Page 87 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

I haven’t seen Arina. Or Maxim. And no one’s mentioned Milos. I don’t dare ask Kaz—not yet—but the silence around those names is deafening. The walls here carry secrets. I can feel them pressing in.

Something happened while I was away.

Something that changed the air here.

Something Kaz is keeping from me.

I walk past the grand staircase, my fingers grazing the polished banister. My reflection in the tall mirror across the hallway catches me off guard.

Pale skin. Tired eyes. Hair loosely braided down my back. I barely recognize her. Who am I now?

Not the girl who once shot crime scenes for a living. Not the one who stayed up late editing photos and chasing light. That girl feels far away—buried under marble floors, beneath screams and gunshots, behind all the ways I’ve been broken and put back together.

I bring a hand to my stomach. A baby. My baby.

Our baby.

The thought still feels too big to hold. And yet, it’s the only thing keeping me steady right now.

But I can’t live like this. I can’t keep waiting for the next explosion, the next betrayal, the next lie. My life is in limbo, and I’ve been surviving on adrenaline and Kaz’s promises, but I need something more than whispered reassurances in the middle of the night.

I need clarity. I need a future that isn’t made of violence and shadows. I need Kaz to be honest with me. The thought strengthens something inside me. A resolve.

I’ll go talk to him. Really talk to him. Because something has to change. Or I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.

I push open the heavy door to Kaz’s study, expecting to find him at his desk or maybe pacing like he always does when something’s on his mind. But instead, there’s someone else.

A man.

He’s lounging in one of the leather chairs like he owns the place, one leg crossed over the other, dark suit perfectly tailored, the cuffs of his shirt crisp against tanned skin. His hair is short, black, in a meticulous buzz. Everything about him is sharp—his jawline, his posture, his presence.

He looks up slowly, his eyes sweeping over me with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he says, voice rich and smooth like good whiskey. “So you’re the reason Kazimir Rusnak is losing both his mind…and his edge.”

I blink, then step further into the room, squaring my shoulders. “No,” I say calmly, “I’m the reason he’s better than he’s ever been.”

His smirk deepens. “Touché.”

There’s a long pause where neither of us moves, his gaze never leaving mine. He studies me the way a predator mightstudy an unfamiliar animal—curious, amused, not entirely trusting.

“And you are?” I ask finally.

He stands, slow and deliberate, like he’s not used to being rushed. “Nikolai Volkov-Rusnak,” he says, reaching out a hand I don’t take. “But you can call me Niko. I’m…an old friend of Kaz’s.”

Friend. The word hangs suspiciously in the air. I glance at his hand, then back to his face, not bothering with pleasantries.

He drops his arm and chuckles like I’ve passed some unspoken test.

“I’m also someone who’s seen what Kaz becomes when he cares too much,” he adds, eyes narrowing slightly. “And trust me, sweetheart—you should pray he never loses his edge. Because that edge? That’s the only thing standing between you and a bullet right now.”

My spine stiffens, but I don’t look away. Instead, I let out a dry, bitter laugh and shake my head.

“You know what I don’t get about you Bratva men?” I say, taking a slow step forward. “You drag innocent women into your chaos. Into your blood-soaked power games. And then you act like you’re the ones doing us a favor by keeping us alive.”

Niko raises an eyebrow, that ever-present smirk still lingering. But I’m not finished.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to be part of this world. But I stayed.” I swallow hard, my voice catching. “I stayed because somewhere along the way…I fell in love with Kaz.”