Page 64 of Bratva Bride
“But that’s not all.” Arman lowers his voice further, glancing over his shoulder as if the walls themselves might be listening. “He also killed Alexei’s paramour. People are saying it was brutal, that he threw her off the bridge. No one’s found the body. Just…gone.”
For a moment I can’t breathe, the image of a faceless woman tumbling through darkness locking up my chest. Konstantin’s voice echoes in my mind, the cold finality of him when he decides something must be done. I grip the railing tighter, the cold metal biting into my palm.
“Impossible,” I whisper, half to myself, shaking my head as if I can undo the truth Arman’s handed me. The city seems to drawback from the balcony, the sounds below distant and muffled, like I’m underwater.
Arman doesn’t soften; he never does, not when it matters. He leans in, the edge in his voice sharper than the night air. “You married a monster, Nadya, and you’re surprised when he does monstrous things?” He shakes his head, almost pitying. “How do you think he controls the city? With good intentions and kind words? Men like Konstantin, they keep order by making everyone afraid. That’s the only language anyone respects out there.”
I look away, eyes stinging, not sure if it’s from the cold or his words. I don’t want to answer, because part of me knows he’s right. I saw the ruthlessness in Konstantin from the start—sometimes I even loved him for it, the way he could bend the world to his will. But it’s different now. It’s different when the blood washes up closer to my door, when Mila’s hands come so close to disaster.
Arman lets out a slow, tired sigh, voice low but unyielding. “It’s good you and Mila left when you did. Men like him…they never change. And they never stop. The city will always bleed for them.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. I press my hands tighter against the railing, searching for something—an answer, a defense, maybe just a way to breathe again. “You think I don’t know that?” I manage. “You think I ever forgot what he is?”
He doesn’t reply, and in the silence, I feel the weight of the city—of Konstantin’s shadow—settling over me, pressing down hard. I try to imagine another life, a safer one, but the truth is, I’m not sure it’s possible. Not for us, not anymore.
Arman’s voice softens, just enough to remind me of old afternoons and childhood comfort. “You’re safe here, Nadya. We’ll protect you, no matter what it takes.” He hesitates, searching my face for something—permission, maybe, or hope. “If you wanted…we could leave the city altogether. Disappear. I know people who could help. You and Mila could start over somewhere else.”
I shake my head, sharper than I mean to, refusing before the idea even settles in my mind. “I’m not going anywhere without Nikolai.” My voice doesn’t tremble, but it’s close. “He’s still out there. I’m not leaving him behind.”
Arman’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push. “Fine,” he says, but there’s weariness beneath the word. “We’ll keep looking.”
For a moment, I really look at him—my uncle, the only father I ever really knew. He’s aged in the last year, lines drawn deep around his mouth, worry etched into his eyes. I remember what Pyotr told me about the serpent tattoo, the warning about old allegiances and secrets woven beneath the surface of our family. If my father knows so much about what’s happening in the city, Arman must know too. He’s too careful, too deeply connected not to have seen the signs.
A flicker of doubt passes through me, bitter and unwanted. Why hasn’t he mentioned it? Why hasn’t he asked the right questions? For a split second, I consider pressing him, demanding the truth—but the fatigue in his posture, the genuine worry in his voice, makes me hesitate. I remind myself that Arman has always stood by me, always tried to keep me safe, even when I refused to listen.
In the end, I let it go. I give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once.
Morning comes heavy and gray, the kind of day that settles in my bones and makes me wonder if the sun will ever burn through again. I sit at the battered desk, a mug of tea cooling by my elbow, while Mila colors at my side, humming to herself, blissfully unaware of how close the world came to shattering last night.
My phone buzzes, a string of polite but insistent notifications from Mila’s school:We’ve noticed Mila has been absent several days in a row. Please update us on her well-being.Another message follows, more formal, a veiled warning:If we don’t hear from you soon, we’ll be forced to reach out to the authorities for a welfare check.
I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar, crushing weight of dread. The city might be dangerous, but bureaucracy is relentless, and I know how quickly a teacher’s concern can snowball into disaster—especially for families like mine, where secrets are buried under every routine.
I glance over at Mila, who’s carefully sounding out the words in her homework packet, her tongue poking out in concentration. She looks up, catching the worry in my face, and her smile falters. “Mama? Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head quickly, pulling her onto my lap and pressing a kiss into her hair. “You did everything perfect, baby. I’m just…thinking.” I help her with the next question, guiding her through math problems, checking the answers against the faded answer key. My mind keeps circling back to the messages, the ticking clock they represent.
I can’t keep hiding forever, not without someone noticing. If I just vanish, the school will send someone—or worse, call the police, and then everything we’ve tried to protect will unravel, one thread at a time. My name, Mila’s, Konstantin’s. The lies and the truths tangled together for everyone to see.
No. If we’re leaving, it has to be on my terms.
I brush Mila’s hair back and straighten the stack of worksheets on the desk. “We’re going to go to school today, Mila,” I say softly. “But it’ll be different this time. We’re going to talk to your teacher, and after that…you won’t have to go back. We’ll do your learning here, with me. Does that sound okay?”
She brightens, nodding so hard her curls bounce. “Yes! Can we read the dragon book again?”
I smile, or try to. “We’ll read as many as you want.” I gather her into my arms and hold her tight, pressing my cheek to her warm, familiar hair. For a moment, I let myself believe we’ll be safe, if only I can stay one step ahead.
I text Arman, letting him know my plan. He replies with a single word:Careful.
I tuck Mila’s homework into her backpack, take a deep breath, and get ready to walk into the world again. There’s no hiding anymore—not if I want to protect what matters. If I have to burn every bridge between us and danger, I’ll do it gladly.
Rifat drives us to the school in his battered sedan, his eyes flicking to the mirrors every few seconds, never trusting the street or the shadows. Mila sits in the back, tracing little patternson the window with her finger, quiet but watchful. I keep one hand on her backpack, the other pressed tight against my thigh to keep from shaking.
When we reach the school, Rifat parks in a spot by the side entrance. He surveys the block, then leans over the seat as I gather Mila’s things. “I’ll walk you in,” he says, not really a question.
I nod, grateful for once for his silent presence—his broad shoulders and cold eyes, the sense that nothing would get past him if it meant protecting us. We walk through the gate together, his pace matching mine, always one step behind, never intrusive.
At the front steps, I pause, crouching to fix the strap on Mila’s backpack. The playground sounds drift out, bright and normal, utterly at odds with the knots in my stomach.
