Page 100 of Bratva Bride
Konstantin tilts his head, waiting.
I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the shimmer of the ballroom.
“At first I brushed it off. But then she said, ‘Viktor’s family was a tragedy. When he was twenty-one, they were all killed. No one survived except Viktor himself. If he had a sister, where was she? Why did no one know her? Why didn’t she show up until after the murders?’”
Konstantin’s eyes narrow, nodding as he traces my thought process. I take a slow breath.
“That was when it clicked,” I whisper. “Anya wasn’t just mysterious. She was an impossibility—a sister invented from thin air after Viktor had no family left to contradict the story. And that’s when I started to watch her, really watch her. How she moved, how people deferred to her. She was never nervous, never out of place. She was in control. Like someone who wasn’t just playing a part—she was running the show.”
I look up at Konstantin, letting him see the pride and exhaustion tangled together.
“I called her that night,” I say, my fingers lacing through his.
“From our encrypted phone?” Konstantin asks quietly.
I shake my head, almost smiling. “No. I’m not stupid, Konstantin. I borrowed the phone from my dad. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
He lets out a low, approving sound. “Of course. I started to feel Viktor had bugged not just my apartment, but my phone too. Nothing was safe. That’s the reason I moved out.” His tone grows dark, jaw tightening with the old anger and suspicion. “But that’s not what I meant, Nadya.”
I turn to look at him, his eyes fierce and unguarded for the first time in weeks.
“Anya—Yelena—she was right about one thing,” he says softly. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, then it creaks open. Ivana steps inside, arms wrapped tight around a tiny bundle. Her hair is pinned up hastily, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. The baby stirs, making a small, hungry sound.
“Ivana?” I say, pushing up on my elbows, surprised to see her standing in the hospital room. “What are you doing here?”
She gives a tired smile and shrugs. “I heard what happened. I came to see you.” She moves closer, relief and exhaustion fighting for space in her eyes.
Konstantin rises, and Ivana gently passes him the baby. He takes the little one carefully, his whole posture softening as he rocks the bundle.
Ivana looks at me, then at Konstantin. “Did you get the bitch?” Her voice trembles just a little, a lifetime of fear and anger in those words.
I nod, the weight of it settling between us. “She’s dead. So is Viktor.”
Ivana exhales, her whole body seeming to crumble, years of tension unwinding from her shoulders. “The last time I spoke to Alexei, he was terrified,” she says, her eyes unfocused, lost in the memory. “He said he’d made a mistake. He told me a man called Grigori was the one who’d approached him first. He told him he could help him win his birthright.”
“That’s how the Veles corrupt,” I say quietly.
“I’m not making excuses for him,” Ivana says. “Alexei knew what he was doing. He was threatened by your children’s presence, and the fact that his father would cast him out to vultures. So, when he was given an opportunity to take back what he thought was his birthright, he did. But it was all lies. I didn’t even know Grigori had lied about who he was until Konstantin showed me Viktor’s photograph.”
Konstantin and I exchange a glance.
“Grigori—Viktor—told Alexei he knew where his real father was and that he could help him win his empire,” Ivana continues.
A chill slides down my spine. I see Konstantin’s jaw tighten, the baby fussing quietly in his arms.
Ivana hugs herself. “Alexei was desperate for answers, for power. He never trusted anyone, not really. But when Viktor showed up, with that promise, Alexei couldn’t help himself. He stepped into the fire and couldn’t find his way out.”
She wipes a tear from her cheek, trying to smile for her child. “He paid for it. We all did, in the end.”
Ivana settles in the chair by the bed, the baby bundled in her arms, her gaze distant. She lets out a slow breath, voice soft and tired. “Alexei grew more and more paranoid. Every night he’d pace the apartment, checking locks, whispering about people watching him. Then one morning, he was gone. Left the city. That was never the plan. We were supposed to leave together—he would never abandon me. But his phone was switched off, his accounts wiped clean. He’d dropped off the face of the earth. Viktor played me the same way. Doctored photographs showing Alexei with Nikolai. For a moment, I almost bought it.”
Konstantin lets out a short, humorless laugh and reaches into his coat, pulling out his phone. He scrolls, then holds it up so we can see the pictures. “That was one of the first things that tipped me off,” he says quietly. “Look, every photo Viktor sent, Alexei is always wearing the same jacket, the same watch, the same scowl. Different backgrounds, but always the same look.
“Who knew Photoshop would bring down an entire empire,” I murmur quietly.
He turns to Ivana, remorse clear on his face. “I’m sorry about what happened on the bridge. I had to make Viktor believe I was on his side.”
