Page 17 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Three days had passed since that night at the alliance party, and Kostya found himself replaying every moment, the way Azriel’s body had trembled against his, the soft gasps she’d made when his fingers found their mark, and then the cold shock in her eyes when she’d pushed him away.

The taste of her still lingered on his lips, a constant reminder of how she’d felt so right in his arms before everything went to hell.

Now she moved through his house like a ghost, keeping to her room, taking her meals in silence, and avoiding him with the precision of someone who’d mapped out his daily routine.

The few times their paths crossed, she’d offer nothing more than a polite nod before disappearing again. It was driving him insane.

The woman who’d bickered with him over greasy diner food, who’d defied his orders to take her exams, who’d kissed him back with a hunger that matched his own, that woman had vanished. In her place was this hollow version who looked at him like he was a stranger she couldn’t quite place.

Kostya pushed back from his desk, the financial reports he’d been reviewing forgotten. He’d tried giving her space, thinking she needed time to process what had happened between them. But patience had never been his strong suit, and watching her retreat further into herself was eating him alive.

The way she’d reacted to seeing her father, the fear that had flooded her eyes, the way she’d practically crawled out of her skin when Danny tried to touch her, it painted a picture that made Kostya’s blood run cold.

He’d assumed Danny Hartford was just another greedy piece of shit who’d gotten in over his head.

But the terror on Azriel’s face suggested something much darker.

He needed answers, and if Azriel wouldn’t give them to him, he’d get them from the source.

The warehouse on the south side had always served as neutral ground for meetings with lower-tier associates.

Kostya arrived expecting to find Danny Hartford waiting for him, probably sweating bullets and ready to grovel.

Instead, he found Viktor leaning against a stack of crates, his expression grim.

“He’s gone,” Viktor said without preamble.

Kostya felt his jaw tighten. “Gone how?”

“Cleared out his apartment, closed his bank accounts, disappeared into the wind. My contact at the airport says he caught a red-eye to Miami two nights ago. From there, who knows?”

“Son of a bitch.” Kostya drove his fist into the nearest crate, wood splintering under the impact. He should have seen this coming. The moment Danny laid eyes on Azriel at that party, the moment he’d seen the fear in her reaction, he should have anticipated that the coward would run.

Viktor watched him with knowing eyes. “This is about more than the money he stole, isn’t it?”

Kostya flexed his bruised knuckles, thinking of Azriel’s trembling hands, the way she’d flinched when her father had reached for her. “Put every resource we have on finding him. I don’t care if he’s hiding in a cave in Afghanistan, I want him found.”

“Already on it. But Kostya...” Viktor hesitated, which was unlike him. “Maybe focus on the girl first. Whatever happened between her and Danny, she’s the one who’s here. She’s the one who matters now.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Viktor was right, Azriel was here, she was his wife, and instead of hunting down ghosts, he should be finding a way to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

He made it back to the mansion just as the afternoon light was beginning to fade. The house felt too quiet, too empty, even with the staff moving about their duties. He found himself climbing the stairs to Azriel’s room, then stopping outside her door like some lovesick teenager.

The sound of muffled voices from downstairs caught his attention. He followed the noise to the kitchen, where he found Marta, his longtime housekeeper, setting a tea service on a tray.

“She’s been asking for chamomile tea every evening,” Marta said without looking up. “Helps her sleep, she says. Poor thing looks like she hasn’t had a proper night’s rest in weeks.”

Kostya felt something twist in his chest. “Has she been eating?”

“Barely picking at her food. I tried making some of those cookies she liked last week, but she just thanked me and left them untouched.” Marta’s weathered face creased with concern. “Whatever’s troubling her, it’s eating her alive from the inside.”

The guilt that had been gnawing at Kostya since that night intensified. He’d been so focused on getting answers, on understanding what had happened with her father, that he’d failed to see how much she was hurting. How much his questions, his suspicions had probably made things worse.

He was still mulling over Marta’s words when Adrian appeared in his office the next morning, laptop in hand and that particular expression that meant he’d been digging into things he shouldn’t.

“I did some research on your wife,” Adrian said without preamble, setting the computer on Kostya’s desk.

“We already—”

“We did, but apparently, we didn’t dig deep enough.

” Adrian’s pale blue eyes were colder than usual.

“Azriel Hartford. Twenty-one years old, full academic scholarship to the University of Chicago, summa cum laude, graduating this weekend. But here’s the interesting part: she’s been financially independent since she was seventeen.

No contact with family, no emergency contacts listed except for a high school guidance counselor. ”

Kostya leaned forward, studying the information on the screen. “ALL things I’m already aware of. What else?”

“Medical records from when she was a minor are sealed, but I found some interesting gaps. Three separate hospital visits between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, all treated and released on the same day. No follow-up care, no primary physician relationship.” Adrian’s expression grew darker.

“The kind of pattern you see with abuse cases where someone’s covering their tracks. ”

The pieces were falling into place, and Kostya didn’t like the picture they were forming.

Azriel hadn’t been living off her father’s criminal earnings; she’d been surviving on her own, working, studying, and fighting for every opportunity.

And he’d waltzed into her life, destroyed her sense of safety, forced her into marriage, and then had the nerve to be surprised when she didn’t trust him.

“There’s more,” Adrian continued. “She graduates this Saturday. Ceremony’s at two.”

Kostya looked up sharply. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Would you have told someone who kidnapped you about your graduation?”

The blunt question hit like a physical blow.

Because that’s what he’d done, wasn’t it?

No matter how he’d tried to justify it to himself, no matter that he’d been genuinely trying to protect her from the chaos Danny had created, he’d taken her from her life, forced her into his world, and expected her to be grateful for it.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and Kostya found himself standing outside Azriel’s door with a florist’s box in his hands. He’d been awake since five, alternating between pacing his office and second-guessing every decision he’d made in the past month.

He’d watched her sneak out through the kitchen entrance twenty minutes ago, thinking she was being clever. The black dress, the careful way she’d avoided the main hallway, the diploma folder clutched in her hand, it hadn’t taken much to piece together what today meant to her.

Now he stood in the empty corridor outside her room, knowing she was already halfway to campus, and felt like the monster he probably was for following her like this.

The University of Chicago campus was buzzing with activity when he arrived.

Families clustered together, taking photos, graduates in caps and gowns hugged friends and professors, and somewhere in the organized chaos, Kostya spotted the three bodyguards he’d positioned around the perimeter.

Dmitri had argued that it was too risky, that Kostya was making himself a target, but some things were more important than playing it safe.

He found a seat toward the back of the family section, far enough away that she wouldn’t immediately spot him but close enough to see everything.

When her turn came to walk across the stage, he watched as her eyes swept across the crowd, probably looking for no one, expecting no one, and then stopped.

Their gazes locked across the sea of people, and he saw the shock register on her face, followed by something he couldn’t quite read.

“Azriel Hartford, summa cum laude, Bachelor of Arts in Psychology with minors in Criminal Justice and Business Administration.”

The pride that swelled in his chest caught him off guard.

This woman, his wife, had fought for every opportunity, had excelled despite every obstacle thrown in her path.

She’d been studying criminal justice and psychology, likely trying to understand the world that’d shaped her childhood.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that she’d ended up married to the very type of man she’d likely been trying to understand and defeat.

When the ceremony ended and graduates began filtering into the crowd to find their families, Kostya stood near the edge of the main gathering area, suddenly uncertain.

What if she decided to slip away? What if seeing him here, in this place that represented her dreams and her future, reminded her too starkly of everything he’d taken from her?

But then she was there, walking toward him with her cap in her hands and her diploma tucked under her arm.

The afternoon sunlight caught the subtle highlights in her black hair, and when she approached him, there was something different in her expression—not quite a smile, but not the usual wariness either.

“Congratulations,” he said, producing the bouquet of white roses he’d been holding. “You were incredible up there.”

She accepted the flowers, burying her face in them for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with something that looked almost like happiness.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For being here. For... for letting this be mine.”

“It is yours. All of it. Your achievement, your moment.” He paused, drinking in the sight of her looking genuinely pleased for the first time since he’d known her. “And if you want, we can celebrate. Anywhere you want to go, anything you want to do.”

She tilted her head, considering him with those sharp gray eyes that seemed to see right through him. “Anywhere?”

“Within reason. And with adequate security.”

That earned him a small laugh, the first genuine laugh he’d heard from her, and the sound went straight to his chest like a physical warmth.

“There’s this little Italian place near campus,” she said. “Nothing fancy, but they have the best tiramisu I’ve ever tasted. I used to go there when I was studying for finals, back when I thought... when I thought my biggest worry was passing organic chemistry.”

The wistfulness in her voice made something clench in his stomach. Before he crashed into her life, her biggest concerns had been grades, graduation, and building a future. Now she was married to a Russian crime boss and constantly looking over her shoulder for enemies she’d never asked for.

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he said. “Lead the way, Mrs. Nikolai.”

Something flickered across her face when he used his surname, their surname, but she didn’t correct him. Instead, she linked her arm through his, the simple gesture sending electricity up his entire side.

“Just promise me something,” she said as they began walking toward the campus exit.

“Name it.”

“No guns in the restaurant. I just want to eat tiramisu and pretend we’re normal people for an hour.”

Kostya thought about the Glock tucked against his ribs, about Dmitri and Pavel trailing them at a discreet distance, about the very real possibility that someone might try to put a bullet in him before they made it to dessert.

Then he looked down at Azriel’s upturned face, at the hope and vulnerability written there, and knew he’d promise her anything.

“No guns,” he agreed. “Just tiramisu and normal conversation.”

“Good.” She squeezed his arm, and for the first time since that night at the party, Kostya felt like maybe, just maybe, they might find their way back to each other.

As they walked across campus together, Kostya couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a turning point.

Not just for them, but for something bigger.

The information Adrian had uncovered, along with Danny’s sudden disappearance and the increased activity from rival groups, all pointed to changes coming, challenges that would test everything he’d built.

But looking at Azriel, seeing her smile as she talked about her favorite professors and the research project she’d completed on criminal rehabilitation, Kostya realized that whatever came next, he wanted her by his side.

Not as payment for her father’s debts, not as a trophy or a means to an end, but as his partner. His equal.

The question was whether she’d ever be able to see him as anything more than the man who’d stolen her life. Today felt like a start, but Kostya knew better than anyone that starts were fragile things, easily broken by the wrong word or the wrong move.

He’d have to be careful. Patient. Everything he’d never been good at being.

But for Azriel, for the woman walking beside him with flowers in her arms and hope in her eyes, he’d learn.