Page 32 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter twenty-nine

The Confrontation

M ila

I'm alone except for the night nurse, sitting beside my children's incubators and reading to them from a book of Russian fairy tales.

Alexei is at the estate coordinating repairs from the recent attacks, and the hospital security team is focused on the main entrances, not expecting anyone to breach the pediatric wing.

But there he is, standing in the doorway with a silenced pistol and the kind of cold determination that means someone is about to die.

"Mrs. Morozov," he says quietly, not wanting to wake the other NICU babies. "Step away from the incubators."

"Roman," I breathe, my mind racing. How is he here?

How did he survive the warehouse? But as I look at him more closely, something feels wrong.

He looks like Roman, but older somehow. There are new scars across his neck and hands, and his eyes hold a different kind of coldness—deeper, more calculating than the man I remember.

"Someone who's been waiting a long time for this moment," he says.

The voice is similar but not quite right either. There's a roughness to it, a weight that wasn't there before.

"You look different," I say carefully, trying to understand what I'm seeing.

He smiles, but there's something wrong about it. Something that doesn't match the man I met at the restaurant, the man I shot in the warehouse, the man whose organization we've been fighting.

"Actually, Mrs. Morozov, that's where you're mistaken."

"What do you mean?"

"Pavel Volkov died months ago. You killed him in that warehouse, just like you thought you did."

The words hit me like ice water. "That's impossible. You're Roman. I've seen you before."

"You've seen my cousin Pavel. At the restaurant, during negotiations, in surveillance photos. Pavel was my public face, my body double. He attended meetings, made appearances, drew attention away from me."

"Then who are you?"

"Roman Volkov. The real power behind the Volkov family."

The room seems to tilt. Roman—the man we thought we'd killed, the ghost who's been haunting our family—is standing across the room from my helpless children.

"You're supposed to be dead," I whisper.

"That was the idea. Let everyone think Pavel was Roman, let Pavel take the risks and the spotlight while I stayed in the shadows. It worked perfectly until you murdered him."

"We thought he was you."

"Because that's what Pavel wanted you to think. He died protecting my identity, and now I'm here to collect the debt you owe for his death."

The memory crashes back—the chaos of that final confrontation, the darkness, the confusion as gunfire erupted. We'd celebrated killing Roman Volkov, but we'd actually killed his devoted cousin who'd been living as his decoy.

"Pavel died because you were too cowardly to face us yourself," I realize.

"Pavel died because he was loyal and understood the bigger picture. I've been building our real power base while you wasted time fighting shadows."

"What do you want?"

"The same thing I've always wanted. Everything Alexei Morozov loves, destroyed. Starting with his children."

He moves closer to the incubators, and every maternal instinct I have screams in terror. This is the real Roman Volkov—the true architect of our suffering—and he's three feet away from my helpless, premature children.

"Don't," I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. "Whatever you want from Alexei, don't involve innocent children."

"Innocent?" Roman laughs softly. "Mrs. Morozov, those children carry the Morozov name. That makes them legitimate targets in the war your husband started."

"They're three days old."

"And they're future threats to everyone who opposes your family. Better to eliminate them now, while they're too small to fight back."

"You're talking about murdering babies."

"I'm talking about strategic thinking. Your husband understands it—he's eliminated plenty of children over the years."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? Ask him sometime about the Petrov family massacre. Ask him about the Ukrainian operation in 2019. Your precious husband has blood on his hands, Mrs. Morozov. Innocent blood."

I want to argue, want to defend Alexei, but doubt creeps in. I know he's capable of violence, know he's killed people to protect our family. But children? Would the man I love really harm children?

"I can see the doubt in your eyes," Roman says with satisfaction. "Good. It's time you understood what kind of man you married."

"Even if that's true, my children haven't hurt anyone."

"Yet. But they will, because violence is genetic in families like yours. Better to end the cycle now."

He's moving closer to Viktor's incubator, and I realize with crystalline clarity that this monster is actually planning to murder my newborn son.

"Stop," I say, stepping between him and the babies.

"Move, Mrs. Morozov. This will be quick and painless for them."

"No."

"No?"

"I said no. You want to hurt my children, you go through me first."

Roman studies my face, and I can see him evaluating whether I'm serious. Whether a woman three days post-surgery is really going to fight him for access to her babies.

"You're still recovering from a C-section," he points out. "Weak, medicated, probably can't even stand without help."

"Try me."

"Mrs. Morozov, I don't want to hurt you. You're not my primary target."

"My children are not your target either."

"They are exactly my target. The next generation of Morozovs, eliminated before they can grow up to threaten anyone else."

"Over my dead body."

"If necessary."

The cold acceptance in his voice tells me he means it. Roman Volkov will kill me and my children without hesitation if that's what it takes to destroy Alexei's legacy.

But he's made one critical error.

"Roman," I say, keeping my voice calm and reasonable. "Before you do something irreversible, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"This entire conversation is being recorded."

"What are you talking about?"

"NICU security protocols. Every incubator has cameras for monitoring the babies' condition." I gesture toward the small devices positioned above each isolette. "Everything you've said, every threat you've made, is being recorded on hospital servers."

It's mostly true. The NICU does have cameras for security, but they don't record audio, and there's no voice recognition software. But I'm betting Roman doesn't know enough about hospital systems to call my bluff.

"Even if that's true," he says finally, "it doesn't matter. I'll be gone before anyone can respond to the recordings."

"Will you? Because hospital security protocols are more sophisticated than you think."

Another bluff, but his expression shifts toward concern.

"You're lying."

"Am I? How do you think hospital security works, Roman? Do you think they just leave premature babies unmonitored and unprotected?"

"The security guards—"

"Are already on their way. Along with my husband and his entire security team."

"Your husband isn't here."

"My husband is always here when his children are threatened."

As if summoned by my words, I hear footsteps in the hallway. Not the soft-soled shoes of medical staff, but the heavy tactical boots of men who are armed and dangerous.

Roman hears it too. His head snaps toward the door, and for the first time since he appeared, he looks uncertain.

"You called him," he realizes.

"I didn't have to. Hospital security monitors all communications related to critically ill patients. The moment you entered the hospital making threats, alarms started going off."

I steady myself, doing everything I can to appear calm and in control, though inside, I'm genuinely frightened. But it works. Roman's confidence evaporates as he realizes he's walked into a trap instead of setting one.

"Boris," Alexei's voice carries from the hallway, calm and deadly. "Cover the exits. No one leaves this floor alive unless I personally approve it."

"Understood, sir."

"Dmitri, coordinate with hospital security. I want every entrance and exit sealed."

"Already in progress."

"And someone get Dr. Petrov up here immediately. If shooting starts, I want medical personnel standing by for my family."

Roman's grip tightens on his weapon, but I can see desperation replacing calculation in his eyes. He came here expecting to find a vulnerable target, not a fortress.

"Mila," Alexei's voice comes from just outside the NICU doors, "are you and the children safe?"

"We're safe," I call back. "But we have a visitor who's been making some very interesting revelations."

"Pavel Volkov, I presume. Finally decided to face us directly?"

"Not Pavel," I call back. "Roman."

Silence stretches for a long moment.

"That's impossible," Alexei's voice comes through the doors, sharper now. "Roman is dead."

"Hello, Alexei," Roman calls out. "Surprised to discover I'm very much alive?"

"Confused. We killed you months ago."

"You killed my cousin Pavel, who had the honor of serving as my public face. I've been waiting for the right moment to return the favor."

"Pavel was your double?"

"Pavel was everything you thought Roman Volkov was. The public meetings, the restaurant negotiations, the visible leadership—all Pavel, playing the role while I built real power from the shadows."

I can hear Alexei processing this information, understanding the implications.

"So the man my wife met at the restaurant..."

"Pavel. The man who negotiated territorial agreements..."

"Pavel. And the man we killed in the warehouse..."

"Pavel, dying to protect my identity. He was loyal to the end."

"And you let him die in your place."

"I let him fulfill his purpose. Now I'm here to fulfill mine."

"Which is?"

"Eliminating your bloodline. Starting with those premature children who will never grow up to threaten anyone."

The temperature in the room seems to drop as Alexei's fury becomes palpable even through the closed doors.