Page 92 of Bratva Bride
“They’re trying to break us,” I whisper. “If Viktor is against you, then he’s putting his sister up to it too. What happened tonight…that should be proof enough.”
His jaw clenches. “You think Anya was part of it?”
“I know she was,” I say. “She wants to tear us apart. And she’s not alone. They all want us fractured—because together, we’re a threat. Apart, we’re easier to control.”
He exhales, the sound sharp, bitter. “So, what then? What are you suggesting?”
I meet his eyes across the table, the idea already taking root.
“A show,” I say. “We give them what they want. They want lies, betrayal, heartbreak? Fine. We make it public. We split. I walk out. You spiral. You and I fall apart on the outside. We make it look real, make them confident. Let them believe they’ve won.”
He searches my face, suspicion and hope warring in his eyes. “You want to beat them at their own game.”
I nod, feeling the plan click into place, the fear giving way to something sharper. “Exactly. Let them watch us break—let them think it’s over. And when they least expect it, we strike back, together.”
The door groans open, and I instinctively shield Nikolai behind me. My fingers tighten around the knife. The light overhead flickers once before sputtering into a dim, sickly yellow.
Anya steps through, her heels clicking softly against the rusted floor.
“Surprise, surprise,” she says, voice dripping with amusement.
She doesn’t make my stomach drop, but the man behind her does.
“Dimas,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t meet my eyes. His shoulders are rigid, hands clenched at his sides. His face is pale, mouth drawn, eyes fixed on the floor like it’s the only solid thing left in his world.
“I knew Kirov would be stupid enough to get himself caught,” Anya drawls. “He was always the stupid one. And I knew you’d take his phone to someone you trust. An old friend. You’re predictable, Nadya. Sweet, loyal, naive. I needed someone to lure you here, and you walked right in.”
“Why, Dimas?” I ask. “That’s all I want to know.”
His jaw twitches. He glances up at me, just briefly, and there’s a storm in his eyes. Guilt, rage, heartbreak.
“They killed Katya,” he says, his voice cracking. “We were supposed to run away. Leave the whole thing behind. I loved her. And after everything she did for the team—for all of us—no one mourned her.”
Anya laughs, the sound high and bright and cruel. “See, Nadya? You and I—we’re not that different. We both use people to get what we want.”
I shake my head slowly, disgust rolling in my gut. “You sank your poisoned claws into him.”
She tilts her head, smirking. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.”
My grip on the knife tightens.
Over her shoulder, Dimas still won’t look at me. His hands tremble now.
Anya’s smirk flickers for the first time.
“You know,” I say, voice low, even, “it’s ironic when you think about it. You’ve got Dimas wrapped around your finger, mourning Katya like some tragic saint, but he doesn’t even know the truth, does he?”
Her eyes narrow.
“The plan was never to get Ludmila out, was it?” I ask her.
Anya’s jaw tightens.
“You needed chaos. Distraction. And Katya? She was just the right kind of collateral damage. You knew what you were doing. You sent them in knowing they wouldn’t all come back.”
Anya laughs, but it’s forced now. “You give me too much credit.”
