Page 72 of Bratva Bride
“Entire floor is locked down,” he answers. “Two hundred guests, cleared and scanned. My men inside, hotel detail outside, city police on the perimeter. If anyone tries something, they’ll never make it to the elevators.”
“And the exit plan if things go wrong?”
“South stairwell to the service garage. Armored van waiting. From there—safe house by the river.” A beat. “You’ll ride with Viktor and Maksim. Mila stays in your arms the whole time.”
The hotel rises ahead of us, lights shimmering across the tinted glass as we draw closer. I take a steadying breath, but I can’t hold back the question that’s been gnawing at my thoughts.
“Konstantin,” I say softly, careful not to alarm Mila, “is it true what they’re saying about Alexei’s mistress? That she was thrown from the bridge?”
He remains silent, eyes fixed ahead as though he hasn’t heard me. But I know he has. His jaw tightens subtly, the muscle flexing beneath his skin, betraying more than words ever could. His silence settles heavily between us, answering louder than any denial or confession might have.
The SUV pulls smoothly beneath the hotel’s porte cochere, lights from dozens of waiting cameras flooding through the windows. Security shifts into motion, stepping forward as our driver moves to open the door. Konstantin glances at me, wordlessly urging me to follow, but I remain seated, Mila’s small hand clasped firmly in mine.
“Nadya,” he says quietly, extending a hand toward me, calm and controlled for the public eye.
I don’t move. The thought of stepping out, of showing unity when he’s refused even this small honesty, is more than I can bear. Mila looks up at me, uncertain, her little fingers tightening around mine.
Outside, photographers grow restless, security men leaning forward as seconds stretch uncomfortably. Konstantin exhales slowly, then gently lifts Mila into one arm. Before I can protest, his other hand closes firmly around my wrist, drawing me from my seat with quiet, uncompromising strength. I resist briefly, enough for him to feel it, enough to make it clear I’m here under protest. But his grip remains firm, careful but unyielding, and he guides me onto the sidewalk beside him.
We emerge into a cascade of flashing cameras and hushed murmurs, Mila resting comfortably against her father’s shoulder, oblivious to the tension simmering between us. Konstantin stands tall, composed, every inch the man in control, while I hold my head high, aware that to the eyes watching us we appear unified and unbreakable.
The ballroom is breathtaking, glittering chandeliers casting pools of warm, golden light onto marble floors.
Konstantin drifts naturally into conversation with a small cluster of men in expensive suits, their postures perfectly confident. I’m left momentarily alone, pulse quickening as I scan the crowd for familiar faces.
Then I see them—Tatiana, Kira, Lena, and Dasha, gathered near a sleek marble-topped table, laughing softly together as though untouched by the pressures of the room. Tatiana notices me first, eyebrows arching in surprise as her eyes skim boldly up and down my dress. The others follow her gaze, expressions shifting quickly from surprise to amusement.
“Bold choice,” Tatiana says, stepping closer, an elegant flute of champagne balanced between delicate fingers. Her lips curve into an appreciative but knowing smile. “Did Konstantin approve this little statement?”
Kira tilts her head, her expression softer, curiosity bright in her eyes. “I have to admit, Nadya, you’re definitely making an impression tonight. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Dasha giggles quietly. “I think everyone here recognized her immediately. Especially the men.”
Lena nudges Dasha’s elbow gently, but her grin is conspiratorial. “She’s just jealous she didn’t think to be daring first.”
I manage a small laugh, feeling slightly steadied by their playful warmth.
“I have to say, Nadya, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Tatiana says.
I give her a faint, tense smile. “Maybe I didn’t either.”
Lena and Kira share a look, curiosity shimmering in their eyes, but they’re kind enough not to comment further.
“It wasn’t exactly meant to be a statement,” I say, forcing casualness into my voice. “More of a…reminder, I suppose.”
Tatiana raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “A reminder to Konstantin, or to yourself?”
I pause, startled by how quickly she’s seen through me. But I don’t have time to reply before my gaze catches sight of Anya across the room. She stands near the bar, wrapped in a modest, perfectly tailored black gown—elegant, understated, and utterly poised. Her confidence radiates effortlessly, making my boldness suddenly feel excessive, my bright silk and exposed skin out of place.
Kira notices my glance, leaning slightly closer. “Ignore her,” she whispers gently, giving my elbow a comforting squeeze.
Tatiana follows my gaze, her eyebrow raising with mild curiosity. “Who’s she?”
Before I can respond, Konstantin moves smoothly through the crowd, stepping closer to Anya, leaning down slightly as she smiles up at him. The easy familiarity between them sends a sharp, painful twist through my chest.
Dasha glances at me, then back at Konstantin and Anya, her voice lowering as she murmurs softly, “Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”
My stomach clenches, embarrassment and anger flaring at the whispered suggestion, but Kira interrupts quickly, glancing meaningfully down at Mila standing quietly beside me. “Shhh, Mila can hear you,” she scolds softly, shooting a gentle but firm warning look at Dasha.
