Page 59 of Bratva Bride
The quiet stretches between us, thick with unspoken fear. I look down at the serpent, knowing Pyotr is right. The Veles mark is more than ink—it’s a promise of blood.
And right now, we’re directly in its path.
18
KONSTANTIN
The apartment feels colderthan ever, stripped bare of anything that made it home. I move from room to room, picking up Mila’s hair tie from the floor, Nadya’s forgotten sweater still draped on the back of a chair. The silence presses in, suffocating, broken only by the dull ache in my chest that refuses to fade. I haven’t slept. Food turns to ash in my mouth. I barely leave the window, hoping for headlights that never appear.
It’s the lowest point of my life. I’ve survived bullets, betrayals, exile. But this—this is emptiness, humiliation, fear in its rawest form. My family is gone. My son’s out there somewhere with men who want to break me. My wife and daughter have vanished into the night. I failed them. I failed all of them.
My phone lies face down, battery dead. I’ve called every contact, bribed every street source, begged favors from men I swore I’d never owe. Nothing. No Nadya. No Mila. The silence grows heavier by the hour, pushing against my ribs until each breath feels like punishment.
Footsteps in the hallway. The lock turns and Maksim steps inside. His suit is rumpled, eyes red-shot from lack of sleep. He pauses when he sees the state of the room—and me.
“Boss,” he says softly. “I have some good news.”
I don’t bother standing. “If it’s not about Nadya and Mila, I don’t want to hear it.”
He closes the door behind him, hesitating. “We’re still running down leads, but?—”
“I’ve run them,” I snap. My voice cracks on the last word. I drag a hand over my face, feel the stubble, the exhaustion etched into every line. “Unless you can put my wife and daughter right here in front of me, keep it to yourself.”
Maksim swallows, nodding once. He sets a folder on the corner of the desk anyway, but he doesn’t open it. “I’m not giving up,” he says quietly. “Neither should you. We’ve been looking everywhere, Konstantin. Everyone’s out—friends, crews, even Viktor’s men—no one’s seen them yet, but we’re not giving up. I swear it.”
Maksim stands his ground even as I turn away, jaw clenched, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I know you’re pissed, boss,” he says, voice steady but softer than usual. “But I’m going to say it anyway. We finally got a tail on Alexei’s alleged girlfriend—Ivana.”
My head snaps up at that. The name alone is enough to drag me out of my misery, if only for a second. Ivana. The same woman I once thought was Roman’s, the same one Viktor’s sources tied to Alexei. For weeks, she’s been nothing but a ghost on every camera, every record—vanishing before anyone could get close.
Maksim sees my reaction and presses on. “She’s moving around the city, not staying anywhere for long, but one of Viktor’s men got eyes on her this morning. Says she’s heading toward the port district. Looks like she’s meeting someone, but we don’t know who yet.”
My pulse quickens, just a flicker, but it’s the first hope I’ve felt in days.
“Take me to her,” I say, pushing off the window ledge, grabbing my jacket with a surge of purpose I haven’t felt in days.
Maksim hesitates, blocking the doorway just enough to make his point. “Boss, listen—this might be a trap. Especially after the rumors we’re spreading about Ludmila. Everyone’s talking. Alexei’s people, Grigori’s men, all of them assume we took her.”
“I don’t care,” I snap, moving past him. “If Ivana’s here, I need answers. If she’s involved, she knows where Alexei is—maybe even where Nikolai is.”
I stop, meeting his eyes with a look that brooks no argument. “I’m going, Maksim. With or without you.”
He swears under his breath, then gives in, already on his phone calling for the car and backup. “Alright. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Fine,” I mutter, pushing through the door and into the hall.
I dial Viktor as we head down the stairwell, my pulse pounding. He picks up before the second ring, his tone brisk, like he’s been expecting my call.
“Ivana,” I say. “We’ve got eyes on her near the port. I’m heading out.”
“I know,” Viktor replies, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “You want me to come with?” I open my mouth to answer, but he cuts me off. “Never mind. I’ll pick you up. Be ready.”
The line goes dead. Maksim glances at me, but says nothing as we hurry down to the curb.
Minutes later, Viktor’s black Mercedes glides to a stop in front of the building. He leans over and pushes the passenger door open. I slide in, slamming the door behind me.
Maksim raises a brow.
