Page 93 of Bratva Bride

“No,” I say, shaking my head, my voice cold. “I’ve finally learned not to underestimate people like you.”

Behind her, Dimas turns sharply. “What is she talking about?”

“Don’t,” Anya says. Her eyes burn as they lock on mine, and behind her, three men with rifles stand like shadows, boots thudding against the rusted floor.

But it’s too late. I see it in his eyes—the doubt. The seed I just planted sinking in, curling around whatever loyalty he thought he had left.

“You lied to him,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “And you used Katya just like you’re trying to use my son.”

Anya laughs. “You’re delusional.”

“Is this why you came in here?” I say. “To have a nice little chat?”

Her eyes narrow. “What did you do with my brother?” she snaps, voice cracking. “Where is Viktor? Why can’t I reach him?”

I rise slowly, placing my body between her and Nikolai. My lips curl as I tilt my head, studying her like she’s something rotting on the deck.

“Is that what you call him?” I say quietly. “Your brother.”

Her expression doesn’t flicker.

I take a step forward, heartbeat hammering in my chest, voice calm, deliberate. “You take your brother to your bed?”

There it is—just a flicker of something behind her eyes. Disgust? Shock? Shame? I can’t tell. But it’s enough.

She doesn’t deny it. Just glares at me with murder simmering under her skin.

“That’s twisted,” I say. “Even for your family.”

“You don’t know the first thing about my family,” she hisses, stepping forward like she means to scare me.

“You’re right,” I say, not backing down. “I don’t.”

I glance past her at the men behind, unmoving, silent, like they’re waiting for someone to give the kill order.

“But I know enough about Viktor,” I continue. “He didn’t have a sister until he was twenty-one. Not a single record. Not a single photo. Not until his entire family—his father, his stepmother—were found stabbed to death in their estate.”

Anya’s jaw tightens. Her silence is louder than anything she could say.

“I’m assuming that’s when he made the deal with you?” I add, each word measured. “Clean up your mess, help you vanish, and in return, you get to wear the pretty mask and play sister. That sound about right?”

I watch her eyes narrow as I continue, “That’s what you Veles do, right? You slip in, clean up your mess, rewrite the story. But you never make things personal.”

Anya doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. I see the crack ripple through her composure.

“Or maybe,” I murmur, “you’re just the oddity.”

Her mouth tightens.

“First you fixated on Viktor. Turned him into something he was never meant to be. Until you found someone better. Someone stronger.”

I take a step closer, slow, controlled.

“My husband.”

Her glare burns.

“You wanted Konstantin to be your king,” I say, voice low. “But he didn’t fall in line, did he? He had a mind of his own. A family. Me. And that ruined your plans.”