Page 57 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
I reach for her, just barely brushing my knuckles along her jaw, grounding us both. “We’ll leave tonight. I’ll handle everything. I promise, we’ll get to Eli before he’s moved. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She leans into my touch for the briefest moment, eyes fluttering shut. Then she straightens, resolve settling over her like armor. “I’m not doing it for you.”
I almost smile. “I know.”
She turns away, staring at the car outside, at the folder on the table. “You’ll really break the rule for me?”
I nod again, fierce and certain. “I already have.”
In that moment, I know what it costs. I know the looks my men will give me, the rumors that will spread through the old houses, the punishment that will come from higher up the chain. There will be consequences. There always are.
I can live with them, if it means giving her this. If it means letting her see her brother safe, alive, free.
It’s another rule broken, another debt I’ll pay. It’s the only choice that matters.
She doesn’t thank me. I wouldn’t expect her to. The way she finally turns, the way she lets herself step closer, her hand brushing mine as she passes—it feels like the beginning of something new.
We move through the house together, gathering what she needs, exchanging few words. She’s tense, watchful, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. Not until we’re in the car, not until the gates open and the road unfolds before us, toward Eli, toward the future, toward the decision that will define everything we become.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Talia
The city falls away as we drive, streetlights giving way to darkness, the quiet hush of empty roads replacing the static tension of the mansion.
Adrian doesn’t speak, hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked forward. I stare out the window, watching the glow of the city vanish in the rearview mirror, every mile tightening the knot in my chest.
We turn off the main road just after sunset, gravel crunching under the tires. The world is gray and gold, the last streaks of daylight painting the horizon.
The abandoned train depot rises out of the trees like a ghost: broken platforms, rusted tracks, weeds taller than my knees. There are no guards, no ceremony, just the cold hush of a place forgotten by everyone but us.
Adrian kills the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. He looks at me, searching for something I can’t name, then nods once, silent and steady. “He’s here,” he says.
I step out into the dying light, breath fogging in the chill. My heart is a thunderclap in my chest. Every part of me is braced for disappointment, for a trick, for the twist of hope into pain.
As I round the side of the car, I see him: a lone figure standing at the far edge of the platform, head low, hands buried in the pockets of a battered jacket I know too well.
For a second, I freeze. My brain tries to catch up to my eyes. I barely recognize him—he’s thinner, older, hair longer, beard rough across his jaw.
It’s Eli. My brother.
My breath catches. I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m running, feet pounding the platform, hair flying, vision blurred by tears.
He turns at the sound, shoulders lifting, and then I’m in his arms, sobbing, clinging to him as if the world might split in two. We hold each other, no words at first, just the crush of bone and heartbeat, the rush of everything we lost and everything we still are.
He brushes my curls back, his thumb wiping a tear from my cheek, his hand trembling. “You look strong,” he whispers, the old affection in his voice threading through the years, through the silence, through all the pain.
I laugh, watery and broken. “You look like hell.”
We don’t have time for stories. Not here. Not now. We say everything we need to in that embrace, every apology, every promise, every moment of grief folded into the shape of his arms around me. For the first time in years, I feel like myself: a sister, a survivor, something more than the anger and longing that built my new life.
He thanks me for not giving up. His voice is ragged, edged with wonder. “I knew you’d find me, Talia. I always knew.”
I thank him for surviving, for holding on, for still being here. “I missed you. Every day. I never stopped looking.”
He cups my cheek, pressing his forehead to mine. “Don’t let this place change you. Don’t let him change you either.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I promise.”
His arms tighten, and I let myself believe—for a breath, for a moment—that some wounds can heal. That not everything is lost.
