Page 34 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Kostya adjusted his tie for the third time in five minutes, his reflection in the bathroom mirror looking back with dark eyes that held more vulnerability than he cared to admit.

The bouquet waiting on his desk cost more than most people made in a month, white roses mixed with peonies, Azriel’s favorites that he’d memorized from watching her linger at flower shops during their walks together.

He’d fucked up. Badly.

The realization had been eating at him for days now, gnawing at his chest like a persistent ache.

Danny Hartford was scum, and Kostya didn’t regret putting a bullet in the bastard, but keeping it from Azriel?

That had been his mistake. She deserved the truth from the beginning, deserved better than the lies and half-truths he’d been feeding her like scraps.

Just like her father had done.

The comparison made his stomach turn. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never make her feel small or powerless the way Danny had, yet somehow he’d managed to do exactly that by keeping her in the dark about his hunt for the man.

She’d looked at him with such hurt in those smoky gray eyes, and it had cut deeper than any knife wound he’d ever taken.

His phone buzzed with a text from Viktor: Rivals handled. Clean sweep. Coming home.

Good. One less thing to worry about. His brothers and cousins had been dealing with the fallout from Danny’s association with their enemies for weeks now, but it was finally over. The Hartford mess was behind them, which meant he could focus entirely on what mattered most.

Azriel.

Kostya grabbed the bouquet and headed toward the elevator, ignoring the curious stares from employees who weren’t used to seeing him carrying flowers through the office. Let them look. He had a wife to win back, properly this time.

The elevator ride to her floor felt longer than usual, his mind cycling through the dinner reservations he’d made at three different restaurants, Italian, French, and that little hole-in-the-wall diner she’d mentioned loving before they’d gotten complicated.

He wanted to give her choices, so she would know that this wasn’t about his control or his money. This was about her.

The marketing department buzzed with its usual afternoon energy, keyboards clicking and phones ringing, but Azriel’s cubicle sat empty.

Her computer was locked, her desk neat except for a small succulent plant she’d bought last week and a photo of them from her graduation that made something warm unfurl in his chest every time he saw it.

“She’s out getting coffee,” her cubicle neighbor offered without looking up from her screen. “Said she’d be back in twenty.”

Kostya nodded his thanks and pulled out his phone, hitting Azriel’s contact. The call connected on the second ring, and the sound of her voice immediately eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Hey.” Her tone was cautious but not cold. Progress.

“Hey yourself. I’m standing at your desk with flowers, feeling like an idiot.”

A soft laugh carried through the speaker, and he could picture her smile. “You brought flowers to my office?”

“White roses and peonies. The works.” He leaned against her desk, noting how several coworkers were now openly staring. “I was hoping to steal you away early. Dinner tonight?”

“Kostya...” She sighed, and he could hear traffic in the background, the distant honking of Chicago horns. “We talked about this. I need time to process everything.”

“I know. I’m not trying to rush you.” He kept his voice low, aware of the audience around him. “But I want to do this right. No more secrets, no more keeping you in the dark about anything. Just us, figuring out what this is.”

The pause stretched long enough that he wondered if the call had dropped, but then she spoke again, softer this time. “You really mean that?”

“I mean it.” The words came out rougher than he intended, carrying more weight than a simple promise. “I fucked up, Azriel. I should have told you about Danny from the start, should have trusted you with the truth instead of trying to protect you from it. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Another laugh, this one warmer. “You know what’s funny? I’m literally getting coffee right now. Like, actual coffee runs for the senior staff. And I love it.”

The change of subject threw him for a moment, but he rolled with it. “You love running errands?”

“I love that it’s my choice.” Her voice brightened, losing some of that careful edge she’d been carrying around him lately.

“I know it sounds stupid, but every little task I do here, every report I file or coffee I fetch, it’s because I decided to.

Because I’m building something for myself. I’ve never had that before.”

Something shifted in his chest, a recognition that went deeper than attraction or possession.

This wasn’t just about her body or her quick wit or the way she challenged him at every turn.

This was about who she was at her core, a woman who found joy in the smallest freedoms because she’d been denied them for so long.

“It’s not stupid,” he said quietly. “It’s everything.”

“Kostya...”

“I love you.”

The words fell out of him without permission, raw and honest in a way that probably should have terrified him.

He’d never said them to anyone outside his family, never felt the need or the desire, but standing in her empty cubicle with overpriced flowers in his hand, he couldn’t keep them locked away anymore.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of her breathing and the distant city noise. He was about to speak again, maybe take it back or make a joke to ease the tension, when her scream cut through the line like a blade.

“Azriel!” He was moving before his brain fully processed what he’d heard, shoving past confused coworkers toward the elevator. “Azriel, answer me!”

Nothing. The call showed as connected, but all he could hear was muffled sounds, struggling, maybe shouting in the distance. His blood turned to ice as the elevator climbed toward the executive floors where he kept his security team.

The flowers scattered across the elevator floor as he pulled up the tracking app on his phone, the one he’d installed on her device months ago when the threats first started. Her location showed as moving, indicating that whoever had her was also on the move.

His fingers flew over his phone, sending rapid-fire texts to his brothers, his security chief, every contact who could mobilize fast enough to matter. The elevator couldn’t move fast enough. Nothing could move fast enough.

The tracking dot on his screen jerked erratically through downtown Chicago, heading toward the warehouse district. Kostya’s jaw clenched as recognition hit him; he knew that area, knew exactly who controlled those streets.

“Son of a bitch.” The words came out as a growl as he burst through the security office doors. “Fuel up the cars. Now.”

His head of security, Marcus, looked up from his desk with sharp attention. “Sir?”

“They have my wife.” Kostya was already moving toward the weapons cabinet, muscle memory guiding him as he selected his preferred Glock and shoulder holster. “Warehouse district, probably the old textile buildings. Get me six men and meet me in the garage in two minutes.”

“Who’s ‘they,’ sir?”

Kostya paused in his preparations, his mind cycling through possibilities. Danny’s allies, maybe, looking for revenge? The rivals his family had just finished cleaning up? Or something new entirely, some fresh enemy drawn by the scent of blood in the water?

It didn’t matter. Whoever had taken her had just signed their own death warrant.

“I don’t know yet,” he said, checking his clip with practiced efficiency. “But they’re about to find out what happens when you touch a Nikolai’s family.”

His phone buzzed with a text from Viktor: On our way. Don’t do anything stupid.

Too late for that. The moment someone laid hands on Azriel, stupid became inevitable. Kostya had spent weeks learning to love her independence, her fierce determination to build her own life on her own terms. But that didn’t mean he’d stand by and let anyone hurt her.

The tracking dot had stopped moving, settling in an area he recognized as a cluster of abandoned buildings that changed hands between criminal organizations like a game of violent musical chairs. Whoever had her was either very confident or very stupid to hole up there.

Either way, they’d chosen the wrong woman to mess with.

Kostya holstered his weapon and headed for the garage, his mind already shifting into the cold, calculating space he occupied during Bratva business.

The man who’d been nervously arranging flowers and planning romantic dinners was gone, replaced by the predator who’d earned his reputation in blood and fear.

They wanted to play games with his wife? Fine. He’d show them exactly what kind of games the Nikolai family played, and why nobody walked away from them unchanged.

But first, he had to get to her. Everything else could wait.