Page 21 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter twenty

The Betrayal

A lexei

I know Mila left the estate the moment Boris's panicked call comes through.

"Sir, we have a problem. Your wife... she's gone."

The words hit me like bullets, each one tearing through the careful control I've maintained since learning about her parents. She slipped away while I was coordinating search teams, used my distraction to do exactly what I was afraid she'd do.

"How long?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.

"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. We found the service door unlocked, security camera looped. She knows our systems."

Of course she does. My brilliant, stubborn, infuriating wife used her technical skills to bypass my protection and walk straight into Roman's trap.

"Track her phone."

"Already tried. It's off."

"Traffic cameras?"

"Boris is on it, but sir... if she's meeting Roman..."

She is. I know it with the kind of certainty that comes from understanding someone completely. She's gone to make a deal with the devil because she can't live with her parents' blood on her hands.

"Double security around the estate," I order. "And get me everything we have on Roman's legitimate business fronts. Restaurants, offices, anywhere he might feel safe meeting her."

"Sir, with respect, if Mrs. Morozov wanted to leave—"

"She didn't want to leave. She felt like she had no choice." My voice carries the kind of cold fury that makes grown men step back. "There's a difference."

I spend the next hour in my study, surrounded by surveillance feeds and intelligence reports, while teams of my best people scour the city for any sign of my wife. Every minute that passes without word makes the rage in my chest burn hotter.

When Boris calls with a location—Oceanview Restaurant in Brighton Beach, Roman's been seen entering with a security detail—I'm already reaching for my gun.

"Sir," Boris says carefully, "Mrs. Morozov's vehicle was spotted leaving the area fifteen minutes ago. She's likely already on her way back."

"And Roman?"

"Still inside with his people."

"How many?"

"At least eight that we can identify. Probably more."

"Good. Send our teams to the restaurant. I want Roman to know we found him."

"Sir, if this escalates to a shooting war—"

"Then Roman will learn what happens when someone threatens my family."

I end the call and head for the armory. If Roman wants war, he can have it. But first, I need to find my wife and make sure she's safe.

She's already home when I arrive, sitting in our bedroom like she's been there all along. But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she avoids meeting my eyes.

"Productive afternoon?" I ask.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Don't lie to me, Mila. Not about this."

She finally looks at me, and I can see the guilt and defiance warring in her dark eyes. "I had to," she says simply.

"You had to meet with the man who wants to kill you?"

"I had to hear what he was offering."

"And what was he offering?"

"My parents' lives in exchange for betraying you."

The words hit exactly as intended—like a knife between the ribs. She went to Roman. She listened to his proposal. She considered betraying me to save her family.

"And?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice level.

"And I told him I needed time to think."

"Time to think about betraying your husband."

"Time to think about choosing between the man I love and the people who raised me."

"There's no choice to make. You don't negotiate with terrorists."

"These aren't terrorists. They're my parents."

"And Roman Volkov is a monster who will kill them anyway, whether you cooperate or not."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Because I know men like Roman. He doesn't leave witnesses, Mila. He doesn't honor deals. He takes what he wants and eliminates everyone who could threaten him later."

She stands up from the bed, pacing to the window with jerky, agitated movements.

"So what's your solution?" she asks. "We just write them off? Accept that they're going to die and focus on protecting ourselves?"

"We find them and get them back."

"How? Your teams have been searching for hours without a trace."

"Then we make Roman tell us where they are."

She spins around to face me. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm done playing defense. Roman wants a war? He can have one."

"Alexei, no. If you attack him directly—"

"If I don't attack him directly, he'll keep escalating until someone I care about is dead."

"Someone you care about? What about my parents?"

"Your parents are strangers to me. You are my wife, my future, my everything. I will burn this entire city to ash before I let Roman take you from me."

The brutal honesty hangs between us like a confession. She wanted to know where my priorities lie? Now she knows.

"You really would choose me over innocent people," she says quietly.

"Every time."

"Even knowing it makes you a monster?"

"Especially knowing that."

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Boris's name on the screen means news from the restaurant, probably news about whether Roman took the bait.

"Sir," Boris says when I answer. "Roman's people opened fire when our teams approached the restaurant. Full engagement, multiple casualties on both sides."

"Roman?"

"Escaped in the chaos. But sir... we have a problem. Three of our men are down, one critical. And Roman left a message."

"What kind of message?"

"Bodies. Civilians. He executed the restaurant staff to make a point."

Ice floods my veins. Roman didn't just escape—he escalated to mass murder to send a message about what happens when someone challenges him.

"How many?" I ask.

"Six confirmed dead. Including the waitress who served you and Mrs. Morozov your anniversary dinner last month."

The detail hits like a physical blow. He killed people we knew, people who served us, people who had nothing to do with our war except being in the wrong place when Roman decided to make a statement.

I end the call and find Mila staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Roman escalated. My people tried to take him at the restaurant, and he responded by murdering the staff."

"Oh God."

"Six innocent people are dead because I tried to pressure him."

"This isn't your fault—"

"Isn't it? I sent armed men to a public place. I forced Roman into a corner where he felt he had to make a statement."

"You were trying to find my parents."

"I was trying to hurt the man who threatened you. The civilians who died were just collateral damage."

She sinks onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't met with him, if I hadn't given him reason to think I might cooperate—"

"This is Roman's fault. No one else's."

"But I made it worse. I gave him hope that he could turn me against you, and when your people showed up, he realized the game had changed."

"Mila—"

"He's going to kill my parents now, isn't he? He's going to torture them and send me pieces to prove he means business."

The broken despair in her voice makes something primal roar to life in my chest. Roman Volkov has taken too much from us already—her brother, her peace of mind, her sense of safety. Now he's threatening the people she loves most while forcing her to watch innocent strangers die.

Enough.

"I'm leaving," I tell her.

"Where are you going?"

"To end this."

"Alexei, what are you planning?"

"I'm planning to do what I should have done three years ago. I'm planning to kill Roman Volkov."

She stares at me for a moment, then moves toward the closet with sudden purpose.

"I'm coming with you," she says.

"No."

"Yes. This started because of me, because Roman wants to hurt you through me. I'm not hiding while you risk your life to clean up my mess."

"It's not your mess."

"It became my mess the moment I married you."

"Mila—"

"We're partners, remember? In everything. That includes war."

I want to argue, want to lock her in the safest room I can find and handle this without risking her. But looking at her face, seeing the determination and fierce love there, I realize she's right.

We're partners. Which means we face this together.

"Then get dressed," I say finally.

"What should I wear to a war?" she asks.

"Something you can move in. Something that won't show blood."

"Whose blood?"

"Roman's. His men's. Anyone who gets between me and the man who threatened my family."

"Stay close to me," I order. "Do exactly what I say, when I say it. If shooting starts, you get behind cover and you stay there until I come for you."

"Understood."

"And Mila?"

"Yes?"

"When this is over, when Roman is dead and your parents are safe, I'm going to take you home and remind you exactly why you chose me."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"Both."

The armory is a thing of beauty—enough weapons to outfit a small army, all maintained with obsessive precision. I select a modified AR-15 for myself and a compact pistol for Mila, along with enough ammunition to fight a sustained battle.

"Do you know how to use this?" I ask, handing her the pistol.

"Viktor taught me when he got paranoid about Roman. Point, aim, squeeze, don't jerk the trigger."

"Good girl."

The endearment makes her cheeks flush, and I can see desire flickering in her eyes despite the circumstances. The combination of danger and adrenaline and protective fury is affecting her the same way it's affecting me.

We want each other. Here, now, on the edge of violence and chaos.

"After," I promise, reading her expression. "When this is finished."

"After," she agrees.

The safe house where Roman is holding her parents isn't really safe—one of my informants sold the location for enough money to disappear forever. It's a warehouse in Queens, surrounded by industrial buildings and empty lots that will muffle gunshots.

Perfect for what I have planned.

"Twelve men visible," Boris reports through my earpiece. "Probably more inside. Defensive positions, but they're not expecting a full assault."