Page 29 of Bratva Bride
He pauses just long enough to make me wonder if he’s toying with me. “Alexei’s paramour remains in the city. From what I can tell, he’s abandoned her.”
My jaw tenses. “Where is she?”
“That’s the thing,” Viktor says, the sound of waves in the background, seagulls faint behind his words. “I’m still looking. She’s gone to ground, but I thought two heads might be better than one.”
I tap my fingers on the table, letting that settle in. “You think she’s the key to finding Alexei?”
“I think she knows things he doesn’t want anyone else to know.” There’s a beat, and then Viktor’s tone softens, taking on a casualair that’s almost jarring. “Besides, Konstantin, I’d rather this not be just about business. A man can grow weary chasing shadows all day.”
I frown, not quite following. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see,” he says, the smile back in his voice. “Come have lunch with me. Down by the bay—place with the red umbrellas. One o’clock.”
I hesitate, running a hand through my hair, feeling the edge of suspicion rise. “Lunch.”
“Lunch,” Viktor repeats, the invitation sounding like a dare and a test at the same time. “Bring your appetite, if not your trust.”
Before I can answer, he hangs up. I stare at the phone for a long moment, weighing the shape of the conversation. Viktor never does anything without purpose, and I know whatever he wants to discuss over lunch, it’s more than just missing women or business alliances.
11
NADYA
My phone buzzeswhile I’m standing at the window, sunlight slipping across the floor in slow golden bands. I glance down, half expecting nothing of importance, and see Kira’s name lighting up the screen. She’s sent a short, neatly worded message, the kind that manages to feel both casual and formal at once.
Brunch tomorrow? The girls are meeting at Rose’s Bistro, by the bay. Tatiana said to invite you. Noon. Wear something bright. XO—Kira
I read it twice, just to make sure I’m not imagining things. My first instinct is suspicion—these women don’t invite outsiders, not unless they want something, not unless the circle has shifted enough to let in someone new. Still, there’s something honest in Kira’s words, a gentle insistence that feels less like a trap and more like a test. Or maybe, just maybe, an opening.
I stare at the message, thumb hovering above the screen.
I set the phone down, the glow of the screen pooling across the counter, and I let myself feel it for just a second—a flutter ofnerves, a thrill of victory, a prickling at the back of my neck that says nothing in this world comes free.
I glance at my closet, the rack of carefully curated dresses, none of them feeling quite right for an audience like this. Brunch by the bay. With the Bratva wives. I wonder what they want—and more urgently, what I might be able to get from them in return.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out.
I dial Rifat’s number as I stand in front of the closet, phone balanced between shoulder and ear, one hand sifting through a row of dresses that all suddenly look wrong. He answers on the second ring, voice gruff but awake.
“Rifat? I need a favor,” I say, eyeing a pale blue dress I’ve never worn outside a wedding. “Can you keep an eye on Mila for me this afternoon? Just at school, nothing complicated. I have…an appointment.”
There’s a pause, then his familiar sigh. “You got it. You want updates every hour, or just if something happens?”
“Just call if anything’s off,” I say, tugging the dress from its hanger.
“Understood,” he replies. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll be around.”
“Thank you, Rifat. I mean it.”
I hang up, laying the dress on the bed. The invitation still glows on my phone. For a moment, I study my reflection, pinning back my hair and wondering who exactly they expect to show up at the bay—Konstantin’s wife, the grieving mother, or something else entirely.
I keep my phone in my palm during the short ride, checking the screen every few minutes even though I know Rifat will call if anything shifts at the school. The city passes outside the window, sunlight glinting off storefront glass and the slow sweep of traffic lights, until the skyline gives way to bright water and the long curve of the marina. Rose’s Bistro sits at the edge of the pier, its white façade gleaming, tall windows thrown open to the breeze coming in from the bay, the smell of salt and grilled seafood carried up the promenade.
I step out and smooth the skirt of the blue dress, feeling the afternoon heat settle on my shoulders. Inside, the hostess offers a quick smile when I give my name, then guides me through a maze of small marble tables packed with people in bright summer clothes. The chatter in the room is high and constant, silver cutlery clinking on ceramic, servers weaving through with trays of champagne and oysters. Half the restaurant faces the water, the glass folding walls pushed aside so the breeze can slip across the diners, teasing linen napkins and loose hair.
The wives have taken over a long table near the railing, overlooking the harbor where sailboats drift lazily in neat lines. Kira spots me first, eyes bright, waving me over with a genuine warmth that cuts some of my tension. Tatiana sits at the head of the table, pale-lilac silk draped over her shoulders despite the temperature, oversized sunglasses perched on perfectly styled hair. She lifts her chin in acknowledgment, nothing more. Lena nods politely, Dasha offers a quick grin, and there are two new faces I don’t recognize, both with subtle designer logos and the easy poise of people who have never needed to worry about security gates.
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Tatiana says, her voice pleasant enough to pass inspection, though I hear the challengeunderneath. “We were beginning to think Mila’s party exhausted you.”
