varna Quay Suites. My people picked up chatter, someone used an old maintenance entry, bypassed security. It’s a very exclusive place, so I’m both impressed and a little scared of the people who pulled it off.”

“If it’s so exclusive, how did you find out about it?”

He gives a half shrug. “Money still works, even in that fortress. People talk if you know which hands to grease. Whoever got her out did it fast, left almost nothing behind. Not a rookie. Not a local enforcer either.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Whoever did this, they were careful. They knew what they were after. And they knew how to vanish.”

I nod, but my mind is racing. An ex-military guy. Pyotr? Or is that just a coincidence?

Viktor watches me closely. “Anything you want to share, Konstantin?”

I force a neutral expression, leaning back in my chair. “Nothing concrete. Yet.”

But my pulse won’t settle. The city feels like it’s closing in, old ghosts walking the streets and everyone looking for blood.

15

NADYA

I watchKonstantin walk out of the apartment, the door closing with that quiet finality he’s perfected lately. My heart thumps in my chest, not just from our argument or the way his hands caged me against the wall, but from what I managed while he was close. While he pressed me there, demanding answers, I slipped an AirTag into the inside pocket of his jacket. I pray he doesn’t find it.

I need to know where he goes, need to know he’s safe, even if I have to go behind his back to do it.

I linger in the hallway a moment, letting the air settle, then turn and realize my father is standing by the kitchen, mug in hand, watching me.

“What was that about?” he asks quietly.

I bristle, covering my nerves with attitude. “What?”

He tilts his head, face unreadable. “You and your husband. I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn’t nothing.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, a little too quick, grabbing a glass just for something to do with my hands.

“And Arman?” he says, not letting it drop. “He’s in town.”

I freeze, fingers tightening on the glass. I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

He sets his mug down with a quiet clink. “In fact, the guy who pulled you out of that mess last night—he’s Arman’s man, isn’t he?”

“Dad, please. Just…stay out of it.”